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“You don’t want this anymore, Master?” I asked, making my voice husky, as if trying to persuade Ivan that he should reconsider—as if being denied the sight of my little tits and hairless pussy might drive him mad with possessive lust.
Ivan shook his head. “No, whore,” he told me. “But that doesn’t mean you may break the rules.”
Could I see a struggle in the eyes of the man I loved? I didn’t think I had imagined it: Ivan, despite the danger of the moment, had felt his dominant need—for power and for pleasure—aroused by my simply covering the parts of me where he had taken, and given, so much lewd delight.
The parts of me that belong to him most of all.
I looked steadily back at my master. I clutched with my fingers a little more tightly, on my right breast, and over my pussy. I paid a price in my own arousal, because the sensation made me bite my lip and furrow my brow. Nude but for my heels, kneeling before my fully clothed owner, my backside terribly sore from his stern discipline—it had become paradoxically the joy of my life, because it meant so much wild pleasure and then so much tenderness.
Not tonight.
Ivan’s face turned suddenly wrathful. He got up from the long black-leather-covered seat and lunged toward me with the strength and grace of a panther. He had his right hand in my hair and his left on my ass before I could even understand what my master intended. The limo turned, and I felt myself sway a bit, but Ivan remained rock solid. He used the motion to propel me more easily forward, pushing my face into the passenger seat as his other hand grasped me in that most humiliating of ways, thumb between my sore bottom-cheeks and fingers in my pussy, keeping my backside raised.
“Oh, no,” I sobbed. “Please… Master…”
But Ivan said, “Keep this ass right here, you little slut.”
His right hand withdrew, and I cried out even before it came down again with a hard spank to my right cheek. Then I screamed because the agony simply overwhelmed me entirely. My body shook, and I disobeyed Ivan’s command because my muscles simply couldn’t help it: I bent my knees and lowered my bottom, trying to ease the awful pain and trying helplessly to keep my poor bottom shielded.
“I said, keep your ass up,” my master said angrily. His hand returned to my pussy, his thumb pressing hard against my anus. I cried out as sudden, inescapable need flooded outward, filling my whole nervous system. “I’m not going to help you with your good-girl wand, either. I’ll let Belkonov use that to make you behave—or he can punish you the way you really deserve, like this.”
He lifted my bottom again, and he gave me another spank, so that another shriek of agony filled the passenger compartment. Somewhere, distantly, I understood that we were giving Anatoly and the listeners a hell of a show, but in that same still-rational corner of my mind I also knew that I had to do something quickly to stop Ivan’s plan of sending me home.
I could see now what he meant to do: this scene would inevitably lead to some moment where my master would pretend to decide I had failed him one time too many, and he would pretend to lose his temper. He would tell Anatoly to take us somewhere different, some secluded spot by the river, I felt certain. There Ivan probably had the broker who had sold me waiting, or someone else who could take me to the broker.
If it was the broker, that meant the Pretorian Guard knew, because theywerethe broker—or maybe the broker worked for them. Either way, the plan meant safety for me. Despite all the exquisite pain in my backside, my heart filled with warmth for Ivan.
The plan also could well mean death for him, though—even immediate death, right there, because the Guard might think the position ideally compromising: warlord Ivan Antonov killed in the act of trying to kill his fuck toy.
I couldn’t let it happen. My bottom felt as if Ivan had literally poured gasoline over it and set my skin on fire, but I kept it raised. I sobbed and wailed into the leather upholstery of the elegant limo’s seat. I tried desperately to think of something to say, some clue to give Ivan that instead of just handing me over he should wait and listen. That rather than a problem, I represented a solution.
He spanked me again, and my whole body jerked and shuddered, but I kept my backside raised.
“Master… please…” I sobbed. “Please.”
Ivan seemed to hesitate. I felt like I could read his mind: he had given me a precise direction, really, as to how I should play out this scene. All I had to do was lower my ass again, and he would give me back my life, in America. Instead, I had obeyed his command, in the one situation where I shouldn’t have.
I could sense something else in him, too: dominant arousal—not faked at all. The sight of my thoroughly punished bottom, as always, had gotten my master so hard he could scarcely think straight. Despite everything I couldn’t keep down the swelling of degraded pride that rushed into my chest as I heard his rough breathing, and then the sound I knew so very well—the unbuckling of Ivan’s belt and the unfastening of his woolen trousers, the unzipping of his fly.
My beloved, brutal master needed to fuck. He needed to fuckme. I raised my ass, and I whimpered into the passenger seat, helpless to conceal how very badly I neededhim: Ivan inside me, claiming me and using me.
But Ivan, I realized, hadn’t succumbed entirely to his lust. I had expected him to thrust his hardness into me and ride me roughly, the way he usually did after a severe punishment. Instead he let go of my hair, and I felt him sit down next to where my upper body rested on the seat.
“You may suck my cock one last time, slut,” he said, “before I give you away. It will be good for Boris to see my seed on your face.”
His hand abruptly seized my head again, the fingers of his right hand intertwining tightly in my disheveled locks. I cried out in fear and helpless, degraded arousal at the sensation, and with the knowledge of what would come next.
“Ma—” I managed to say, though I still had no idea what I could say, once I had Ivan’s attention. But he used the opening of my mouth on theasound to lower my mouth onto his massive, rigid cock. He had his pants and boxer-briefs around his knees, so his naked lap, with his hardness jutting out of all the golden fur, rushed up at me as I reflexively opened my mouth wider and put out my tongue.
The instinctive impulse to make sure my master could thrust his manhood into the pleasurable kind of orifice he liked to fuck overwhelmed my will to preserve my mission and, above all, to keep Ivan himself safe. My cheeks burned as I understood yet again how deeply my body’s dark, wayward needs operated inside my mind and my heart. I felt my hips jerk and my horribly punished bottom squirm with the jolt of arousal it brought to have Ivan inside me, even in this brutal, humiliating way.
And Ivan liked to fuck my face roughly; I had learned that very early on. He held my mouth in place for his use and he thrust up into it, over and over, filling me to the base of his enormous penis every time. I sobbed around the thrusting shaft, still trying to come up with something to do, or to say, if I got the chance.
My mind fastened on the last thing Ivan had said: if he meant to carry this little scene through, and to make sure all the loose ends got tied up in the end, he would have to pull his erection from my lips, wouldn’t he? So that he could come on my face the way he had just said, so emphatically, he intended to do?
What could I say then? Could I beg to say a final goodbye to him in private?
A plan started to take shape at the back of my mind, even as I let Ivan have his degrading way with my face. I heard him grunt, deep in his chest, the sound I had learned to take so much pride in, because I knew it meant my master was enjoying himself inside my body. I felt the shaft of his penis become even harder, even longer, as it moved in and out between my lips. That meant he would come soon, I knew from long experience, and I tried to ready myself.
