by Maren Smith
He leans in. I have nowhere to go.
Closer. A breath away.
“Because you want more.”
I inhale to object, because it’s in my nature to do so, but he steals my thought, then my mind, my will, and finally my breath, as he presses his lips against mine in a kiss that is over all too soon.
“Come, Miss Ellerbrock. You will be late.” He takes my hand and places it in the crook of his arm, and then we walk.
Or he walks. I stumble after him, dazed. My senses are swamped by him: the taste of Russian gangster on my lips, his spicy scent in my nose, the muscles in his arm coiling beneath my fingers. I want to sniff him all over and fill my lungs with that edible scent, but I lift my chin and keep my nose to myself. I want to squeeze and see what he feels like, if he’s made of stone or flesh, but I force my touch to remain light.
He follows me inside, making a lap around the kitchen, his hands clasped behind his back, as if he’s surveying his new domain. After looking through the rooms in the basement, he disappears upstairs for a while. I make Cookie comfortable, then I get to work preparing dough, the whole time acutely aware of his existence somewhere in the vicinity.
“I will come to pick you up after work. Do you close at six? Do you always walk?”
I almost jump through the roof, my heart shooting to my throat. “Fuck!”
Misha holds up my tiara and puts a hand on my shoulder, turning me toward him. He tuts as he strokes some hair off my face and then carefully puts the tiara in place. “Such a foul mouth on such a pretty girl. I told you no swearing. Tonight, you will receive ten slaps for your disobedience. Say ‘yes, Daddy, I understand.’”
I stare at him, speechless. My mouth falls open but no words come out. He waits. For me. To be coherent.
“Carrie. With every second you wait with your answer, I will add a slap. I can be patient, but this is tiring.”
“Yes, Daddy, I understand!” I blurt out.
Hot and cold run along my back. The chill makes my heart tremble while the heat settles between my legs. What the hell did I just agree to?
A beautiful smile spreads across his face. “Good girl. I will work on your reward.”
I gasp and widen my eyes. “Reward?”
His smile turns into a smirk. “After you have taken your punishment.”
The pathetic mewl that climbs up my throat makes my cheeks burn in fierce competition with my pussy.
Chapter Four
Carrie
My Russian gangster sits in one of the armchairs. One moment he isn’t there, the next he is. I never heard the bell of the front door, and I wonder how the hell he snuck in so quietly.
“Miss Ellerbrock. Have you had a good day?”
“It’s been… interesting.” I put a hand over my heart, willing it to calm down.
He stands and stalks toward me. “How so?”
I fight the instinct to back away. “Just… been thinking.”
“Have you now? And what have you been thinking about?”
My cheeks heat up, and I know I’m blushing furiously. “Stuff,” I mumble and turn to flee. I don’t know where to, though. Misha Mikhailov has inserted himself into my life, and somehow I’ve let him. His hand clamps around my wrist, preventing me from escaping.
“What ‘stuff?’”
His voice is warm and rough at the same time, with dangerous edges and an alluring purr. It does funny things to my private parts.
“Like who you’ve been threatening today.”
“So, you’ve been thinking about me, then?” He sounds pleased, and how can I deny that? He’s been on my mind 24/7 since I first saw him.
His touch burns my flesh, his closeness seems to steal the air in the room. “I… need to lock up,” I whisper.
“Then by all means, do it.”
“You’re holding me.”
He’s so close, almost chest to chest, towering over me, wrapping me in his demanding presence and enticing scent. Every detail of his tailored suit jacket, the dark gray tie in a discreet rhomboid pattern, the top button of his shirt visible where the tie hangs slightly askew, stands out unnaturally clear, like in a feverish dream. Suddenly he lets me go and holds out his hand in a gesture for me to pass him. I twitch to action and hurry to complete the closing procedures, locking the double locks, pulling down the security bars, putting today’s measly earnings in a bag for later deposit at the bank, and stuffing it in the safe. All the while, I’m acutely aware of Misha studying my every move.
