She slid into my lap before I even sat down, already grinding against me, needy and shameless, a bitch in heat.
“Want me to take care of you, baby?”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at her like she was an insect crawling too close.
She reached for my buttons.
I caught her wrist and squeezed hard.
“Get me a drink first. Make yourself useful.”
She blinked at the tone, then smirked and slipped away, ass swaying like she thought I cared. Came back with something amber and strong.
I snatched the glass, downed it all in one burn, and dropped my head back against the seat.
She crawled back into my lap and peeled open my shirt as if she were unwrapping something precious, then bent down until her lips brushed my chest.
I grabbed her hair, yanked her back.
“Did I tell you to do that?”
She winced but kept smiling.
“No, baby.”
“Then don’t.”
I shoved her down between my legs.
“Put that mouth to use or fuck off.”
She knelt like a good little toy. Pulled me out with both hands, rubbed her cheek along my length before taking me between her lips with a little hum.
Her head bobbed slow at first, then faster—eager to please. Her hands wrapped around the base, squeezing like she could wring something real from me.
But there was nothing real here.
And yet, I let it happen. Let it numb the edge. Let it mock everything I actually wanted.
I stared right over her head, into the mess—girls on all fours, men with drinks in one hand and cocks in the other. A fucking zoo.Across the room, Pakhan watched me like he’d just won. Like this was proof I was his. Fucking degenerate.
I closed my eyes and let her mouth work while my mind checked out completely.She could’ve been choking or moaning or crying—I wouldn’t have noticed. I’d already gone still inside.
This is who I’ve been for a long fucking time.
I was fourteen my first time. New Year’s Eve in Kharkiv, snow slushed in our boots, the gang riding high on stolen cash and bottom-shelf vodka. One of the older guys shoved a wad of bills into my hand and clapped my shoulder. “Time to become a man, Maksym. We’re chipping in. Don’t argue.”
And I didn’t. Because saying no wasn’t an option. That’s just how it worked. Every boy had his turn. Every boy pretended it meant something. Brotherhood, manhood, whatever the fuck they told themselves.
I walked into that apartment like I wasn’t shaking. Like my stomach hadn’t turned itself inside out. She was already there, lounging like she was waiting for a shift to start. I didn’t know her name. Didn’t ask. She looked at me once—blank—and dropped to her knees like it was a handshake. I stood there pretending I wasn’t a terrified kid about to be initiated by someone who didn’t give a shit whether I breathed or bled.
It felt good. Physically. But not in a way that stayed. Not in a way that meant anything. There was no connection. Just a transaction dressed up as a rite of passage. When it was over, I zipped up in silence. She didn’t look at me. I didn’t look back.
That was how it started. After that, I didn’t stop. Different girls, different nights. Some I paid. Some came for free. I didn’t care, as long as no one expected me to lie. As long as no one pretended to love me.
It took years—years of fucking empty bodies and calling it intimacy—before I realized I was starving. That I didn’t want someone who faked it because she owed me, or because she was scared. I wanted to be chosen. I wanted someone to see me, touch me, and mean it. But by then, the damage was done. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore. Between want and survival. Between being chosen and being used. Between being human and being fucked raw by everything life ever taught me.
By the time I came back to myself, she was riding me, her back to me, like I didn’t even exist. Condom already on. Motion mechanical. Meaningless. When I finished, I grabbed her by the waist, shoved her off, and stood.
