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With my eyes downcast I could see my breath lifting my breasts in a rapid, terrified rhythm. I tried to concentrate on that movement instead of the terrible words the men spoke about their plans for me.
Then the tug of Belkonov’s hand on my leash made me stumble forward toward the stairway. They led me down into the darkness. At the bottom, Belkonov turned on a light, and I could see a heavy metal door. Belkonov produced a key and unlocked it.
“Completely soundproof,” he told Ivan, and then, as if realizing how much it would frighten a young woman who had just received the news she would never leave his dungeon, he spoke in English. “No one’s going to hear your screams, whore, so we’re going to enjoy ourselves fully tonight.”
I hated how his brutal words and his sexual cruelty affected me. It crushed me to know that if Ivan hadn’t stood there, guaranteeing with his presence that no true harm would come to me, if he could possibly prevent it, I wouldn’t have reacted with such helpless need between my thighs. The dark fantasy of my master watching his enemy take me to the limits of the pleasure my naked body could afford his rigid cock, however, refused to yield.
Belkonov pulled me inside the big room, furnished in red and black, walls thickly padded except where mirrors reflected my nudity and my bondage alongside all a dominant’s favorite implements: a bench for whipping and fucking, a rocking horse with an enormous dildo jutting from its back, a rack of straps, paddles, and birch rods.
The door closed with a heavy thud, the sound’s dullness verifying the room’s noise-deadening qualities in a frightening way.
“How shall we start?” Belkonov asked, still speaking Russian.
“However you like,” Ivan said carelessly.
“Hold her leash for a moment,” Belkonov said. “I’ll get the hood.”
When I felt the handing of the leash’s handle from mygospodin’s enemy to mygospodin, I had to suppress a sob. I had craved, in my most shameful fantasies, that Ivan would keep me restrained this way. Instead another man, a hateful man, owned me now. Even if my reason told me it wasn’t true, I couldn’t seem to keep my body from believing it.
I watched Ivan’s feet move around to stand behind me, shivering as the metal links of the leash brushed over my skin. I could see Belkonov rummaging in a box in the far corner. I gave a little cry as I felt my master’s hand, the right one with the handle of the leash in it, come up against my bottom, urging me forward and reminding me of the terrible bruises he had left there.
“Go kneel in the center of the room, girl,” he said. “You may lower your hands.”
I obeyed with a little sob, sinking to my knees in the spot he pointed to. Belkonov, I realized, had covered the floor in padding that felt like a gym mat, the better to enjoy his fuck toys without harming them despite his most brutal inclinations.
Then, much too fast, I saw Belkonov’s shoes coming toward me. I heard a soft rushing sound, fabric moving rapidly through the air, and an instant later the whole world went dark.
Strong hands went around my neck, tucking the bottom of the hood into the collar. The only opening in the thick silken fabric lay over my mouth. I shuddered with mortified arousal at the fulfillment of Belkonov’s promise to leave that opening available for the pleasure of any man who cared to avail himself of that soft, moist receptacle, rendered pliant and obedient by the good-girl wand as necessary.
The hands left me for a moment, and then I felt them again, drawing my wrists back behind me and fastening them into stout leather cuffs, then clipping the cuffs together.
“There,” Belkonov said. “Now let’s have some fun.”
I heard footsteps moving around me, then a fly being unzipped. I couldn’t keep down the tiny whimper that emerged from my throat at the sound I knew so terribly well.
“I’ll hold her head for you,” Ivan said.
“Open your mouth, slut.” said the voice of the other man, the enemy. “I’m going to fuck it the same way I’ll fuck your cunt and your ass.”
For a moment, to see what would happen, I tried not to obey.
You don’t have to do it,I told my body.You don’t have to open your mouth for this asshole’s cock. You don’t actually want to have it anywhere near you, let alone inside your mouth, let alone fucking your face the way Ivan taught you to take his beautiful manhood so hard and deep. You don’t want to…
But my mouth had opened, and I felt mygospodin’s hands on the back of my head, the sensation very strange through the closefitting fabric of the hood. His fingers held me firmly, stretching around my ears, gripping my cheeks. Then I felt what could only be Belkonov’s hand come down on the top of my skull, as if the rival warlords were forging some kind of arcane pact with my head as the unholy book on which they meant to swear allegiance.
The upper hand, the enemy hand, gripped my skull so tightly I let out a little cry of discomfort, and then Belkonov thrust his rigid erection at full length into my mouth.
Somewhere in my fervid mind I had space for gratitude to Ivan, of a paradoxical and obscene kind. I thanked my true master for having a penis so much bigger than this horrid man’s little cock, and I thanked him for making me receive his hardness so often in that degrading way, so that I had learned to suppress my gag reflex and open my throat.
Two things came from that training in abject submission to mygospodin: I could think clearly, free from any panic, as my master’s enemy fucked my face in long strokes, and Belkonov immediately groaned in pleasure at my skill.
The man’s erection certainly wasn’t by any means small, objectively speaking. To my shame and helpless arousal I had served the penises of many men over the four months I had belonged to Ivan, so I had a fairly good idea of the range of sizes they came in. Mygospodin’s was the biggest I had been made to please.
Belkonov’s fell somewhere in the middle, so my task in furnishing my mouth for his use involved enough challenge that the submissive noises I knew made a dominant man feel more dominant came easily enough. In the terrifying darkness of the hood, my face reduced to nothing but a hole for thrusting, at least I knew that one part of my task seemed successful: Belkonov’s reason would definitely suffer thanks to the level of arousal I could evoke in him.
“Are you going to fuck her?” he asked in Russian, his voice thick with his delight in my skill, over the wet rhythmic sounds of his rigid penis pumping in and out, the head going all the way to the back of my throat with each stroke. My nose, through the cloth of the hood, pressed against his belt buckle every time. I could breathe through the fabric, but I had to time my breaths correctly, and a tiny mote of panic came into my belly every time I nearly ran out of oxygen.
“No,” Ivan said flatly. “I’m done with her—I just want to see you use her properly.”
