Sold To The Russian

by Isabella Laase

  “That snapping your finger habit is a little annoying,” she mumbled, crossing her arms over her breasts to hide what she could. “Maybe you can work on some other form of communication.”

  His arched eyebrow was way too close to his dissatisfied expression just after she’d thrown the vase, and despite his calm tone, she shuddered involuntarily as he continued. “Since this is our first time together, I’d planned on being gentle until I gained a better understanding of your needs, but you’re trying my patience. Even you can’t complain that I’m somehow being vague, so I won’t ask again. Are you ready to continue or are you choosing a punishment? We both know that after a hard spanking, you won’t have any of this sass left to torment me.”

  He stood with his own arms crossed to give every appearance that he would wait for her to choose. His patience confused her, but the space was necessary. A few days from now, she might have the strength to refuse both of his options with a self-righteous fervor and maybe even another broken vase, but at that moment, her arousal was so deeply intertwined with his demands that there was no turning back. With a deep breath, she returned to her knees and lowered her chin to keep it from trembling.

  “Good girl,” he murmured, straddling her body to rub his rough jeans along her skin. Using his toe, he nudged her thighs a little further apart to reveal a glistening wet dew decorating the unruly nest of curls covering her pussy. “Look at that fucking wetness, Zoya. I am going to enjoy myself.”

  He covered her breast with his palm, squeezing firmly to make her gasp and teasing the hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it reached a sharp peak. She instinctively tried to back away from the pain, but he ruthlessly pursued her. “Stop,” he growled, increasing his force until she’d returned to his desired location. “You’ve had more than enough warnings.”

  When he repeated his attentions on her other breast, she willed herself to be still, but the sensitive nub was even less tolerant than the first. Before she’d fully thought through the consequences, she pulled away a second time, and his grumbling displeasure was immediate. He wedged his foot against her knees, pushing her stomach to the floor and pulling her wrists to the small of her back. It all happened so quickly that he’d delivered six or seven hard spanks across her bottom before she even thought of trying to fight him, but her ineffective wiggling only spurred his punishment.

  With no options, she stopped struggling and resorted to begging. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered as he continued to burn her ass with his oversized palm. “I’ll listen. I promise.”

  It took him a painfully long minute or two, but he eventually released her, allowing her sore ass to rub uncomfortably against the afghan. Sliding a single finger down her abs, he crossed onto her inner thighs, nudging them apart until she’d spread the muscles to the point of discomfort. His giant hand palmed her vulva to deliver a very welcome pressure, and his middle finger traced her overt wetness.

  “I’m assuming that we won’t need to repeat that little exercise in deference, at least for today. I’m not going to chase you, Zoya. I’m going to fuck you, and it makes me hard to find all of this wet need.” Separating the hairs protecting her channel, he teased along the outer folds of her labia. “I prefer a cleanly shaven pussy that doesn’t hide your arousal, but we can take care of that tonight. Come, I’m done being patient.”

  Bending her knees, he settled her ankles next to her bottom before wrapping each of her wrists with his rope, twisting her arms to the outsides of her thighs and moving her hands to the insides of her calves. “Hold on to your ankles, or I can promise you that an alternative won’t be nearly as comfortable.”

  Anxious to earn his approval, she grasped her ankles as he continued to wind his soft rope in and around her legs, arms, and waist, pulling the slack a little tighter with each maneuver to leave a tattoo of swirling designs across her skin. Playing with her breasts, he snaked around their fullness, drawing closer to the light brown of her areola until his intricate webbing covered her entire body. Running his fingers between the rope and her delicate skin, he adjusted the design until she was fully trussed, her back to the floor and her pussy spread for his inspection. Her wrists were firmly secured to the inside of her calves, but she continued to grasp her ankles with a death grip.

  “That’s my good girl,” he said, massaging the tense muscles on her upper arms and inner thighs until he reached her labia with long, sensuous strokes. “You’re stunning exposed to me like this, and I can build this need slowly so that when I drive my cock into all of that wetness, you will explode.”

  His tightly wound rope countered the featherweight touch to create an entirely new sensation, swirling in a rolling, endless need that traveled from her clit to her breasts and back to her channel. Pain or pleasure, she was ready to embrace anything to bring them to a single focus. “Just… please… just get on with it already.”

  “Begging will get you everywhere,” he said with a smirk, taking a pair of old-fashioned wooden clothespins from his box. “These will leave a wonderful bite.” His hot mouth covered her swollen nipple. He sucked hard, leaving a red, punishing mark before sliding his teeth along the sensitive edge and repeating the attack on her other breast. Twisting each nipple, he ignited the blood even further before he slapped them, gently at first but increasing his demands until they’d reached two identical rigid peaks.

  Holding her breath, she watched with a mixture of fascination and horror as the clothespins delivered to her sensitive nipples a shocking pain. With her muscles tensed, she tried to embrace his torment, but ultimately, she could no longer remain silent. “Please, no…” she whimpered, struggling to find the words, “…can’t do it.”

  “Wait for it,” he demanded. “Breathe through this and wait.”

