92

Kayla A shudder of pleasure runs through Pavel when I lick around the head of his cock and then take him into my mouth. I love sucking Pavel’s dick. I love how submissive it makes me feel, how glorious the ultimate act of service is. This time, though, I’m determined to make it the best blowjob of his life.
I’m a pleaser. I hate feeling like he’s disappointed in me, and the need to get out of trouble and earn his praise drives me to use everything in my arsenal. I take him deeper than I have before, going slowly to practice relaxing my gag reflex until I get his full length into my throat.
His hand fists in my hair, but he makes no sounds. This guy always holds himself back. It makes me try all the harder. Sometimes I wonder if a guy was just nice to me, I’d be bored. I’m certainly never attracted to the nice guys.
Not that Pavel is mean. He’s attentive, and there’s an outline of respect even when he’s being completely disrespectful. He takes care of my needs. He’s just… not nice. But who cares? Some of us like rough. There’s nothing wrong with that, no matter what my roommates think.
I suck hard, drawing my mouth slowly back, listening for Pavel’s harsh intake of breath, sensing the tightening of his fingers in my hair. I wait long enough to create urgency before I take all of him back into my mouth, into my throat. He lets out a groan.
I’m wet just from his pleasure, from my subservient act, from taking on the role of slave.
Pavel’s breath grows ragged as he starts to gently guide my head, and then eventually takes over, directing the action with his fist in my hair.
I nearly come myself when he chokes and then groans, shooting his essence down my throat. The salty taste burns a little, and I pull back to swallow. I wipe my face with the back of my hand.
“Master?” I chose this moment strategically. He’s always more generous after he comes or after he’s broken me.
He looks at me with those cool, grey eyes. I know I pleased him because he just got off, but it doesn’t show in his face.
When he doesn’t answer, I rush forward, “Can I be over your knee for my punishment?” I saw he’d laid out pillows in the center of the bed, and I know exactly how he intends to use them, but I would so much rather have the intimacy of being over his lap-being close to him, especially because this is real punishment. At least I think it is. It’s so hard to tell if anything’s real with Pavel.
My emotions are real-that’s what matters. I’m already close to breaking, and he hasn’t even started. I crave connection.
“Is that what you need?” He brushes his thumb across my lower lip, and my body responds like he’s a musician bowing my strings.
“Please, Master.”
“Da. Come here.” He tucks his cock away and stands, lifting me by my wrists to stand. He walks to his suitcase and pulls out a small pocket paddle-the kind that’s round like a small ping pong paddle, just big enough to strike one buttcheek. He hasn’t used it on me before, and a shiver of mingled excitement and fear runs up my spine.
He walks the edge of the bed and sits, tugging me over one knee, my torso resting on the bed.
“Take a pillow, blossom.”
I reach for one of the pillows piled in the center of the bed and hug it under my chest, resting my cheek on it.
He spanks me with his hand. The first few slaps are hard-hard enough to take my breath away.
He delivers five and then stops, reaching for something. I brace myself for whatever he has planned. I relax when I sense something hard and rounded at the entrance of my sex. He pushes in a small bullet vibrator and turns it onto low.
I’m already dripping with desire, and the vibrator has the effect of waking up my entire pelvic region. My next exhale has a moan to it. Pavel doesn’t stop with filling my pussy. He spreads my cheeks and drops a dollop of lube on my anus. I gasp, tightening against the surprise sensation.
Pavel rolls the rounded end of a stainless steel buttplug against my asshole then pushes in.
I squeak at the pressure.
“Take it,” he growls.
I work hard to relax, forcing out a slow exhale and gradually releasing the tension in my sphincter muscles. As soon as they go slack, he pushes in. It’s a crazy mixture of pleasure and pain-the ring of muscles stretching open burns, but the sensation is counteracted by the buzzing against my G-spot and the internal fullness as the plug enters my body and finally seats.
I whimper, feeling fully surrendered now, fully his. The position is humiliating but hot. There’s something I adore about my entire body being owned and controlled by my demanding lover.
