Sucker for the Boss

by Blue Sky Books

  With his free hand (his other still making her rub his cock) he reached down and pulled his shorts down to his knees, and then casually stepped out of them. His cock sprung up, massive, intimidating. “I will fuck you now,” he said.

  “No—”

  He bent down in front of her, every one of his muscles hard and tense, and reached out to her. It was muggy in London this month, and Zelda had put on a summer dress today. Vladimir reached out and grabbed her thigh, his hand so strong it felt as though a clamp had been tightened around her. He moved his hand up, up, his eyes locked on hers the whole time, until he came to her pussy. He stroked the outside of her underwear. Zelda took a deep breath, her head suddenly dizzy. Her body sent out tendrils of pleasure unlike any she’d felt before when he touched her there.

  “You are wet,” he commented. “You are ready.”

  How did this happen? How did I get here? What the fuck?!

  But the man touching her pussy didn’t care about those questions. She could see it in the set of his jaw, in the hardness of her eyes. He only wanted to touch her pussy, to make her wet, and then to fuck her. But this couldn’t be happening. Zelda worked in an office. She lived with her little sister. She had a normal, boring life. Things like this didn’t happen to people like—

  He pushed her underwear aside and clamped his middle finger down on her clit. Fire burnt in her pussy, moving through her in shoots of flame. She bit down, hard, and closed her eyes. His hand was strong and took complete control of her pussy. She heard herself moaning, heard herself letting go, heard herself getting into it.

  “Good,” he said. “Now, come.”

  I can’t just come when he tells me—

  The orgasm struck her violently. Her body keeled over and her pussy went super-tight. Everything released, and his finger felt as though it was burning. She moaned loudly as the orgasm escaped her, body writhing, legs trembling. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she cried, but it didn’t sound like her. Oh, no, not good little Zelda, not normal Zelda. She wasn’t being touched by a Russian gangster—but she was. And there was no denying the pleasure.

  The orgasm passed. She opened her eyes and saw that he we was standing up. He grabbed her head. “Suck,” he commanded. His tone left no room for argument. It was the tone of a man used to giving commands, and used to having them followed. “Suck. Now.”

  He pushed her head toward his rock-hard, huge cock. Zelda was intimidated by its size, and surprised by the urge she felt inside of her. She wanted to suck it, she realized. She wanted to suck this man’s cock. But you’ve only known him for ten minutes. He doesn’t even know your name. He’s a killer, a criminal. But that didn’t seem to matter. She just saw a Hulk-like man, felt his immovable hands on her head, saw his humungous cock waiting for her.

  She opened her mouth and took his cock into it. She had to open her mouth wide, so wide that it hurt her jaw. But he didn’t care. He only cared about pleasure. He pushed his cock to the back of her throat, right back until she gagged, but he kept on. She choked, spitting onto his cock, but that urged him on. His moans were soft. He pulled his cock slowly from her mouth.

  “I am going to fuck your mouth now,” he said.

  Zelda let out a muffled squeal, half in shock, half in excitement which confused her even as it thrilled her. But he didn’t hear her squeals, or, if he did, he didn’t take any notice of them. He dug his fingers into her hair and pulled her down onto his cock, thrusting into her, fucking her mouth. She choked, her gagging noises filling the hotel room, and he kept on, fucking her mouth, hard. He fucked her mouth for around five minutes and then pulled out. Zelda fell to the side, breathing heavily, pre-come on her tongue. She swallowed it down.

  “Bend over,” he said. “Take off your underwear.”

  He stroked his cock casually as he gave these instructions. Zelda thought about running, thought about fleeing this man, but something compelled her to stay. He was not like any man she had ever met. A question rose on her lips. She licked them, and then forced herself to ask it. For some reason, she had to know. “How many men have you killed?” she whispered.

  “Thirty-seven,” he said. “Now bend over.”

  She didn’t have to be told a third time.

  She bent over and waited for his cock.

