“It’s time,” Mikhail growled, “to show you what that sassy mouth of yours is for.”
A flicker of defiance sparked in me, the last vestiges of my pride trying to rally, and I let it spring to life.
“I—” I started to protest.
He didn’t wait for me to finish. He didn’t give me the chance.
With a deep rumbling groan, he pushed forward, the head of his cock breaching my lips, sliding over my tongue, and pressing against the back of my throat.
I gagged instinctively, a violent, convulsive spasm that tried to expel the massive foreign object shoved inside my mouth.
He didn’t pull back. He didn’t let me breathe.
He just held himself there, a heavy, unyielding presence in my mouth, his hand coming up to frame my face, his thumb stroking my cheek in a gesture that was both strangely gentle and utterly possessive.
“Easy, malyshka,” he murmured. “Breathe through your nose. You can take it.”
My eyes watered, tears stinging the corners. My hands, which had been clutching the sheets, flew up and slapped against his waist in a desperate, panicked attempt to push him away, but he was an immovable wall of muscle, making my resistance pathetically futile.
“You can,” he insisted. “And you will.”
He pulled back just enough to let me draw a frantic, desperate breath through my nose. Then he pushed himself back in, forcing me to accommodate his impossible size, to stretch my jaw and to relax my throat. Out, in, out, in, then all the way down, slowly, until my nose was pressed against his pelvic bone and his entire enormous cock was down my throat.
Oh. My. God.
The taste of him was overwhelming, a musky, masculine flavor that was both intimidating and intoxicating. I was a whirlwind of conflicting sensations. The gag reflex. The lack of air. The humiliation. And beneath it all, the strange, dark thrill of being used like this that was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
After holding himself as deep as he could go, he started to move again. He pulled out until just the tip was resting on my lips, then slid back in. All the way. Not hard, not fast, but with a slow, deep, thoroughness that was meant to conquer me. He was slow-fucking my mouth, establishing his dominance, claiming this part of me as surely as he would claim the rest.
I stopped fighting.
I couldn’t win.
My hands fell to his hips, my fingers clenching and unclenching around his bones. I let my body go limp in a surrender that was total and terrifying. He must have felt the shift in me, the change in my resistance because he reached out to stroke my hair, an almost tender gesture that was more shamefully arousing than any rough treatment could have been.
“Good girl,” he crooned. I wish I could have denied to myself the spasm those words elicited from my needy pussy.
He picked up the pace, the rhythm of his thrusts becoming a little faster, a little deeper. His hands held my head in place, his fingers tangling in my hair, controlling my movements and ensuring I took every inch of him. The sounds we were making were obscene, from the wet, rhythmic glide of his cock in my mouth to the soft, desperate whimpers I couldn’t suppress. My jaw ached and my throat was starting to feel a little raw, but the fire between my legs was slowly becoming a raging inferno.
Then he started to fuck my face.
He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back at an angle that gave him better access. There was nothing slow about it now. His hips pumped, a brutal, relentless rhythm that drove his cock deep into my throat with every thrust. My eyes watered uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the saliva that dribbled from the corners of my mouth.
He was using me.
He was treating me like a toy.
And I was loving every second of it.
My hands were no longer pushing him away. They were gripping his waist, my fingers digging into the hard muscle, holding on for dear life.
“Look at me,” he growled.
I forced my tear-filled eyes to focus on his face. His expression was one of intense concentration, his jaw tight as a muscle feathered in his cheek. His eyes were dark, burning with a possessive fire that made my stomach clench. He was watching me, watching my lips stretch around him, watching the tears stream down my face, and the sight of it was clearly pushing him closer to the edge.
“You look so beautiful like this,” he murmured. “With my cock in your pretty mouth.”
A fresh wave of heat washed over me.
“You’re going to swallow what I give you, malyshka,” he commanded, his thrusts becoming shorter, more erratic. “Every last drop.”
I didn’t have a choice. He drove himself deep into my throat one last time, and then he was coming.
Hot, thick jets of cum flooded my mouth, so much of it that I couldn’t possibly swallow it all. The taste was salty, musky, intimately male, and all Mikhail. I swallowed convulsively, my throat working frantically, but there was too much. It dribbled from the corners of my lips, leaving a hot, sticky trail that ran down my chin, and my face flushed with heat.