When I’m done, he walks up to me and raises his arms. I fight to not flinch. I never know what he’s up to, and his promise of a punishment has remained at the forefront of my mind the whole day. All he does, though, is carefully untangle the tiara from my hair and tuck some loose strands behind my ear.
“Time to go,” he says.
I follow him mindlessly, like a faithful dog, through the store and past my office, where he pauses to neatly place the tiara on the desk.
My neighbor looks like a cat with a bowl of cream, her gaze darting between me and Misha when we return Cookie.
“Not a word,” I tell her.
“About damn time,” she retorts. “He looks like someone who would take care of you, and God knows you’d need it.
“Tomorrow,” I mutter, and leave.
“What did the two of you talk about?” asks Misha when we begin the last leg of the walk, the final couple of minutes before we’re at my house.
“Stupid things.”
“Indulge an old man.”
“None. Of. Your. Business. And you’re not that old.”
“When we get inside, I want you to pull your pants down and bend over my knee.”
“What? No!”
“This is what you agreed to. You need discipline. I will provide it.”
“No!” My heart speeds up almost impossibly, thrashing inside my rib cage. “I don’t need you spanking me!”
“Well… suck it up, my printsessa. This is happening. You can panic, or you can be rational about it.”
I’m not rational about it. It’s as if a volcano has erupted in the pit of my belly and lava spreads to my pussy, making it spasm with heat. My mind tells me to run, but my brain has left the building, and I’m nothing but a flurry of hormones, riding the heatwave that both the Californian summer and the Russian’s appearance in my life have created.
In my hallway stand three pitch black suitcases, all the same size, neatly placed with the same distance between them. I stop so abruptly that Misha walks right into me. I stare at the three menacing-looking items, knowing full well what I’m seeing, and at the same time unable to take in the turn of events. Then I spin to face the infuriating gangster.
“You’re not moving in here!” Then it dawns on me. “Do you have my keys?”
He doesn’t even blink at my outburst as he removes his suit jacket and puts it on a hanger, then closes the door to the outside world.
“I had a copy made for myself, and of course I am. Now, you can either go peacefully, or I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you into the living room, but you’re going either way.”
“You’re kidding me!” I try to find any sign that he’s just joking, a humorous glint in those clear green eyes, a little twitch in the corner of his mouth, partly hidden by the beard, but he looks dead serious and my stomach plummets.
“I’m not. I will not hesitate to use force, but it’s better if you learn to submit, little one. Thirteen slaps on your naked butt for your repeated use of curse words this morning.”
“Fuck you!” I snarl and try to dart to the side and get past him. But he’s faster. Much faster. The next moment he has me pinned against the wall, his body covering mine, his delicious, terrifying hard planes meeting with my soft flesh. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, so naked, before in my life.
“Miss Ellerbrock.” His lips move against my ear, the beard tickling my skin, and I go still in fearful and ridiculously aroused expectation of what’s to come
next. “I never back down. I can’t be bargained with. I punish people for a living. You will not be able to talk your way out of this, and you cannot run. Thirteen slaps on your bare behind. The last curse you used goes on tomorrow’s tally. Thirteen slaps, then I will reward you for calling me daddy so obediently. Now, say ‘yes, Daddy, thank you, Daddy,’ and do as I tell you.”
I want to fight it, I really do. I’m a modern woman. I don’t need to be taken care of. I’m not supposed to be punished like some Victorian schoolgirl. But everything he says strikes a chord in me. I long for a clearer path, for some order, and for someone to manage me the way I’ve always dreamt of. My tongue forms the words, over and over. I’m not fighting him so much as I’m fighting myself. Suddenly my whole resistance drains out of me, and I sag in his hold, giving in, fully and completely.
“Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.”
He smiles beautifully, making my heart somersault. “That’s my good girl.”