  *****

  The sex had been violent and passionate and hard. Zelda had never been fucked that hard before. He’d grabbed her hair and pulled on it as he fucked her, ramming his cock deep into her pussy. Now Zelda fell onto the couch, her pussy sore from the pounding and from the countless orgasms. She’d never come so much during sex before. Her pussy had been hot like hellfire. It had burnt, and then came over and over and over. Near the end, Vladimir Bragin had leaned forward, his rock-hard torso against her back, reached over her shoulders and grabbed her breasts. He had squeezed her nipples so hard as he came inside of her that she thought she might cry.

  Then he had granted, and now his come slid down her leg.

  “Good,” he said, standing up and rolling his shoulders. “You are a naughty slut.”

  Zelda turned and faced him. He stood giant-like over her. “I was here to give you a massage,” she whispered, more to convince herself of what had just happened than to say anything to him. “And then—”

  “You gave into your animal nature,” Vladimir said. He pulled on his shorts. “You cannot be being too hard on yourself, eh? We all have to give into our animal nature sometimes.”

  When he’d put his shorts down, he slumped down on the couch beside her, casually rested on hand on her still-bare ass cheek. “Your ass is tight, good to fuck,” he said. “Maybe next time I fuck your asshole, eh?”

  He moved his finger from her cheek to her hole, and then slipped his finger in. Zelda had never been into ass stuff. She had never seen the appeal of it. But when Vladimir did it, it was different. It was dangerous. It was illicit. Therefore, it was exciting. She felt her pussy jolt when he fingered her asshole, as though the two were connected. She smiled – a wry, cynical smile – and removed his finger. “You will be my slut from now on, yes? I will take you to dinner tomorrow night—here, at the hotel. Be here at eight in the evening.” He pulled his hand back and spanked her ass. She fell forward in mixed pain and pleasure. “And afterward I will fuck your tight asshole.”

  Zelda pulled her underwear on and stood up. She looked down at him. “What if I don’t come?” she said.

  “I cannot force you to be doing something you do not want to do,” he said, without looking at her. “But you will come, because you want it.”

  Zelda brushed down her dress and then left the hotel room. The guard stood at the opposite side near the elevator – at least he hadn’t listened – and said nothing to her as she waited for the elevator. On the way down, Zelda checked her phone (which she kept in her cleavage, as always). Only an hour and a half had passed. It felt more like a year.

  I won’t come back, she thought. He can find another slut. But she knew that was a lie.

  *****

  She ended up going back to Vladimir much sooner than she planned.

  When she walked around the corner to her house – a small two-bedroom – she at first couldn’t believe what she was seeing. That isn’t my house, she thought numbly. That isn’t the house where Odessa and I live. It can’t be. If somebody had casually walked past, they may not have noticed. But to Zelda, who had seen this house every day for two she saw immediately. The door was painted green (Zelda had chosen the color herself) and it was not flaky like Angela’s door. It was pure, untarnished green. But now – even from the end of the street she could see – the paint had been scraped, as though somebody had been dragged past it, struggling. And, worse, the door was rocking on its hinges in the wind.

  Zelda sprinted for the door, ignoring the aches in her body from her time with Vladimir. She barged into the house, her thoughts consumed with her sister. Odessa, she thought hysterically. Odessa, Odessa, no, no, baby sister, no. Where are you? Odessa, where are y
ou? She ran through the hallway and into the living room. The couch was on its side, a large knife mark in the fabric. The TV was toppled over. Juice lay on the floor in the shape of a petal, sinking into the carpet. Zelda imagined Odessa returning home, opening the door with the key she was so proud to have, and then making herself some juice. “Big sister will be home soon,” she may have muttered. And then . . . this.

  Zelda walked into the kitchen. There was no blood, but that was the only thing she could be happy about. Glasses lay smashed on the table, on the floor. She would have backed out right then – in her manic state she knew she might impale herself by accident – but there was a note pinned to the door. She grabbed it and retreated to the living room.

  You ignore me, FINE. Now the little bitch is MINE!!!!!!

  The note shook in Zelda’s hands. It went on:

  You have twelve hours to correct your mistake, or she is dead!!!!!