He pulled back, but he wasn’t finished. With a rumbling groan, he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and stroked, milking the last of his release from his body. And it wasn’t just a little bit either, but a lot. It was as though he had been pent up, a fact that was made painfully clear as several more spurts of his cum landed on my cheeks, my nose, and my forehead.
“Mikhail.” I blushed and squirmed.
He looked down at me, his chest heaving and dark, possessive satisfaction in his eyes. He looked at my face, at the sticky, glistening mess he had made, and a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.
“My brother might have made you swallow it all,” he murmured, “but sassy girls like you need to be decorated with my pleasure.”
A surge of shameful arousal shot through me.
“At least,” I managed, my throat raw, “he had the decency to aim for my mouth.”
“I should make you wear my cum all night,” he answered.
That was it.
“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t wear designer labels.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
His smile widened and he chuckled. He didn’t get angry. He didn’t get offended. Instead, he just looked… delighted.
“Oh, malyshka,” he purred, his voice dripping with dark promise. “You’re going to regret that.”
Before I could react, before I could even process the shift in his expression, he moved, shifting his body off mine as though he was dismounting from a saddle. He didn’t waste a second. He didn’t give me a chance to retreat. With a rough, impatient tug, he flipped me over as easily as if I weighed nothing. My world spun, my face suddenly buried in the soft, clean-smelling pillows of the bed, smearing his release all over my face. My hips were yanked up, and then suddenly, my ass was presented to him like a prize. My stomach clenched with a mixture of fear and a decidedly naughty thrill.
“I was going to be nice,” he said, kneeling beside me as his hand coming down to rest on the curve of my bottom. The touch was light, almost gentle, but it was the calm before the storm. “I was going to take my time with you. To make you beg for it…”
His other hand came down on my right cheek with a loud, stinging slap. The sound was a whip-crack that echoed in the room, a stark, shocking counterpoint to the quiet intimacy of the previous moment. A cry was torn from my throat before I could stop it.
A white-hot flare of pain radiated through me and my entire body jerked in shock and pain.
“Ah!” I gasped.
“But you,” he continued, as if he hadn’t just set my ass on fire, “are a brat. And brats,” he punctuated the word with another hard slap, this one on the other cheek, “get their little asses spanked until they are bright red and hot.”
Another quick, stinging slap. And another.
He wasn’t holding back. Not even in the slightest.
Now he was spanking me with a relentless, brutal rhythm, the sounds loud, an obscene percussion that echoed throughout the room and I’m sure down the hall. Each spank burned with a deep fiery sting, and I couldn’t help but gasp at the white-hot jolts of pleasure that shot straight to my clit. In no time at all, my ass was ablaze, a throbbing, scalded inferno that made my eyes water.
“You’re enjoying this,” he observed, his tone amused.
“No,” I lied.
“You’re getting a spanking, naughty malyshka,” he purred. “And you’re so wet you’re soaking the sheets.”
He paused, and I felt the heat of his gaze. His fingers delved between my legs, not to enter me, but to confirm exactly what he said. His thick digits slid through my slick folds in a wickedly thorough exploration that made my breath hitch in my throat. He found my clit, already swollen and sensitive, and circled it once with a light, teasing touch that sent a surge of pure electricity straight to my core.
He leaned over and brought his glistening fingers up to my face, pressing them against my lips. “Taste,” he commanded.
I opened my mouth, the scent of my own arousal a potent, dizzying aphrodisiac. Hesitantly, I tasted myself on his fingers, a flavor that was intimately familiar. My clit throbbed with an ache so intense that I nearly cried out.
“You see?” he taunted. “You want this. You need this.”
He started to spank me again then. Even harder. Then much faster. His palm was so large that it covered nearly my entire ass cheek with every spank. He set a merciless, punishing rhythm that was designed to break me, but I didn’t break. I took every spank. On my left cheek. On my right. On the left, again and again and again in the same spot. Then the right, three times in the exact same place. My world narrowed to the sting of his hand, the building heat of my own arousal, and the firm, commanding rhythm of his voice. He didn’t even slow down.