  Shallow gasps followed as she struggled to adjust, but he massaged her tense abdominal muscles and stroked her sex. Deeper breaths brought more air to her lungs until the sharp pain was reduced to something that was far from unpleasant, the overall effect sending another firestorm of urgency directly to her clit.

  Back lit by the moonlight, he slipped out of his shirt and dropped it to the floor to reveal his familiar tats and massive shoulders. He slid his belt through the loops of his worn jeans and tossed the leather aside before kicking off his pants to release his fully erect penis. Nestled in a pillow of curly dark hairs and decorated with a tiny drop of glistening wetness, the overwhelming length and breadth of his shaft caused her a moment of uncertainty, but her pussy seized in anticipation as her hunger for his velvety smoothness became her only goal.

  He took from the box a man’s electric razor and settled between her sensitive inner thighs. She startled at the tickling vibrations between her legs, but his restraints held her firmly in place. He shaved the length of her pussy, brushing away the hairs with his palm and holding the folds between his fingertips until they were smooth with a short strip of closely trimmed curls decorating the apex to her vulva.

  “Now I can see,” he said, pushing his finger through her wetness until he settled on the throbbing nub. “And taste. Have you ever had anybody suck on your clit, Zoya?”

  Entering her vagina with his middle finger, he palmed her swollen lips before retreating to tease along her channel. She raised her hips to join him, but he pushed her back to the floor as he reached deep into her wetness with one finger, then two, simultaneously pumping against her vulva to stimulate her pleasure. Her involuntary soft moans began slowly, building until her hips rocked in unison to his finger-fucking.

  His finger left her vagina, tracing her channel until he found her puckered hole. Pushing against her sphincter, he spread her need to a hidden place that brought more confusion than pleasure. Desperate to expel the vulnerability that came from his demand, she fought against him, but his exploration appeared to have no end, stretching her from the inside out and taking her breath away. “I love a good ass fucking, Zoya,” he said softly, ending his incursion. “When I get you stretched out, you
’ll take my dick back there. You may as well accept that as your reality.”

  He removed the clothespins to allow a painful release of blood before assaulting her with more ruthless demands, licking and sucking the abused nubs with a satisfying warmth and negotiating downward to settle on her freshly shaved pussy. His tongue swirled as he tasted her channel, pulling and stroking her clit until the underlying pleasure consumed her. Stretching her inner thighs, she held her breath against the pulsing contractions and prepared for her climax, but when he stopped his dual attack, the sensation subsided, leaving her with an endless, unfilled need.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged, fighting his ropes in a failed attempt to stroke her own sex. “Please…”

  After slipping a condom over his shaft, he returned to explore her pussy with his hardness, prodding her clit and returning her to the perfect state of pleasure. His cock pushed past the sensitive entrance to her vagina, exploiting her emptiness until he’d filled her with his breadth. The primal reward was so welcome, so overwhelmingly pure, and she contracted her muscles around his shaft. His balls nestled against her freshly shaved pussy, bringing to life thousands of newly exposed nerve endings and a copious wet response filled her channel to provide more slick friction.

  He withdrew to begin again and again, increasing his speed and forcing his cock even deeper. As she adjusted to his size, the intensity pulled from her a frightening, endless passion that she’d never experienced. The power built, drawing her entire focus to the endless, throbbing pressure and consuming her with a foggy daze. The effects of his restraints multiplied her arousal, but she made a desperate attempt to evade the sensual overload, fighting hard to keep the end at bay.

  “Fucking come for me, little girl,” he demanded, applying more pressure to her clit. “You don’t want me to spank an orgasm out of you tonight.”

  His single touch caused her to cry out, and he swirled his middle finger against her nub, in and around its swollen edge to effectively defeat any sense of self-control. The contractions escalated, the combination of pain and pleasure continuing one after the other. She threw her head back, giving herself to him completely as his own orgasm came with a roar, and he fucked her hard through the spasms with an untamed fury.

  He collapsed on top of her, still fighting to regain his breath, his cock pulsing inside of her to keep them connected as one. Pinned to the floor by his weight, she was safe from the outside world, covered by his warm frame and both of them glistened with a sheen of sweat. Her heart continued to race as her body slowly relaxed its emotional and physical grip.

  Too soon he undid her restraints and rubbed the red lines left from his ropes. The blood flow from her cramped arms and legs slowly returned to normal, and she stretched her sore muscles with the contentment of a sleepy kitten. Wrapping the big afghan over her nude frame, he snuggled her into his side on the hard floor. She fit perfectly in his embrace, her leg settled over his so she could rub her sore, wet pussy into his thigh.

  Covered by the gentle ocean breezes, she’d grown drowsy in a perfect state of euphoria when he finally rose, offering her a hand and helping her to her feet. “Go to bed, Zoya. And sleep in tomorrow. I won’t be home until late, so make sure you eat and take care of yourself. I’ll leave my cell phone number on the table if you need anything.”

  Fighting a mixture of confusion and disappointment, she nodded and went upstairs, unsure what to say or how to challenge the dictate. The tiny room was painfully silent as she got ready for bed while he secured the first floor. Still nude, she curled under the covers to embrace the cool sheets and listened through the thin walls for him to come to his bedroom. The shower in his adjoining bathroom turned on and eventually off again, and she enjoyed the mental picture of his glistening muscled frame wrapped in a towel before he settled under the messy silver and taupe silk bedspread.