“Please,” I mewl, even though I don’t know what I’m begging for.
Certainly not for him to stop. I know he won’t. And not for more, either. The sensations are already too much-I’m on overload.
But he does give me more. He starts spanking me again with both holes full. Every spank jiggles the plug inside my ass, sending fresh bursts of sensation through me while the vibrator takes me right to the edge.
“Master, please,” I plead. Now I understand what I was begging for. “I need to come.”
Already.
I need to come desperately. And I’m almost certain he will refuse.
“No.” The syllable is harsh-a rebuke for even asking.
His spanks fall fast and hard, lighting up my ass and making my back muscles tense.
“Please, Master.” I’m not really asking anymore. I know the answer is no. I’m just losing my sanity. Begging is all I’m capable of. And it’s what he wants to hear.
I hug the pillow tight to keep from covering my butt with my hands because the burn grows in intensity with every slap he delivers. The harder he spanks, the harder I have to come. I start to buck and wriggle over his lap. “Please, Master… please, Master.” I’m so close.
He stops rather abruptly. I expect him to give me a break, maybe rub my ass while I pant and catch my breath, but instead, he pulls me up to stand in front of him, between his knees.
I’m hot and discombobulated. My hair falls across my face, and I’m close to tears. I hold my ass.
Pavel tugs and rolls my nipples and puts tiny alligator clamps on one of them. I nearly come the moment he closes it. I have to shift and press my thighs together to stop. I’m more prepared for the second one.
“Master,” I whimper.
Those grey eyes meet mine, and I catch the flash of approval before he hides it. He likes me this way-pleading and begging and at his mercy. Desperate to come.
He reaches around to cup my ass, pushing my hands away. He kneads it, pulling me closer, then he starts to play with the buttplug, pumping it slowly.
“Oh!” I can’t control the quivers that explode in my belly. He pumps again, short fast pumps. I press my fingers over my clit as I throw back my head and come, unable to stop myself.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I gasp as soon as I can catch my breath. My hands fall onto his shoulders because my legs won’t hold me up.
A tear streaks down my face although I’m not even sure what it’s for.
Pavel thumbs it away, studying my face. “It’s okay, blossom,” he murmurs. “It was an accident.”
He adjusts the nipple clamps, then guides me back over his knee.
This time he uses the paddle on me, and I jolt with the intensity. It’s way different than his hand- much harder. And hurty. He spanks me quickly, alternating buttcheeks, right, then left.
I squirm and writhe under the spanks at first-I can’t help it. But when he continues paddling, my last bit of resistance lets go. I surrender to his will, to the pain. At the same time, the upset of the audition, my stress over not telling Pavel, his disappointment in me all bubble up to the surface.
A sob breaks from my throat, and then I totally lose it.
Pavel stops immediately. “Oh, malysh.”
Pavel Tonight I want to tear out my hair when Kayla cries. It happens sometimes. She cried the first night we played-not during the scene, but after. She needed aftercare, and I didn’t give it. Even though I know it’s probably just an emotional release from the strain of her traumatic day, I feel like the biggest mudak.
I don’t show my distress-that would only make her bottle her release in an effort to please me. I rub her ass with one hand and her back with the other. I don’t interrupt by asking her if she’s okay or what went wrong. I may not be the most experienced dom, but I know enough to make this a safe space for anything that comes out.
But as she lets out a torrent of tears, I’m sorry I promised not to kill the television director. I really, really want to pound his face right now. Or maybe it’s just my own face I want to pound.
After a while, her sobs slow and then stop. I gently remove the plugs. She’s still dripping wet, so I know no matter what happened emotionally, my little flower is turned on.
“Crawl up on the bed, blossom.” I keep my voice soft-there’s no command in my tone, only gentleness. I’m not sure if she needs to be fucked or held right now, so I’m trying to read her.
Kayla instantly obeys, crawling up farther on the bed, lying on her belly with her legs spread wide in clear invitation.