The pain was a white-hot blade, but beneath it, a different kind of heat was spreading through my veins. It was a heat that made my blood sing, a liquid ache that pooled in my stomach and settled between my thighs. My hips were bucking now, not to escape the blows, but to meet them. It was humiliating. It was degrading. And it was the most intensely erotic thing I had ever experienced in my life.
Then, just when I thought I couldn’t take another second of the palm of his big hand, the punishment changed.
His other hand, the one not delivering the searing smacks, slid between my legs. His fingers found my entrance, my body so slick and ready for him that I was almost ashamed.
Almost.
“Ah,” he breathed out. “You’re dripping. Such a responsive girl you are when I am giving you what you need.”
With that, he drove two fingers inside me in a rough, possessive thrust that made me cry out, the sound muffled by the pillow. He didn’t give me a moment to adjust. He immediately found that spot inside me, the one that made my vision go white, and he began to stroke it with a merciless, knowing precision.
My back arched, a muffled scream tearing from my lips. His other hand came down on my ass again, and it sent a jolt of pure fire straight to my core.
“And just think,” he reminded me. “My brothers are just down the hall, hearing everything that’s happening in this room.”
My face flushed with heat as a fresh wave of shame and arousal washed over me.
“Viktor’s probably got a stupid fucking grin on his face,” he continued, his fingers stroking, building the pressure deep inside my core. “And Andrei… he’s probably imagining it all. Imagining this sweet little ass turning red under my hand, wondering what sort of bad girl thing you did to earn such a hard spanking that sounds like this.”
He spanked me again and again, the sounds loud cracks that seemed to echo in the sudden silence of the room. “They’re probably both imagining how wet you are right now. How much you’re enjoying this.”
I was so close. My body was a tightly wound knot of tension, a live wire humming with need. Every nerve ending was on fire, every muscle tensed in anticipation of the release I so desperately craved.
Fuck.
I was going to come.
Not in a while.
Not in a few moments.
Now.
“And they can probably hear you,” he added, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “They can probably hear how desperate you are to come for me already.”
My body exploded.
A ragged cry was torn from my throat. My entire world went white, a blinding flash of pure bliss. My core fluttered in a series of deep, shuddering spasms that stole my breath away.
His fingers stilled, but he didn’t pull them out. He just let me ride out my orgasm, his other hand resting on the small of my back. He waited until the tremors subsided, until my breathing evened out, until the fog in my mind started to clear.
Then he started spanking me again while he moved his fingers inside me.
Not fast. Not hard. But with a slow rhythm that was designed to stoke the fire, to build the pleasure back up from the smoldering embers of my last orgasm into another and my body obeyed. My hips bucked, and I couldn’t control myself. He controlled me.
Completely.
Oh, fuck.
I was going to come again.
“Uh-uh-uh,” he tsked, his fingers stilling inside me. “Patience, malyshka. I’m not finished with you yet.”
His other hand, the one that had been delivering the stinging slaps, slid down the crack of my ass.
His thumb found the tight, puckered ring of my bottom, and I couldn’t help but tense.
No one had ever touched me there before. Not Viktor. Not anyone.
I was not prepared for this.
“Mikhail, wait—” I started, my voice thick with tension.
“Shh,” he murmured. “Just take what I give you, naughty girl. Always take whatever I choose to give you. You’ve earned this.”
He pressed his thumb against my tight entrance, and I couldn’t help but clench, trying to fight his entry. That didn’t stop him though. He was testing my boundaries, pushing my limits, and he was doing it with a calm, confident authority that made my head spin and my pussy clench.
He hadn’t bothered to fetch any lube.
His thumb was already slick. I knew it was soaked with my own wetness. The thought was so dirty, so depraved that a fresh wave of heat washed over me.
He pushed.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
The pressure was immense. A deep, burning stretch that made my whole body go rigid. I gasped, my hands fisting the pillow, my eyes squeezed shut. It was too much. The burn was a cruel, insistent thing, and I couldn’t help but let out a soft cry. My body fought him, clenching over and over again until the tip pressed through my tight ring of muscle and then I cried out as a surge of pain and pleasure shot up and down my spine.
“Mikhail, please,” I begged. “It hurts.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But you wanted this. You wanted me to take control. You wanted me to push your limits. Now you’ll submit to whatever I want to do to you.”
He pushed again and my body gave in to him, the tight muscle yielding to the persistent pressure, allowing him to sink deeper than I was ready for.