  When his room grew quiet, she closed her eyes to fully appreciate the rewards that came from taking a chance. She’d long since forgotten the joys of living outside of her comfort zone, embracing the rush of adrenaline that came from experiencing something new and exciting. The world was full of adventures, and she’d missed too much of life during her months in St. Petersburg. She had no idea what changes tomorrow would bring, but she’d never forget the intense pleasure when he’d brought her to an endless climax. She had no regrets.

  As she lazily approached a deeper sleep, the nighttime sounds of singing insects lulled her further into comfort, and she realized that not once during their tryst on the living floor had she compared this giant, powerful man to his brother. Rolling over in bed, she fell asleep with a content smile.

  Chapter 9

  Over the next few days, their relationship evolved from open hostility to an aura of détente. She’d spent her mornings and afternoons alone, watching American television and evaluating the efficiency of his kitchen and pantry, but their evenings were peacefully quiet, often in front of a baseball game where he patiently explained the rules of the game. But there had been no more magical sex on the floor of his living room, and his bossiness continued to be aggravating, at best. During a simple dinner of canned soup and cheese sandwiches, he’d announced her appointment with a local doctor, adding an unnecessary amount of finger snapping to make his point, and nothing she said could change his mind.

  Like a true friend, Galena had driven her to the office in her tiny white Volkswagen. With a bag of makeup, she continued with her unyielding determination to transition Zoya to American culture, applying a bright red fingernail polish while they sat on hard plastic chairs in the waiting room. “You do understand that they have all of this in Georgia, right?” Zoya said dryly, blowing on her wet nails. “I’m just not a fan, but will you come in the examining room with me and translate? I don’t think I can do this by myself.”

  “Yeah, well, in New York, cleaning yourself up a little isn’t optional, so stop wiggling,” scolded Galena, with a wave of her tiny brush. “And the doctor is Russian. My whole family uses this practice, but I’ll still come in with you if you’re really nervous.”

  “Of course he’s Russian,” said Zoya, rolling her eyes. “Is there anybody in this town who isn’t Russian?”

  “You haven’t seen anything. New York is amazing if you get out of Brighton Beach. Even a few blocks away feels like a different country, but if you go all the way to Manhattan, there are iconic skyscrapers, a great zoo, museums, amazing food, and endless entertainment, plus millions of people from all over the world. You could spend years and not see everything, but you gotta learn how to pick a native New Yorker out of a crowd.” She changed her accent to imitate an outlandish, almost nasally tone. “Yo, Carmine. Come and see my Yankees season tickets.”

  “You sound like you have a cold,” dismissed Zoya with a skeptical frown. “People don’t really talk like that, do they?”

  “It loses something when you try to do New York accents in the Russian language. Trust me, New York is a crazy, fun place, if you can escape everything eastern European.”

  Waving the bottle of nail polish, Galena motioned for her other hand and lowered her voice. “But if I’m going in the exam room, do you need birth control or any kind of testing? I know it’s none of my business, but the gossips are asking questions, and according to my father, you’re married to Pavel.”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” she said, not meeting her friend’s eye. “It’s hard to explain what I don’t totally understand myself, but legally, yes, we’re married. It’s all just a mess, Galena.”

  “You aren’t the first girl around here to find herself in a marriage that doesn’t make any sense,” Galena said with a sigh. “I mean, I know he’s good-looking and everything, but that doesn’t excuse the kind of misogynistic, alpha male-dominated world that comes with being Russian. It’s like living in a cloistered village right out of the nineteenth century. No matter what my father says, my future husband’s going to have generations of pure American blue blood running through his ve
ins, maybe even going back to the Dutch families who settled around here, like, three hundred years ago.”

  Surrounded by more confusion than answers, Zoya wiped at her eyes, taking care not to smudge her fingernails. “I’m sorry,” Galena said, gently taking her hand. “That was insensitive, but I can keep a secret from all of the gossips in Brighton Beach, so you don’t need to worry about me blabbing anything. I can also cover the basics with the doctor, but is there anything else he needs to know about?”

  Zoya shrugged, but the hated tears spilled over to stain her cheeks. As a lasting curse from her weak moment over Pavel’s knee, it was harder to fight them. “Hey,” said Galena, grabbing a packet of tissues from her bag. “Don’t cry, honey. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  “No,” she said, desperately wiping her eyes with the ball of her thumb. “And this is why women shouldn’t wear mascara. I bet I look like a smudged clown. It’s fine. I… yes, they should probably check for sexually transmitted diseases, and there is a real possibility that I had cracked or broken ribs just before I left Russia.”

  Galena gave Zoya her full attention, and the combination of true kindness and support encouraged her to continue. “And I don’t know about birth control. I’ve never even started my periods. By the time we realized that something was probably wrong, my mother had died, my country had broken into civil war, and my father was escaping with me and my younger sisters to the coast where we were basically homeless war refugees. There just wasn’t a lot of opportunity to look into it.”