  Zelda fell against the wall, slid down it, and slumped to the floor. She had no idea who it was, no idea what madman would do this to a sweet little girl. Twelve hours—that wasn’t long enough. It took the police two hours to respond in this neighborhood. She had never had a good experience with the police in London. Her mother and father had had even worse experiences when they first moved here from Africa. But she had to call them. What else would she do?

  That’s when the idea came to her.

  It was foolish, it was crazy, it was ridiculous. And yet – and she knew this deep in her gut – it was her best chance of saving Odessa. She walked zombie-like to the phone and made to dial, and then realized she didn’t have the number. She whipped out her phone, connected to the internet, and quickly searched the name of the hotel. It appeared in a few moments, along with the phone number. She looked at the landline in her hand. Idiot! she thought. You’re wasting time!

  She dialed the number on her mobile, and waited for it to ring. After a few rings, a chirpy-sounding woman answered. It reminded Zelda of when she had worked in a café, and had had to be overly nice and friendly. Hello, what can I get for you today! I’m the happiest person alive!

  “Hello, this is Michelle—”

  “I need to talk to Vladimir Bragin!” Zelda cried. “Now!”

  There was a short pause, and then the woman went on, in a slightly subdued voice. “We cannot do that, miss,” she said, with what sounded like fear in her voice. “We have strict instructions—”

  “Tell him it is . . .” He doesn’t know my goddam name! She swallowed. It would be embarrassing, but Odessa’s life was at risk. “Tell him it is his slut from this afternoon.”

  “Miss—”

  “Tell him, or I’ll tell him how difficult you were!”

  “You wouldn’t,” the woman whispered.

  “I would!” Zelda screamed. “Get him!”

  The woman gulped – Zelda heard it down the phone – and then the hold music started. It was some awful jazz which was way too calm for the horrible situation Zelda was currently in. She felt like tossing the phone against the wall, but that would achieve nothing. Then there was a click, and a strong Russian voice.

  “I never got your name,” Vladimir said. “You are a brave woman, no? Disturbing me like this.”

  “My name is Zelda,” she breathed. “And I need your help.”

  “Help?From me?”

  “Yes, please. There isn’t much time!” She held the phone so tightly it dug into her palm. “My sister has been taken – kidnapped – and the police won’t give a—”

  “You have not had a good time with the police?” he asked, in that infuriatingly calm voice.

  “No, I haven’t,” Zelda said. “Not at all. Now, will you help me or not? I need to get my sister back. We only have twelve hours.”

  There was a sigh at the other end, and then that calm voice again. “I will send a car for you. We will find your sister. I admire your bravery, Zelda. What is your address?”

  She didn’t know this man. He could have sent assassins to kill her. He could have taken offense at her phone call. She didn’t know him. And yet she trusted him to do what was right. Madness, yes, but it is the best chance for Odessa.“My address is . . .” She gave him the full address, including postcode.

  “There will be a car there in ten minutes,” he said. “It will bring you to me. We will work on this problem together, yes?”

  Without waiting for her to reply, he hung up the phone. Zelda walked outside and sat on the step, her breath coming fast. If he didn’t come, she knew she would have to call the police. And the police would set up a perimeter, question her, blah-blah-blah, and all the while nothing would get done. Odessa would still be out there. She pictured Vladimir Steel Bragin, with his hulking body, his all-seeing eyes, and knew he was the man to help her in this situation.

  Ten minutes passed, and there was no car. Zelda sighed and began dialing 999, but then a black-windowed car pulled up slowly outside the house. She couldn’t see the driver, but she didn’t care. Her heart was hopping up and down in her chest, her palms were bleeding from where she’d clenched her fists, her teeth felt like they could shatter from how hard she was clenching her jaw. She didn’t care about the driver; she would’ve gotten into any car in that moment.

  She ran to the backseat and opened the door, and then slammed it behind her. The driver was the man from the elevator, the tattooed man. For some reason that made her feel more at east. “Hurry!” Zelda pleaded.

  “Yes-ma’am.”

  He speeded away from the street in a gust of tire-smoke.

