by Grant, Livia
“Ouch!” I protest.
“Open for me.”
I don’t want to. But I already know there’s no point in refusing. I don’t plan to safe word, so I might as well concede.
I draw in a deep breath and slowly exhale, willing my body parts to relax. To open.
He presses the bulbous head of the plug against my anus and waits.
What for, I’m not sure.
But then the tight ring of muscles relax on their own and he presses forward, like he expected that moment and was waiting for it.
Again, I find myself relieved to be with an experienced partner.
I hate the feel of the plug. The intrusion. Not because it hurts, although there is a bit of stretch. But it’s more the humiliation of the thing. The sense of wrong-ness.
The fire of the stretch grows the more he presses forward.
I start to tighten, but he makes a negative sound.
“Take your plug, kitten.”
I whine a little as it goes in, but once it’s past the widest place it settles, and the burn is gone. Now I just experience the sensation of being filled. And the stimulation around my anus where the neck still holds it open.
“Good girl.”
I exhale again. I don’t hate it. I don’t love it, either.
But then he begins to spank me again. The plug jostles in my ass, providing more stimulation.
I reflexively squeeze my anus, but with the plug, I just get more feedback.
And dammit, I am finding it arousing.
Which feels terribly wrong.
He slaps one side, then the other, making me bounce over his lap. Every wiggle, every movement moves the plug inside me. Moves me around the plug. It becomes intense. Not painful—I hardly notice the sting of the spanks anymore.
All my focus is on the sensation inside my ass.
He spanks more—even harder. My thighs tighten but I find he’s right—I almost welcome the pain now. It’s like scratching the itch. It satisfies the burning need that’s growing hotter with every moment.
There’s a pause and I catch my breath.
And then I gasp when Master R brings the vibrating tip of a dildo to my pussy.
“Oh!” I cry in surprise.
Yes.
It feels. So. Good.
He screws it inside me and leaves it there, then spanks me some more.
Now it’s too much. Not the pain—the sensation. Everything at once. The plug in my ass jostling as he spanks me. The constant vibration in my core. The sting of pain with each slap.
I need completion.
Desperately.
To make it even worse, he starts fucking my ass with the plug, still slapping me with the other hand.
I’m embarrassed by the sounds that come from my throat.
Wanton.
Needy.
Crazed.
“Please,” I beg, although I don’t even know what I’m begging for. More? Less? Something else?
All I know is I need to find it, whatever it is.
“Please Master, may I come,” he guides me.
Seriously? Fine.
“Please Master, may I come?”
“Da. Come now, kotyonok. But show me your face.”
I can’t focus on what he said beyond come now. My core tightens, pussy clenching around the vibrator.
He grabs a fistful of my hair and uses it to turn my face in his direction, still fucking my ass the entire time with the plug.
I open my mouth in a soundless cry and my gaze tangles in his. His eyes are dark and I see heat in his normally cool expression. I clench around both phalluses, humping his lap and wondering what it would be like to be filled by him.
Will I find out?
His cock presses hard against my hip. I want to suck it again. Want to return this incredible pleasure that’s still coursing through me in what must be the longest orgasm on record.
Ripple after ripple of pleasure flow through me. Every time I think it’s done, the slightest movement jostles the plugs and I come all over again.
“That’s it, my lucky lady. Keep coming,” he coaxes, slowing the speed of the plug-fucking, but still continuing. “Now you see the benefit of delaying your pleasure.”
“Oh God, yes,” I admit. I may be prideful, but I’m certainly willing to admit when I was wrong.
Especially when I’m so filled with gratitude. And warm, delicious pleasure.
* * *
Ravil
I’m enchanted.
I don’t know what it is about this woman I find so fascinating but seeing her come undone undoes me.
I want to get her number. Date her. Make her fall in love.
And I don’t do any of those things. Especially not with women I play with in a sex club.
I won’t. I can’t. I don’t even live in this city.
But it disturbs me how much I want to.
Her flawless face is flushed with color, her hair fans around her in a wild mess.
But what moves me most is the way her eyes locked on mine. The startled ecstasy that showed in them as I wrung orgasm after orgasm from her.
The new softness to her now.
What changes might overcome this powerful, sexy woman if I made her come like that every night? Who might she become?
Because sexuality is power. And women who own their sexuality own the world.
I slide the vibrator from her and turn it off. Then stroke her back to get her to relax enough to get the plug out. I quickly clean the devices again and return them to the bag they came in.
“Come here.” I help her sit up on my lap, then spin her legs in the opposite direction so she can lay back in my arms. “Just enjoy for a moment.” I brush the hair back from her face, then stroke my fingertips down her arm. “You feel good, no?”
Everything about her face has changed. The tightness in her jaw is gone, the tension in her neck. “So good,” she agrees. “Thank you.”
I reach down and slide her dress up enough to stroke between her legs. Not to bring her to another orgasm, just to relax her.
A shiver runs through her, but she makes a contented sound—a light humming.
“What do you do for a living, kitten? Will you tell?”