Misha
Her eyes are glazed as she pulls up her skirt to her waist, pushes down her panties and, with hesitant, jerky moves, bends over my lap. She takes her time, draping herself across my thighs, her body tense like a piano wire. I let her fight herself, and when she’s finally settled into an awkward position, I grab her hips and pull her to me, arranging her the way I want her. My cock strains my pants, and I want to do so much more than just make the skin of her ass sting, but I’m a man of honor. Somewhat. This session is about punishment, and to train her to submit to my will.
I’ll fuck her later.
I will teach her my preferences, learn all about what she likes, explore every inch of her voluptuous body, and make her weep with need for me.
Carrie Ellerbrock is a one-of-a-kind woman, an unexpected find in this suburban hellhole, an uncut diamond that I plan to polish into a shining gem.
“Such a good girl,” I coo as I stroke my palm across her pale ass, bared for me. She trembles and her chest heaves with every breath. I don’t think it’s only fear. I don’t think it’s mostly fear. When I spanked her back in her office that first day, the scent of her arousal hit me like a sledgehammer. She wants this badly, but has never dared to ask for it.
“Syrniki, Carrie, is your safeword. You know what it’s used for? Repeat it.”
“Mm-hmm.” Her breaths come in short gasps. “Syrniki? I’ll never remember that. What is that even?”
“It’s sweet pancakes. My favorite dessert. It’s what I think of when I think of you. Do you want something else?”
She’s silent a few moments. “Okay. Syrniki.”
“Good girl,” I whisper.
My arm raised; I bear down on her right ass cheek. Hard. She jerks and gasps. I wait for her to settle, then I repeat the slap on the left side. A groan escapes her, but she doesn’t fight me, doesn’t try to get up.
“Count for me, printsessa. Count and remember why this is happening.”
“Bastard,” she grits out.
I tut.
“Two,” she adds in a rush.
I bring my hand down again. Right, left, right, left, waiting for her count, the words are gasped with increasing strain. Her skin blooms red, warm, no doubt stinging. Beautiful.
“Thirteen,” she finally squeals. “Ow!”
“Such an uneven number,” I say teasingly.
“No! It’s enough! I’ll be good.”
I smile as I caress her reddened skin, making her shudder. I wait. She should know what to do.
“Daddy,” she adds. “I’ll be good, I promise.”
My smile broadens into a grin. My balls ache, and I’m fighting my inner beast hard, pushing him down. I want to fuck her so bad, but it will have to wait. She deserves her reward.
“Good, good girl. Now get up and come with me.”
She lurches to her feet, her face as flushed as her bottom, her blonde locks in disarray. She makes a move to pull up her panties, then hesitates, looking at me for confirmation. I nod, ridiculously pleased with her obedience.
“Upstairs bathroom,” I say. “After you.”
I haven’t only been dishing out cruelty for the local gang of not-so-organized crime today. I have made some other arrangements too.
She stops in the doorway and her pretty mouth falls open, then she turns to me, her big blue eyes wide and confused. “When—What did you—”
I shrug, feigning indifference, but I’m pleased with myself. I had someone come by and install a clawfoot bathtub. I’ve also cleaned up her mess of laundry, half-empty bottles, and used Q-tips, put some scented candles on a shelf, and bought her new towels. It is a minor effort that has worked wonders. I like a home tidy, and I’m no stranger to pulling up my sleeves and doing whatever is needed. Today, she needed this. She’s been forced to deal with me, and I’m no breeze. I want to show her that she can also relax, that good can come out of this, too.
“Did you do this?”
I nod.
“For me?”
I tilt my head again in acknowledgement.
“Oh. My. God. I love it.”
I move past her and pick up the lighter I left in one of the drawers, lighting the candles. A scent of jasmine soon surrounds us, and the yellow light flickers invitingly, reflected in the white-tiled walls.
“I will be downstairs. Take a bath, relax. This is your reward. I can both give and take. This is me giving. If you keep on being my good girl, there will be more rewards in the future. I keep my promises. Dinner will be ready in about forty minutes.”
