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)
I shut the video feed off.
I had never done that before, while watching friends use one of my concubines.
I thought about calling my chauffeur. He and my best limo currently waited, engine idling as a show of sheer contemptuous superiority to the rest of the energy-starved world, outside Feodorov’s city palace. He would send Heather down when they had finished with her, which could lie hours in the future, once they had inundated her thoroughly punished body with their seed.
I thought about taking one of my other limos over to Feodorov’s myself, of going up to have a share of Heather with them.
I could hardly imagine a more obvious show of weakness, could I? My eyes widened in shock that my mind had even entertained the feeble notion.
Should I give Heather to a lowly lieutenant? Ask to watch her whipped within an inch of her life and then brutally gangbanged by her new master and his friends?
I wouldn’t give away the wand, of course. They had told me it would only work on the right kind of girl, and I had verified the information with a few attempts on other concubines and even a henchman. I could probably find another slut like Heather, one who needed domination so much that her cunt visibly wet her panties at the news she would be shared that night, as Heather’s had that afternoon when I had told her of the night to come.
I would find another little whore, and she and I would watch Heather taught a terrible lesson for her slightest misbehavior to her new master. Without the wand, he would have to strap her down, but her birching and her punishment fucking would proceed all the same, as she screamed out her penitence.
The recollection, to my dismay, didn’t arouse me at all.
Her penitence.
Her penitence for what? For what crime?
For making me fall in love with her. I swallowed hard. I thought not of the many strict sessions with the birch or with my open hand I had bestowed on Heather’s adorable bottom over the past four months since acquiring her, but of the dinners, candlelit, at my elegantly furnished table. The lovely gowns she had worn over lovelier lingerie, all of course with the purpose of having them ripped from her body later before I plunged my cock into her luscious cunt or fucked her face as she knelt before my chair.
I thought of her golden hair, her hazel eyes, the shy smile she had given me when I had put a diamond choker gently around her neck, fastening the clasp and, unable to help myself, kissing her forehead before I pulled back to look down into her lovely face.
Of the way she looked at me and asked her innocent questions about old Russia and my family’s part in its storied history… how from serfs in the service of the family whose brutal scion would found the criminal empire I now ruled, my own family had risen in status over generations. Of how with her lively eyes and articulate speech, her patience with my broken English, she made me want to ask questions of her, too—and how her answers made me feel that despite age and distance Heather and I somehow belonged together.
I reached out, trying to break the fugue I had fallen into, thinking about Heather not as the owned bed girl she should be but as somehow worthy of more. I meant to turn the screen back on, but my hand fell again without touching the button.
Fuck.
Heather
The man in my bottom rode me very hard. Ivan had gotten me used to taking his massive hardness in my smallest hole, and whoever this was—one of Feodorov’s friends, I thought, though except for Feodorov and now ‘Grigoriy’ I didn’t know any of their names—didn’t possess Ivan’s endowment, thank God.
Still I cried out, though, from the discomfort of the cock surging pitilessly in and out of my anus and even more from the humiliation of receiving a buttfucking from a man whose name I didn’t know. I knew these aggressive, arrogant men who so obviously thought themselves dominants wanted to hear me acknowledge their mastery.
Making the sort of noises I knew would arouse them soothed away some of the pain; I had learned that early on in my service to Ivan Antonov. It gave me my own paradoxical feeling of submissive power over the men who punished and used me. Less comfortably for me, also, it aroused me, too, and made the whole degrading experience not just bearable but—more than half to my distress rather than my enjoyment—a source of shameful pride and humiliating pleasure.
I wouldn’t have been able to come with this thug in my ass, even if they hadn’t used the wand to forbid it. I did sometimes orgasm when Ivan fucked my ass. If I had behaved myself according to his standards that day, he would, as a reward, often instruct me to play with my clit and my pussy as he enjoyed me.