“Is that how you want it, malysh?” I break my own rule and ask. I stroke and squeeze her reddened ass, making a sound of contentment in my throat.
When I rub between her legs, she makes the same sound. “Yes, Master. Please.”
Another mental snapshot. So damn sweet.
I strip out of my clothes and crawl up behind her, pushing her damp blonde hair from one side of her tear-stained face to brush my lips over her temple. She arches her ass up when my cock trails between her legs.
I push in easily, her channel is soaked and swollen. I move slowly, arcing in and out with reverent glides. Filling her, reveling in the glory of everything Kayla-her tight cunt. Her punished ass. Her sweet, sweet submission.
It starts without urgency. Just pleasure. Easy strokes. The communion of two bodies. But Kayla starts crooning, “Master… Master” over and over again in that breathy, need-soaked voice, and my dick can’t take it any longer. I pick up my speed, pumping into her, riding the wave. I take off her nipple clamps so the rush of blood returning to them will stimulate her orgasm, then I work a hand beneath her pelvis to rub her clit. She immediately comes.
Her climax brings on mine, and I’m lost in it. It’s not rockets and fireworks this time. More like a safe space. Home. Not that my home was ever safe. But this is the way home should feel.
I lower my body onto Kayla’s and kiss her neck.
She sighs contentedly. “I love you, Master.”
My heart-the poor organ that’s already been strained beyond recognition-bursts open at her confession. I pull out and flip her to her back, pinning her wrists beside her head, blanketing her body with mine again. “You are fucking everything to me,” I swear fiercely. I don’t know anything about love. I’ve never known it. But my words are the truest I’ve ever spoken.
Kayla strains against my hold. She wants to pull me down-maybe for a kiss, maybe because it’s too intense for us to look at each other now that we’ve exposed ourselves to the bone, but I don’t let her. I make her stare into my eyes until I’m sure she believes me.
Her eyes get bright with tears. “Please kiss me,” she warbles.
I kiss the hell out of her, my mouth devouring hers, my lips an instrument I wield for war. I fuck her mouth with my tongue, and my semi-hard dick slips back home in this position for a few last glorious strokes. I kiss her until she’s breathless, panting and moaning, and then I back off, roll us to our sides and pull her body against mine.
She rests her head on my biceps, her cheek on my chest. “Thank you,” she murmurs.
But still I can’t get over my guilt. The sense I may have done the wrong thing with someone I never want to hurt.
I don’t know how long we lie together in the silence. I don’t want to get up until she’s been held long enough. She needs the aftercare, especially considering I broke her. Finally she stirs and moves away from me.
“I’m hungry now, Master.”
I drop a kiss on the top of her head and roll off the bed to order us some food. Then I pick up my phone and return to the bed with her soft aftercare blanket, which I drape over her. I sit with my back against the wall. “I need that name, blossom.”
She lifts her head and licks her lips, blinking those wide eyes at me. “It’s Blake Ensign.”
“Thank you.” I pull her pillow close to my hip, so she can curl against my leg, and I can stroke her hair.
I text Dima, our bratva cell’s hacker. Kayla got casting couched by this douche: Blake Ensign. I need an address, so I can deal with him. Please and thank you.
Dima texts back immediately. On it.
I text Maxim next because I doubt he would appreciate me texting his wife personally. Tell Sasha I did not appreciate her advice to my girl.
Maxim texts me back a few minutes later. Sasha’s reply: uh oh. He sends a second message, What’s your plan with the mudak?
I reply, I’m going to hurt him. I said before that I don’t get mad, I get even, but tonight, there’s a rage to my violence.
Maxim: Good.
“Room service.” A man calls as he knocks on the door.
“Leave it outside,” I snarl, even though Kayla’s fully covered by the blanket. No other man’s going to even think about Kayla tonight without getting my fist in his teeth.