  *****

  “Where are you taking me?” Zelda said,certain for a second that this was the worst mistake she had ever made. She saw it all unfold in her mind. She would be taken into the forest somewhere and stabbed – or shot – or burnt – and buried in a mound of nondescript earth. She felt foolish and naïve as she hadn’t in years.

  “Mansion-I-am-taking-you,” the driver slurred. “Calm-down-please.”

  Zelda couldn’t calm down until the mansion came into sight. It was a huge estate on the outskirts on London, with a voice-activated electronic gate and a wide paved driveway. The car slowed down at the front of the mansion, which was four stone pillars which reminded Zelda of pictures she’d seen of ancient Greece. She didn’t wait for the car to fully stop. She jumped out and paced up the stairs to the door. She was about to lay her hand on the lion-head handle when it opened.

  Vladimir stood before her – above her – in a pristine blue suit. She barged into the mansion, no longer caring about fear or manners or any of that nonsense. “Help me!” she exclaimed, waving her arms like a madwoman. “Please, Vladimir, help me!”

  He smiled softly and looked down at her with an almost-kind expression. “I will be helping you,” he said. “But you will be agreeing to something first.”

  Her body tingled at his words. It was plain in his eyes what he wanted her to agree to. It should have disgusted her. This wasn’t the time. There were more important things to talk about. She knew this. She knew it in her mind. But her body wasn’t as interested. Her body fed on his gaze, she realized. Her body hungered to be wanted in those eyes. Her clit felt hot again. She had fucked this many only a few hours ago, and yet her body already wanted more.

  “I need my sister back,” she said. “We haven’t got much time.”

  “We will get her,” Vladimir said. “I have a team ready. There are expert huntsmen. But I need you to agree first. I will not take a woman who does not agree.”

  “What do you want?” Zelda whispered. But she knew. Of course, she knew. There was only thing this man wanted from her. And, she saw, it was the only thing she could give her. This mansion was a palace. On his wrist he wore a watch that could have paid for her house. Even the driver had gold-plated teeth.

  He reached out – almost tenderly, but always with an undercurrent of power – and brushed his fingers against her cheek. “I want to fuck your tight asshole,” he said. “I want to see my cock opening your tight asshole
. Give that to me, and I will find her.”

  “Do you take me for a goddam whore?” Zelda said.

  Vladimir smiled, and there was genuine humor in it. “I would not ask this of you if you did not want it, too. You liked this morning more than you want to admit, Zelda. And you will like this more than you are willing to admit. Agree.”

  Zelda tried to tell herself she would agree for Odessa. And it was partly that, of course. She wanted her sister back from whatever psychopath had taken her. She wanted Odessa back. But she knew she would be lying if she said that was all it was. A large part of it was this man, with his behemoth build and his primeval eyes, with his unquenchable thirst for her body. She was hotter than the fieriest depths of hell for this man; that was the truth.

  “I agree,” she said.

  “Good.” Vladimir turned his back and walked to the left, to a hallway that looked like it led to a living room. “Follow me,” he called over his shoulder.

  Zelda looked around the cavernous room, and then to Vladimir’s receding back. What choice do I have?she thought, and then paced after him.

  *****

  Zelda had been sitting on the edge of the bed for a long time. She didn’t know how long exactly. The clock said it had been half an hour. Sunlight still streamed in through the wide windows in Vladimir’s bedroom. But it felt much longer than that. It felt like she had been sitting here for years. Every second that went by was a second Odessa was in danger. Vladimir had questioned her when she followed him into the main living room. His men had been sitting around – men in suits, covered in tattoos, with tough faces and some with guns – nodding as she spoke. None of them made any comments about her being there, or looked at her in a disrespectful way. Zelda guessed that the boss had told them not to. She was thankful for that.

  They had all nodded as one when she mentioned Clive, the man from her work who’d asked her out three times now. They had nodded like a teacher nodding after a child has admitted something. Why didn’t you just start with that? their nods seemed to say. But Zelda had never thought that Clive – a short white man with gangly, scrawny arms and legs and perpetual acne – could do anything this dramatic. She had rejected him, sure, but that was all. She hadn’t hurt him in any way. But it seemed they had made Clive their main suspect.