Vasily
Vasily
I stand in the doorway to my bedroom for several minutes as I consider the potential consequences of my actions tonight if I follow through with my plan.
I did tell Ana to highlight what she was interested in.
And this is very much how things began with us.
But this is . . .
My sigh has a squeak to it.
Not for the first time since the notifications started popping up on my phone, I question if she thinks this is just how it is. But no, she went through seven different books, far too many for anyone to read in one day, and she skipped over plenty of other scenes to highlight the same tableaus over and over again. This is what she chose.
I run the tip of my tongue over my gums, relishing the scrape of the piercing on the back of my teeth. My dentist hates me for my tongue ring. But he hates me even more for the cocaine I rub on my gums, so I figure it doesn’t matter if I’m terrorizing my enamel, as well.
I doubt I’ll live long enough for tooth decay to be a problem.
In fact, this little stunt that Ana is asking me to pull — hopefully asking me to pull, and fuck me right in the goat ass if I misunderstood the highlights — could absolutely get me killed. In a more manic moment while I was setting this up downstairs, I sent an invite to Tony. I don’t know, that fucker rubs me the wrong way. I know he’ll get wind of this regardless, but the dirty fuck got an erection while I was raping his sister, and now I’ve got this disgusting curiosity welling inside me.
I was clear in the link I sent that I’d get a log of who viewed so they should all feel welcome to comment, as I’ll know if they saw any part of it, but I didn’t tell them I’d know how long they viewed for. I want to know if Tony wasn’t any more capable of preventing his erection than Ana was of preventing her orgasms every time she came around my fingers, my tongue, and my cock in that strip club.
Or if Tony is so fucking foul he got off on the rape of his sister.
Ana looks so cozy right now, sound asleep, curled around Dima’s pillow. I could get in bed behind her, hold her close and breathe in her scent, feel her heat. I could draw her thigh over my leg and make space for myself, take her gently. Her highlights were invitation enough for that.
But it’s not what she asked for.
So I grab the blanket and tuck it around her roughly enough she wakes with a startled shriek as I separate the pillow from her. She struggles but is too well bound in the blanket and too disoriented, having been ripped from sleep.
I haul her to the elevator, using the 30-second ride as an opportunity to say, “You need me to stop, you say graveyard , you got it?”
“It’s a . . . a safeword?” she asks, and damn her because I hear the excitement in her voice. She does want this. She isn’t going to say it.
“Say it now so I know you heard me correctly.”
“Why graveyard ?”
I’ll take that as close enough. “Because you can threaten to put me in the graveyard.”
“I would never do that,” she protests.
“Perhaps not, but you’re the actress, zvyozdochka . I figure you want to put on a good show for the cameras.”
The elevator doors open then, and it’s time for action.
She screams as I wrap the rope — silk, but it’s the color of jute, so it looks like it’ll tear her up — around her wrists. She complains that it hurts when I wrap it up to the hook the punching bag usually hangs from. She begs me to stop as I take a blade to her tank top.
I keep it hovered there long enough for her to do something more authentic to tell me to stop. It’s her actual tank top that I’m about to destroy, after all.
She blinks slowly, nodding her head faintly enough neither of the cameras will be able to distinguish it from natural body movement.
I slice straight through the shirt, leaving the remnants clinging to her like the vests some of the girls at the club like to wear. With her arms above her head, she’s stretched in a way that shows off too many ribs and causes her belly to sink. I know she’s been eating well since she got here. She’s doing surprisingly well with her cooking, considering what Igor’s reported back to me about her knowing even less about cooking than cleaning. She’s just not a girl with much meat on her bones.
The aesthetic works for this moment. This is what she wanted. Perhaps in extremis, but on camera, she’ll look like I’ve been starving her since I got her.
Again, why I’m concerned Tony might send a hit squad on me. But I think I’m safe. Not because I’m protected but because he knows this is now part of the debt and he’ll owe us again, with renewed interest, if he attacks us.
The position also means that the already meager swell of her breasts is non-existent. As much as she’s self-conscious about them, I’ve been enjoying them at night, like they’re this secret between us, mine alone, because they can’t be seen under her clothing. So it fluffs me up even more that this one chance the world has to see them, her position keeps them hidden from anything but my touch.
I position myself to make sure I’m not blocking her chest from the camera and grab one of her nipples, and yes, I feel that soft pad beneath it, so I knead the heel of my palm into it. In my thickest Russian accent and the broken English that my brat sister ratted me out on, I say, “Tony was to sell me girl, but this boy tit. You pack dick?”
It’s a disgusting thing to say. But those things she highlighted were filled with disgusting things.