Kayla I wake up because Pavel’s no longer in the bed. I climb out in the darkness, reaching for the soft, fuzzy blanket he wraps me in after we play and pulling it around my shoulders. I look for his shoes and wallet-or some other sign that he’s left the room, but they are still here. I see three empty bottles from the mini-bar on the dresser.
I find Pavel leaning on the balcony with another tiny liquor bottle clutched in his hand.
“Master?”
“Malysh. I’m sorry I woke you.” He doesn’t move.
“No, you didn’t. I mean, I missed you in the bed.” I catch sight of his normally impassive face and catch a glimpse of a torture before he scrubs his hand across his neatly trimmed beard. “What’s wrong?”
“Come here.” He opens one arm, and I press myself against him. His addictive scent mingles with the sharper tones of vodka.
“What is it?” I press, knowing he probably won’t share on his own.
“Are you all right, Kayla?” He turns his gaze full on me like I’m the one who’s just drained four bottles of liquor and is standing outside looking bereft.
“Yes. Are you?”
“I don’t want to play that way with you again,” he says quietly.
My heart starts beating like he’s breaking up with me. But he’s not. He can’t be, he’s holding me close against his body.
“What way?”
“Punishing you until you cry. That was wrong. I’m sorry.”
“No.” I press myself even closer to him, like I could meld our two bodies, so we’d never come apart again. “It wasn’t wrong. I needed that. You gave me the release I craved. Why are you upset?”
“Upset.” He repeats the word with a bitter chuckle, like doms aren’t allowed to be upset.
I start connecting the dots. He’s told me so little, but they do connect. He told me he couldn’t play at non-consent. He’s always telling me I’m free to go. Somewhere in his life, he’s seen something ugly.
The balcony tilts and spins. Everyone thinks this is wrong-what we do. Now even Pavel does, too.
Is it wrong? Sick?
But I can’t believe that. Not with how close I feel to this man right now-even though he shares nothing of himself, he just told me I’m his everything.
He’s my everything, too.
“What are you afraid of, Pavel? That you’ll hurt me? That I won’t use my safe word when I should?”
He turns to face me fully, and I’m struck by how much pain is in his eyes. He cradles my face in his hands. “Am I hurting you, Kayla? I mean, I did. I hurt you tonight.”
“Stop,” I interrupt before he goes any further down that path. “I love the way you hurt me. Why are you so worried about it? Did someone say something?” It suddenly occurs to me that my roommates may be taking their case elsewhere. To Sasha, maybe? And it got back to him?
“My father-” Pavel stops and scrubs a hand over his soft beard again.
His father. Oh. I’m instantly sick to my stomach.
“He was abusive?” I guess.
Pavel nods. “Yes. He nearly killed us. And finally, I killed him.” Pavel stares at me, his expression awash with shame. A touch of alarm even. This is Pavel bared-the way he’s never let me, or possibly anyone-see him before.
“Oh Pavel.” I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, standing on tiptoe to reach.
He stands rigid for a moment, then one arm comes around me. “You’re not shocked?”
“Of course, I’m shocked, Pavel. You carry a terrible burden. I’m so sorry.”
He lets out a bitter laugh of disbelief. “You’re sorry? For me?”
“Of course. Pavel-” I pull back enough to look him in the eye. “Did you think I’d judge you?”
He cocks his head. “Why wouldn’t you?” He almost sounds suspicious, like I’m tricking him, somehow.
“Pavel, you were protecting your mother, just like you protected me at that convenience store. You did what you had to do. I love you for it.”
“You love me,” he repeats softly, shaking his head. “Superpower.”
“What?”
“You have the capacity of… I don’t know-acceptance… presence-that no one else has. Do you know that? You’re one in a billion, little flower.”
“I love you.”
Pavel groans like a wounded animal and gathers me up against his body. His breath sounds ragged in my hair.
It’s the third time I’ve said I love him tonight. Each time seems to penetrate him deeper. He hasn’t made it wrong, but he hasn’t said it back. After what I just learned, I can be patient. He probably hasn’t known much love in his life.
I’m going to show him it’s not a superpower. It’s something we can both do, together.