“Ayyy,” I gasped. “Oh, God.”
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Look at you. Such a good girl, taking my thumb in this tight little hole. Dirty girl.”
He pulled his thumb out—so embarrassing—then slid it back in, rotating it inside me, a slow, dragging rhythm that made my entire body tremble. The burn was still there, a dull, throbbing ache, but it was joined by a new, more intense fiery heat.
His other fingers, still deep inside my pussy, began to move again. He found that spot, the one deep inside me that made my core squeeze tight, and he started to stroke it again.
He was fucking both holes at once.
My mind short-circuited. The world narrowed to the two points of sensation.
I was being filled, possessed, and owned in a way I had never imagined.
His thumb started to move a little faster, a little deeper. His fingers in my pussy matched the rhythm, a relentless, driving beat that was pushing me higher and higher.
I moaned, my hips undulating, unable to control my body’s response. My face was still buried in the pillow, the fabric muffling my cries, his seed still sticky on my cheeks.
He pulled his fingers out of my pussy and spanked me again. Hard.
I cried out, my body jerking.
“Listen to you,” he declared softly. “Moaning like a little slut with my thumb up your ass. My little puppet.”
He spanked me again. Again. More. Harder.
“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, his thumb plunging deep. “You like me using you like this.”
“No,” I gasped.
“Liar,” he chuckled. “Your body doesn’t lie. Your body is begging for it. Begging for more.”
He was right. My body was betraying me, my hips rising to meet his hand, my inner muscles clamping down on his fingers as he slid them back inside me. With every clench of my body around his fingers, a fresh wave of pain and pleasure raced through me, but that only heightened my arousal.
The dual stimulation was too much. The burning stretch of my bottom hole, the rhythmic stroking of that secret spot inside my pussy, was a sensory overload that was pushing me to the brink of insanity.
“Come for me, malyshka,” he commanded. “Come with my thumb deep in your ass and my fingers buried in your sweet pussy.”
His words were the final trigger. The dam broke. A wave of pleasure so intense it was almost painful crashed over me, a wild inferno that consumed me from the inside out. I screamed into the linens beneath me as I came so hard that my whole world tilted. A series of deep, shuddering spasms racked my body, each one more powerful than the last. I screamed. I moaned. The euphoria that came with it was so good, it felt like I was flying.
He didn’t stop. He continued to stroke me, to spank me, to push me higher, drawing out my orgasm, making it last an eternity. I lost myself in it, in one fluttering clench after the next until I was a breathless, moaning mess.
When my climax finally receded, he pulled his fingers out, but he didn’t pull his thumb out of my bottom. He left it there, a solid, unyielding presence that was a constant, throbbing reminder of his shameful possession of my body.
“You’re perfect now,” he murmured. “Your hot, red ass all marked with my handprints. You’re all mine, malyshka.”
I was exhausted, drained, and completely spent. I thought we were done. I thought he’d let me rest.
I was so very wrong.
I felt him shift in the bed. It took me a few seconds to realize that he was moving and positioning himself behind me. I felt the hard, heavy length of his cock press against the slick, swollen folds of my sex.
“Wait,” I whimpered, a pathetic, desperate plea. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he growled. “Because I want you to.”
He lined himself up with my entrance, the head of his cock nudging against me, a hot, hard promise of what was to come.
He grabbed my hips, his hands like vises, and with one brutally ruthless thrust, he drove himself into me.
I cried out, my body bowing in half pain and half shock. He was big, bigger than Viktor, a thick, hard stretch that burned in a way that was both agony and ecstasy. He’d given me no warning, no preparation, and my body, already over-sensitized from my last orgasm, rebelled against the sudden intrusion.
His thumb was still in my ass.
And now his cock was deep inside my pussy.
I was full.
So incredibly, overwhelmingly full.
I moaned, my hands fisting the pillow, my knuckles turning white. I tried to keep my mouth closed, but there was no stopping the sounds of pleasure escaping me.
He pulled all the way out, then slammed back in, a mercilessly hard drive that made my entire body jerk.
Then again.
And again.
My body responded instinctually, my inner muscles clamping down on him. His other hand came down on my already sore bottom once more. I yelped, a pathetic, humiliating sound that was immediately swallowed by the sheets beneath me.