Her mouth is still open in surprise. “Oh… okay. Wow.”
“What do you say?”
The answer comes immediately, her cheeks flushing furiously. “Thank you, Daddy.”
I have to leave while I still can. Almost doubled over from need, I make my way to the kitchen and hear the water run upstairs.
I wanted to make her a Russian meal for our first dinner, and I have already prepared it. Borscht – beet soup – can be served hot or cold, but with the heat melting the asphalt in the streets, I wanted it cold, so it will take me ten minutes at most since all I have to do is put the cutlery and the pot at the table. I told her forty because she needed it. I want her to come back down soft, unafraid, and ready. I have had fearful people all around me for as long as I can remember. I don’t want Miss Ellerbrock to be afraid. I want her to want me.
The realization makes me stagger, and I have to sit as I struggle with the implications. I’m a loner. It’s the only thing I know. My family is a fucked-up mess. My life is violence. Finding myself on the other side of the hemisphere, alone and frustrated, has screwed up my bearings more than I thought. What am I doing here? What makes me want to toy with this young woman? What possessed me to bare her ass and force myself on her the way I did? Everything about her draws me in. Her eyes plead with the natural protector in me, her full curves make the predator I hide throw himself at the bars of his cage. My veneer of civility is thin, and being around her has already made it crack in several places.
The table is set. Everything is ready. Except I’m not. I stand, with half a mind to go grab my suitcases and get the hell out of here, when she suddenly stands in the doorway.
Soft, a flowery scent accompanying her, a short white dress hugging her hips and breasts.
Demure, yet proud and unafraid.
Everything I ever wanted.
I can stay.
It’s only for a few months anyway.
I smile, and something in my chest swells. A bar in that cage breaks. It’s the first, and I fear it won’t be the last. My beast roars in delight.
“Welcome. Please, have a seat.”
Chapter Five
Misha
I sleep in her guest room, eat breakfast and dinner at her table, walk her and the dog to and from work, deliver delicious spankings when needed – every day, it turns out – but I make no move to touch her sexually.
And it’s killing us both.
Death can be slow and sweet, packaged in pink and gol
d, shaped like a woman.
Everything inside me is wrapped up in tightly coiled knots, but between the two of us, I believe that young Miss Ellerbrock is worse off. At least I can take out some of my frustration at work.
Her eyes follow me wherever I go, and she has stopped trying to hide that she’s staring. She consumes me with her gaze, and as the heat rises outdoors to unbearable levels, a tropical storm rises inside that no air conditioner can manage.
Her skirt is up, her white cotton panties pulled down to right where her deliciously rounded ass cheeks meet her thighs. The musk wafting up from between her legs is maddening.
“I’ve been bad, Misha,” she says. “I was supposed to work on the accounting, but it was too hot and the air conditioner needs fixing. It distracted me.” Little beads of sweat dampen her hair and make it curl like a blonde halo along the hairline of her forehead, at her temples and in her neck. It looks absolutely adorable.
I hide my smile. I know what she really wants. She knows that I know.
But I want to hear it. I want words sweeter than sugar to spill from her lips: stop teasing me, Daddy; touch me, Daddy; fuck me, Daddy.
“I like how you say my name, printsessa. It sounds funny.”
“Meeeeesha.”
I turn her away and push her flush against the dinner table, raising my hand.
Swat.
“Hey!”
“But for you, it’s Daddy,” I growl.
“I—”
Swat.
“Ow!”
Swat.
“Stop!”
Swat.
“Daddy!” she cries, “Stop, please, Daddy!”
My insides heat up along with her delicious whimpers. Something in me grows warmer with each passing day, opens up to her, wants more, wants to let her in.
“That’s my good, good girl.”
“Ow.” She squirms and clenches her slightly flushed ass cheeks.
I drag the tips of my fingers across her heated skin, then blow on it lightly. “Let me make it better, printsessa.”