Some of her wariness returns, and I instantly regret prying. I don’t know why I am, anyway. I won’t see this woman again. It hardly matters. She could be whatever I imagine her to be.
She shakes her head.
“I shouldn’t have asked,” I concede. “Your mystery is part of the appeal, anyway.”
She blinks up at me. “Do you find me appealing?”
I nod. “Very.”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
I smile indulgently. “It’s part of the charm.” I slide my hand inside her dress and cup one of her breasts. “Are you thirsty? Do you need water? Or another drink?”
She sits up and my body protests the distance between us. I could’ve kept her lounging in my arms all night without complaint. “I would like a water, please.” She smiles sheepishly. “Thirsty work, orgasming.”
“It is.” I lift her to stand and follow her up, then lead her back to the bar and order a bottle of water for both of us.
“I enjoyed watching you,” the man on Lady Luck’s other side says.
My lips curl back in a snarl, but I keep it in.
He leans forward and catches my eye. “I would’ve fucked that ass hard if I were you, though.”
I’m normally completely in control. I show no emotion, nothing gets me ruffled. But white-hot anger flares. And swift retribution has always been a part of my world.
My hand snaps out and catches the guy by the throat. “Disrespect her again, and I’ll tear out your tongue,” I warn. Then I let go, as quickly as I started.
Hardly anyone around us saw. Maybe only my beautiful submissive.
The man chokes and coughs, looking around for support while I pin him with a death glare.
A loud bang from somewher
e nearby makes me and everyone at the bar jump and turn. A sign fell over on the other side of the bar. Ever aware, I note Lady Luck’s movement before I even turn back.
Then I see her striding quickly away, hips swaying, hair tossed back with a snap of her head. Gone is the softness of a moment ago.
Now, she’s all business, taking long strides in those heels like she was born in them with her back stiff and straight as a rod.
Blyad.
I take off after her.
I don’t want to make a scene. Black Light has dungeon monitors everywhere, and everyone here considers us to be part of the entertainment. There’s no such thing as privacy at Black Light on a night like this.
I hustle to catch up with Lady Luck, without calling her name.
She’s near the exit. “Hang on.” I catch her elbow, then immediately release it when she shakes off my touch. “Don’t run.”
When she whirls, she has fire in her eyes. “Red.”
Fuck. I cover her mouth and back her up against the wall. “Shh. Don’t. Please don’t. I’m sorry you saw that. I know you’re upset. Will you stay and talk to me?”
I release her mouth. Covering it was a direct violation of Black Light rules. You can’t muffle a safe word. I’m definitely crossing a line here, but I’m not willing to accept this ending.
Not for us.
Not yet.
She stares back at me. “I know what you are.”
Her words hit me square in the chest. Harder than a punch from Boris, my top enforcer. Harder than a gunshot through a kevlar vest. Or the bone-crushing blow of a prison guard’s billy club.
I’ve known shame. I’ve lived with the shame of what I’ve done. It’s a violent world I grew up in. Most of my crimes I can live with. A few I can’t.
But the shame that lances through me now is fresh and potent and curls through every pore like a cancer.
“What do you know?” I barely croak it out.
Her gaze is steady. She may have been nervous before, but I see now it was fueled by sexual tension, by uncertainty about her role. Now, she knows herself. Knows what she’ll allow and what she won’t.
And she’s cutting me out.
“You’re Bratva. Russian mafiya.” Her eyes drop to my exposed forearms, where the black ink marks my prison time, my crimes. “I know what those symbols mean.” She swallows. Now I see a hint of fear. “You’re a killer.”
A single tear drips down her face. I didn’t even see it coming. No other part of her face looks like she’s crying.
It could be sub drop from the scene we just had. Or her regret at tangling with a man like me. At her attraction to me—because even now her body responds. She’s softened against me where I’m crowding her. Like it feels right.
I wipe the tear with my thumb. Lean my forehead against hers. “Yes,” I admit.
I feared my admission would frighten her further, but instead, it seems to settle her. Like she just needed the truth.
So, I give her more. I never share secrets. Keep my cards very close to my chest, even with my own cell. But I spill it all now. “I came to D.C. to grease a wheel.” I tip my head in the direction of Valdemar, who is flogging his submissive on the St. Andrew’s cross. “The wheel wanted me to come here with him tonight, so I did.”
She doesn’t move. Just absorbs my words like she’s holding her breath.
Is there something I can say that would change her decision to walk out before we finish? Something I can do?
The tear is gone but I continue to lightly brush her cheek with the pad of my thumb. The fact that she allows it encourages me to go on. “I never imagined I would meet… Well, you’re something special,” I admit. “Different. I’ve enjoyed our time together very much. I think you did, too.”
Her lashes flicker and I know I have her agreement on that, at least.
“I’m sorry I let the streets of Leningrad show through. I’ve known violence. But I never meant to scare you. Or offend you. I just didn’t like hearing you dishonored like that.”
I sense a tremble start up in her body. A vibration, a tremor. Is it from indecision? Is that what makes my beautiful Lady Luck tremble? Or is it desire?