“No!” she cries out, twisting her spine to get away from me, but the rope is currently high enough that she’s on the balls of her feet. She can’t anchor her feet to do anything more than flail.
And because her highlights were so disgusting, so anathema to anything I would do unless forced to — like at the club, when Artyom decided that I, of all people, would be the best at raping an innocent girl — I spit right on her nipple.
Time stops for a moment as we both watch it dribble down slowly, the mucus thick and slightly opaque, not just from the foam within it but with the coke my respiratory track and gums are lined with. It clings to her, and the cool air in the gym wicks over her. Automatically, that nipple constricts and pushes out, moving the spittle with it.
Still it clings, and she’s contorted enough that it hangs out over her body, the string stretching several inches before the mass of it drips onto the floor.
Fuck, that shouldn’t have been nearly as hot as it was.
“Please don’t,” Ana whispers, but the way her pupils grow in her glittering eyes looks like please do , so I spit on her other nipple.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I’ve been concerned about how much interest my dick would have in this. I even have that same straw from Saturday in my pocket because a little coke on the head will perk it right up. But nope, that second glob peaking her nipple is getting me hard.
“Please just let me go,” she begs again with those big doe eyes. No psychedelics this time, so I’m not seeing anything crazy, but her eyes slay me.
The glimmer of excitement in them? Total destruction.
“Let you go?” I snort gruffly. “Is even girl? Did Tony trick me?” With that, I strip her cute rainbow-print shorts off, exposing her ass to the camera behind her. I tied her rope with rungs on it, so it’s just another second for me to drop it a few notches. With a quick lift and reset of her back legs, she can’t do anything except bend over.
I smack both her ass cheeks, enjoying the burn on my palm and the spidering of red beneath her lightly tanned skin. “Let’s see what you are,” I say with a laugh as I grab her thighs and spread the soft flesh, exposing everything to the camera.
Everything .
A couple of comments have already appeared on the computer screen I set up next to that camera. At this, the comment window blows up. I can see the count at the top of the screen; of the 20 invites I sent out, primarily to mafia connections in Phoenix, 8 have entered. I can see where several have already confirmed that Ana is Tony’s sister, but now they’re begging me to walk her back a couple more steps or bring the camera closer.
“You have fans, zvyozdochka . Everyone wants see Tony sister pussy.”
She glances around, her position making it almost impossible to see the monitor, but her eyes go wide when she realizes I’m not just recording, I’m livestreaming. The tears that begin to well are genuine, as is the attempt to shut her legs. “Oh, no,” she whispers.
“ Da . This what you want.”
“I don’t!” she says immediately, but I see the bob in her throat, I feel the way her thighs clench again. This is a welcoming pulse from her core. I smell her arousal.
“You smell delicious, zvyozdochka . Good enough to eat.”
Oh yeah, she likes the idea of that. But she didn’t highlight that, not the act nor anything the woman gets to choose. I’m going to take that to heart in my own way because I don’t think it was so much about the acts and who wanted what as it was the mind games that happened.
I grab her by a hank of her thick, black hair, yanking her head up through her arms to bring her closer to my eye level for a moment. “Is good cunt there. I come in it?”
“No! Don’t do this, please?”
“Is fertile cunt?” I ask her, reminding myself to talk with her again about her birth control, just in case she was wrong about what she’s taking and the risk of missing a couple days. I cannot get her pregnant. The Baranov bloodline ends with me.
There’s a shadow of a dimple on her right cheek. I can’t see the smile, but I know it’s there. So I know she believes herself to be joking, acting for the camera based on the books she highlighted today, several of which focused on his desire to get her pregnant, when she gives me a weak, “Yes? So don’t—”
“Don’t make you fat on Russian baby?”
“You can’t!”
“It give you tits, da ?”
“It’ll ruin me,” she whimpers. The way she glances toward the monitor shows her fear is of social ruin. I’ve already done so much damage to that — no, I’ve done nothing, it’s our brothers who have done it — but if I return her pregnant, no one will want her.
My cock aches at the thought. It’s a devil. The only thing it cares about is getting women pregnant. That’s why it exists. And I let it believe it’s doing its job, but I swear the bastard knows why it gets latex jackets before clocking in for work.
It’s not just my cock aching, though. My heart burns at the idea of getting her pregnant, of no one wanting her. Because it’s not true, of course. I can’t let my bloodline continue; I’ve already decided that if I ever end up in a relationship again — as impossible as that’s always sounded since I lost Brooke — I would get a vasectomy. But if something ever went wrong, of course I would love that child. And its mother would want for nothing.
So no, that’s a lie to think no one would want her. She would be mine. Not even an issue of want.
She.
Would.
Be.
Mine.
I pivot her slightly, irritated by the chatter on the screen and not wanting to see it behind her right now. “I come in ass instead?”