“You’re getting wetter. I can feel it,” he announced, his thrusts becoming faster, more demanding. “You like this, don’t you? You like me using you like this.”
I couldn’t answer. The pain, the pleasure, the overwhelming sensation of being completely dominated, with both my holes filled by him at the same time. It was too much. It was not nearly enough.
Oh, God.
“You’re mine, Katerina,” he growled, punctuating each word with a powerful driving thrust and a simultaneous smack. “All of you. Inside and out.”
His thumb, which had been still, started to move again, a slow counterpoint to the punishing rhythm of his cock.
“Aaaah!” I cried out. “Oh, fuck! Mikhail!”
I lost control. My body, my traitorous, treacherous body, started moving on its own. My hips bucked, my back arched, my legs shook, and there was nothing I could do to make it stop.
He let out a groan of pure triumph. He knew he had won.
I knew it too.
He set a punishingly ruthless rhythm, a brutal, driving beat that was designed to push me to the very brink of my endurance.
And he did.
The sounds we were making were obscene. The bed creaked in protest, the headboard banging against the wall with a rhythmic thud that was a clear, undeniable announcement of what was happening in this room. I was being fucked. I was being used.
And I was loving every second of it.
“Mikhail,” I sobbed, my face buried in the pillow. “Please… I can’t… I… can’t come… anymore.”
“Yes, you can,” he demanded. “You’re going to come for me again. And this time, you’re going to scream my name while you do it.”
His thumb plunged even deeper inside of me, until his fingers were curled over my ass cheek, which gave me the final push I needed.
I came hard, even harder than any of the times before.
My orgasm crashed over me, a blinding, soul-shattering wave of pleasure that left me panting and trembling. Euphoria burst through in a series of fireworks that soared through my entire body, making me see stars flicker right before my eyes.
His grasp on my hip tightened, his thrusts becoming shorter, faster, harder, and more erratic. I could feel him swelling inside me, a hot, demanding pressure that was an undeniable sign of his own impending climax.
He drove into me one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His body went rigid, a deep, shuddering groan tearing from his chest as he poured himself into me in spurts that burned me from the inside out.
“Mikhail…” The word was a gasping whisper.
“My Katerina,” he answered in a low rumble. He stayed inside me until the last shudder passed through him.
Slowly, carefully, he pulled out, the sudden emptiness leaving me feeling achingly vulnerable. His thumb slid from my ass, and a fresh wave of heat washed over me at the loss of it.
He shifted, and I felt the bed dip beside me. His hands, surprisingly gentle, turned me over. I lay on my back now, utterly wrecked. My body was a canvas of sensation. My ass throbbed with a dull, hot ache, my pussy was tender and swollen, and a sticky mix of our combined releases coated my inner thighs.
He reached out, his fingers tilting my chin up, forcing me to look at him.
“You were such a good girl for me,” he murmured.
My face flushed with heat, a fresh wave of shame and arousal washing over me. I tried to pull away, but he held me fast, his thumb stroking my jaw in a gesture that was both comforting and possessive at the same time.
“Time to get you cleaned up,” he announced huskily.
He stood up, a tall, imposing shadow in the dimly lit room. He held out a hand to me in an unspoken command. I took it, my smaller fingers disappearing into his large, callused palm. He pulled me up, and my legs, still unsteady, nearly gave out. He caught me, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me against him.
My body, still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, responded instinctively. I leaned into him, my head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a soothing rhythm against my ear. I realized he was still fully dressed while I was his naked, defeated toy, held in his arms. He smelled of sex, sweat, and a faint, clean scent that was all him. For a moment, I let myself just be held.
But I didn’t let that moment last very long.
I pushed away from him, just enough to look up at him, a slow, sassy smile spreading across my face.
“Are you going to bathe me now, Daddy?”
The word hung in the air between us, a deliberate, provocative jab.
His expression didn’t change. There was no surprise, no flicker of amusement in his eyes. He just looked at me, his gaze dark with mysterious intent, and smiled, showing me that he was still utterly, terrifyingly in control.
“No,” he said, his voice a low, calm rumble. “You will bathe Daddy.”
My smile faltered. The sassy retort died on my lips.
“And then,” he continued, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face, “Daddy will watch you bathe.”