Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
They couldn’t tell, just from that sob, though, how deeply another slew of emotions mingled with the arousal that brutal hand on my ass and in my pussy had brought. Fear, of what I would have to do and of what would befall me because of it. Longing, simply to go home after these long months as Ivan Antonov’s fuck toy.
Pride, that the Guard had placed so much confidence in me.
“Da, da,” I heard the man who had just activated me say as he stood up. He continued, in Russian that sounded perfect to my anglophone ears. “But we fuck her after that, yes? In all the holes?”
I couldn’t keep another sob back, at the casual cruelty and degradation in his tone.
“Da,” replied the voice who had told ‘Grigoriy’ to take his fingers away. “Of course. But no coming for her.”
I tried to hold back the whimper that rose into my throat, but the command We want to hear you had terrible power over me even in its simplicity. I let out the kittenish sound, and worse, one of the involuntary bodily movements that even the good-girl wand couldn’t suppress made me push my bottom, poised over the end of the bench, out toward them, as if desperately offering my most private places to my owner’s business associates.
Ivan told us not to make her feel good.
I felt my face twist into a mask of woe at the terrible wrongness of it—and at the way that very thing, the brutality and the cruelty of the man who had bought me on the black market, made my body arch with desperate need for the pleasure denied and the pain imposed instead.
I heard two or three of them chuckle behind me.
“Look at that,” one of them said in broken English. “The little whore likes it, doesn’t she? Where does Antonov get them?”
The man who went by Grigoriy—though of course that stood very little chance of being his actual name—had stood up and moved away. They had put a mirror in front of me, a little round one on a stand, so that they could watch my face as they whipped me and used me. In it, I could see them, or at least the ones right behind me. I caught a glimpse of Grigoriy’s dark suit, but he turned and went to the side, out of the mirror’s field of view. I felt sure he wanted to make certain I couldn’t identify him, and it sent a chill of fear up my spine.
If Ivan figures out that I’m a mole, he will torture me, and I will talk… and I won’t be able to describe the man who activated me.
Presumably these five men represented a loose organization of Antonov’s business associates. ‘Grigoriy’ wouldn’t have had to do much to get himself included in the little party organized to enjoy the warlord’s largesse, in the form of this gangbang—a night of strict discipline and dominant pleasure with a trillionaire’s ultra-expensive fucking piece. Indeed, Ivan liked to loan his girls to men he scarcely knew, though without the extra benefit of the good-girl wand.
He saved that, his ultimate tool of degradation and dominance, for friends like the one who spoke next: Feodorov Devushkin, the only man of the five whom I had met previously. Ivan had shared me with him before, at the dacha where he kept me most of the time. The friends had enjoyed me together on their enormous cocks during a long night of rough fucking. It had left me so sore between my legs and my bottom-cheeks that I couldn’t walk without discomfort for three days.
“Take your turn with the birch, then, Boris,” Devushkin said in Russian, his voice sounding impatient. “I’m hard and I want to make her take me in that little ass.”
With the help of the wand’s control—its enforcement of the command Devushkin himself had issued to keep still—I suppressed the shudder that threatened to travel through my body at the thought of taking that huge, hard penis in my bottom. I had to maintain the lie that my Russian comprehension was at a very low level. As far as Ivan Antonov knew, the only bits of that difficult language I could understand were the filthy, degrading words he himself had taught me.
So I should, according to my owner’s knowledge, be able to say Please fuck me in the ass, Master and I want your beautiful cock inside me, but I shouldn’t be able to understand I’m hard or I want to make her take me. As far as I could tell Ivan still felt very confident that when he spoke Russian within earshot of me I had not the slightest idea what he said. I needed to keep it that way, despite the truth being the opposite: my Russian, thanks to my maternal grandmother with whom I had grown up, was better than my English.