Sudden terror flits over Ana’s features. It’s not something she highlighted. But again, what’s highlighted is heavy on this idea that the heroine doesn’t get to choose. She asked for blackmail porn. Men taking possession of women to prove that no one else can have them while teaching her a lesson. The women are happy to be taught these lessons, they’re excited by it, but the men mostly don’t seem to care if the women like it or not.
I do care. That’s why I gave her the safe word, same as why I’ve only touched her the last two nights, same as why I spent so much time focusing on her pleasure before finally doing what I had to on Saturday.
That’s why up on one of the links of the chain she’s hooked to, low enough I can reach but high enough it won’t be seen on camera, I’ve tied a bottle of lube. The men don’t need to see that I’ve made this consideration. Ana might not even be aware of it or understand if I use it. Her books didn’t seem forthcoming with this essential tool. But I will take care of her.
“No, Vasily,” she gasps, “please don’t.”
We’ll see.
For now, I run my thumb over her narrow but pouty lips. I’m going to be a lot for her mouth. I should have let her try this without an audience first. “Such little mouth,” I coo. “I fuck your mouth.”
The moment I move my hand away, she drops her head in defeat. Tears are pouring freely, running down her cheeks and dripping from the tip of her turned-up nose. She looks like she’s given up, like she’s giving herself over to me, but even if I hadn’t read it in the scenes she brought my attention to, I wouldn’t have expected her to give up. No, her fight will come back after her pity party.
So I don’t show her sympathy. I am her cruel kidnapper. Her brutal attacker. I am heartless and demanding. I take what I want because there’s no way she can resist me.
I’m an alpha-hole, apparently. I did my research after the fifth download dinged on my phone.
I take my pants off, and nope, my cock doesn’t have the slightest misgiving about the tears Ana is shedding or the audience hand-picked to create the most chaos. Her brother could be looking at my dick right now.
Fuck, my brother could be looking at my dick right now. No doubt he’s losing his shit, but he’s apparently in Vegas for the night and I’ve already told Igor not to let anyone in. I told him my girl’s into some weird shit, and what she wants, she gets.
It’s not a lie. I guess we could argue about if she’s mine or not, but she’s mine this week.
I stroke myself a couple times, my grip light over the ridge of piercings. I’ve had them long enough they’re basically a part of me, but having Ana around has definitely dredged up some stuff from my past. Out of nowhere, I find myself thinking about how, when I first got them, everyone was inordinately concerned about my ability to jerk off. They thought I did it because I was high and not having clear thoughts. Yeah, I was high, but I was thinking as clearly as I could have at the time.
And I was grieving and hoping that this would prevent me from jerking off. At the time, I hated myself for having a single sexual urge and wanted it to be as uncomfortable as possible. It sounds ridiculously pathetic now; I was twenty and thinking I could never be a man again without my Brooke. That wasn’t true, and it turns out I can jerk off just fine. The feel of those bars rolling over the tissue within makes my teeth grind in the best way, every bit as good as the grind from the cocaine.
Alpha-holes seem to do whatever dumb thing they think of, so I smack her face with my dick. Right on her forehead, right between her eyes. And fire, absolute fire, in those eyes. Utter outrage, which makes her jaw drop on an incensed gasp.
Really, she shouldn’t be surprised when I take that as an invitation to nudge the head of my cock, already glistening with a bead of pre-cum, onto her pretty pink tongue.
She rears back instantly, spitting me out and glaring at my cock — for all of two seconds before she swallows. Her long, thick eyelashes lower in intrigue.
“You like taste, zvyozdochka ?”
That has her shaking her head, almost believable if her delicate throat didn’t bob again.
“You want cum in pussy, ass, or mouth? Must pick.”
She’s in an awkward position, her hands at an in-between height where her face smushes against her arms if she holds her head up but she’s staring directly at the floor — and her exposed body — if she looks down. She chooses up so she can twist her chin to rest on one arm as she glares at me. Her chest heaves like an overworked filly. I’m not sure if she’s genuinely thinking about it, if she’s trying to convey to me her irritation that this is the direction I went in, or if she’s putting on a show.
Finally, she cranes her neck and drops her jaw.
I chuckle and pat the top of her head, murmuring, “Good Mafia slut,” but making sure the boys watching hear that. I’ve got their girl, and she’s chosen to suck my cock. I’m betting they’ve all wanted to put their dicks in that sweet little mouth, but she’s mine.
Mine.
I lift her by the calves, loving the surprised squeaks she makes as she falls, but of course I’ve got her. I set her knees on the ground, and her arms have just enough slack that she can rest her hands on her head. She’s still going to get fatigued, her arms are still going to burn tomorrow, but it’s not terrible.