“Please don’t let my mistake end our night together.”
She has lovely brown eyes. Big and slightly turned down at the edges.
“Please. You have one more spin of the wheel. It would please me to show you more pleasure than you’ve ever had.”
“You already have.” It’s just a whisper. Like she doesn’t want to admit it or for anyone but me to hear.
Emboldened, I stroke my palm down her side. “There’s so much more, kitten. One more spin. Please stay. I won’t cut anyone’s tongues out. Or threaten to. I promise.”
This wrings a smile from her and the weight on my chest lifts slightly.
“Will you stay?”
Her lashes drop. Her face tilts up. To my shock, her lips connect with mine.
I don’t kiss women. Especially not at a place like this. I’m the fuck them hard and walk away type. But the moment I feel her tentative kiss, I’m all over her. I press her up against the wall and claim that beautiful mouth of hers. One leg insinuating between her thighs, I mold my body over hers, slant my lips and drink from her.
Her body goes soft, lips become eager. I find her hands on my arms, urging me closer. I grind my erection in the notch between her legs, trail my open mouth down her neck to nip her shoulder.
She bites me back.
I slam my hips against hers, suddenly desperate to consume her. In fact, I’m about ready to find a condom, roll it on and claim her right there against the wall, but she gasps, “Yes, Okay. One more spin.”
Right.
One more spin.
The Roulette game.
I smile and lace my fingers through hers, adjusting my straining cock with the other hand. I walk beside her back to the stage.
I get one more scene with her. I’m going to make it good.
Chapter 4
Lucy
It’s hard to ignore the pulse of heat between my legs. The taste of the Russian on my tongue.
I wouldn’t have thought him capable of passion—he’s been so cool and manicured, but he showed me a bit of himself.
And that’s the only reason I’m returning with him.
His show of weakness quieted the nagging voice in my head that’s been wondering what in the hell I’m doing here.
I shouldn’t have more confidence in the mobster now, but I do.
Hearing him threaten that other man—seeing how quickly he turns to violence was a wake-up call. It frightened me. Reminded me of exactly who this man is.
But he humbled himself with me. He begged.
It took some of my fears away. Returned my power.
And he wasn’t violent with me. He’s been only gentle. His threat was in my defense.
And while I don’t approve, it’s not so different from the ferocious way my dad used the legal system to protect and defend his family any time he sensed a threat.
They just come from different walks of life.
I glance down at the way our fingers are interlaced. There’s a gentleness to the gesture. It’s more of a union versus the dominant way he held my elbow earlier. That touch was appropriate then. This one is more appropriate now.
And it’s that more than anything that eases my reservations.
The man beside me is completely sane. He’s aware. He knows what the situation requires. What I require.
Hell, that’s more than I ever got from Jeffrey, as nice as he was.
We step on the stage and the DJ greets us by name. “Lady Luck and Master R have returned for their final toss of the ball. Go ahead, Lady Luck.” He hands the ball to me and I toss it in the spinning wheel.
Funny how I almost don’t care what it lands on now.
I trust the man behind me. Even if I land on something that completely terrifies me, I have a feeling he would make it work for me.
>
But I don’t.
The ball bounces and lands on the most ordinary act of all—you can’t even call it a kink: vaginal intercourse.
I actually laugh a little.
The Russian smiles, but there’s scheming in those blue eyes of his. Somehow, I doubt the sex will be straight vanilla. He’s going to make it kinky after all.
The shiver that runs through me is all excitement.
Master R leads me off the stage and down the steps.
“I’m going to run to the restroom,” I tell him.
“Meet me near the bar, I need to grab a few things.”
“No condoms?” I ask in surprise. Because what else could he possibly need?
He smirks. “I have condoms. And it’s a surprise. Meet me in five.”
“Yes, Master.” I say it with a smile. It’s a bit mocking, but maybe also flirty.
The look he gives me makes my heart beat faster. It’s the same inscrutable expression, with the air of indulgence. Very dominant. Very sexy.
I disappear to the restroom and when I return, I find him waiting for me in front of the bar.
He scans the open area of the club. Most of the benches and tables are in use.
He stops and looks at me thoughtfully. “Exhibitionism is not high on your kink list, true?”
I shake my head. “Not high, no.”
“Come.” He takes my elbow and leads me to an area Gretchen had mentioned with semi-private curtained rooms.
It might have scared me to be alone with him earlier, but now I’m only eager.
He pushes aside a curtain and leads me in. The moment we step inside, he tosses his bag of toys on the sofa and puts his hands all over me. Like we’ve been on a hot date and we just got back to my place.
He kisses me, backing me up against a wall as his palms coast over my ass, trail up my spine. My dress falls to the floor with a few quick tugs.
I welcome his hands on my skin. The hard steel of his body pressed up against mine. I tug his t-shirt up and he pulls it over his head.
He’s covered in tattoos. Across his chest, over his shoulders, down his arms. Some are primitive. Some have a more artistic flow.
He’s a dangerous beast, this man. A killer.