I rub my cock on her lips, but she doesn’t open her mouth. What would be the fun in that? I could ask nicely, but I already know she’s going to be bratty. I see the way she’s tensing to resist.
I’m bigger, stronger. I would never use that to bully her, but I will take advantage of it now. I grab right onto her jaw, sinking my hands into her cheeks so she can’t bite me, only her own cheek. “ Da , better,” I tell her when she finally unclenches and opens wide.
We’re putting on a show. So I keep my fingers dug into her cheek to prevent any reflexive disasters as I thrust all the way to the back of her mouth. Predictably, she gags hard, so hard I pull out so she doesn’t puke on my dick. But she keeps everything down while she coughs and gasps for air, only leaning down and spitting delicately, nothing more dramatic than pushing what’s pooled in her mouth onto the floor.
An intriguing sight, one that gives me an idea for later.
As soon as she lifts her head back up, I say, “Your men no teach their princesses swallow dick? Shame.” I make a tsking sound and ease her jaw back down. “Now you learn on fat Russian cock.”
This time when I thrust in, I move quickly but only until her lips close around the cap, sealing me in at the corona.
“Suck,” I command, but already that gentle, even pressure of her lips right in that underexposed area is a lot, and the word hisses out like a deflating balloon.
She sucks.
Fuck me, she sucks.
She sucks so hard her cheeks cave in. I haven’t been totally onboard with what we’re doing, not with everyone watching, but fuck, I hope they see that. I hope they see the way her cheeks move, proving she’s not just sucking but pulling on me rhythmically. I hope they see the way she’s staring up at me with soft, affectionate eyes, a woman enjoying her work.
I hope they see the way I dig my hand into her hair to massage her scalp to let her know she’s being such a good girl for me, even if it’s just so they remember to do the same with their women.
“ Odin ,” I murmur, just for her, as I ease in deeper until my first piercing hits her bottom teeth and then slide back until my corona taps the inside of her lips. Back in and out that scant inch, in and out, repeating, “ odin ,” each time, hoping that she understands.
If anyone from my side is watching, they’ll understand.
They’ll understand the next thrust, when I say, “ Dva ,” and grip her jaw to open it further so I can get my first piercing past her teeth to tap the second there.
She understands. I can tell by the way she leans in, whether it’s subconscious or not, like she’s inviting me to give her more. “ Tri ?” I ask.
She nods, and I give her three.
She starts bobbing enthusiastically. Whether she’s forgotten the script or gotten this notion that making me come faster will make this end sooner, I don’t know. All I know is I have to hold back from telling her she’s a fucking pro cock sucker because it doesn’t fit the script.
I’m already fantasizing about next time, when I’ll make sure she has at least one hand free to massage my balls.
“Don’t swallow,” I growl at her when I feel the critical pressure build. “Don’t spit, don’t swallow. Keep in mouth.”
I pull out enough to make sure she can block her throat from it naturally shooting down just in time, rupturing in her mouth a second later. There’s so much semen it oozes out the corner of her lips even as she tips her open mouth up like a baby bird waiting for their treat.
I spit in her open mouth.
“Don’t swallow,” I repeat as I close her jaw. “Mix. Swirl me around. You like my taste?”
She has to purse her lips as she shakes her head, but we both know the truth.
“Now look at me, open mouth, push with tongue.”
She does exactly as I ask. The white, foamy goop flows over her bottom lip, drooling all over her chest. It takes everything in me to step away to let everyone else see the way it clings and slides, translucent ribbons spanning from her lips and chin to her chest and nipples. Some of the mess pools in her navel. When that overflows, it slips right down into her dark triangle of pubic hair.
It’s already damp and glistening.
“Now let’s get you baby.”
“What? No!” she protests. Her arms are so fatigued they’re shaking. She can’t help but to twist her body around, going so far as to anchor one foot on the ground so she’s only on one knee, just to lift herself up slightly, but she’s still arguing with me. “You told me to pick, I picked. You did it, we’re done!”
If this was real, if I was truly trying to show the men watching that Ana is my prisoner and I can do whatever I want without repercussion, I would slap her across the face. The fact that I’m even aware of that, that I’m contemplating if I can do it realistically or if she’d want to actually do it, that I would do it if she told me to, makes my stomach churn.
The best I can do is grab her rope just above her wrists and lift above my head so she’s at eye level with me. Since I’m a foot taller than she is, she’s nowhere near the ground, her feet brushing over my calves.
The way we’re positioned between the cameras, I don’t think anyone can see well enough to know Ana’s just hooked one of her feet behind my knee to pull herself in. She grinds her pussy on my cock as I snarl, “We’re done when I say. ”