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“Tonight, I’m going to show you what it’s like when I take my pleasure. Come if you can. I dare you to. But you won’t be getting any help from me.”
I kick her feet apart, spreading her legs further so she has to strain to stay balanced on her toes. Then I run my cockhead between her slick folds, gathering a generous amount of her natural lube. Whitney groans, her legs trembling. Gripping her ass, I spread her cheeks and lean forward to spit on her dark hole, a combination of mercy and humiliation. Then I stand and press my pulsing tip against her tight entrance.
“If I were you, I would try to relax,” I say without emotion. Then I shove forcefully inside of her.
Whitney screams, her wrists jerking against her restraints as the muscles of her back flex and tense, but I don’t stop until I’m buried balls-deep inside her ass. A guttural groan escapes my lips, and I’m shocked by just how fucking good it feels to penetrate her impossibly tight hole.
“Blyad,” I hiss as I grip her hips convulsively and start to thrust.
Her sphincter clamps forcefully around my girth, making movement almost painful, but I can’t stop myself. An animalistic need to take her by force swells within my chest, making my arms and chest tense and the cords of my neck pop. I fuck her hard and fast, pounding her ass with such force that our skin slaps together audibly and the chair scrapes across the floor.
The tension in Whitney’s back and legs slowly starts to seep from her body, the rigid lines softening as she starts to acclimate, and I’m impressed by her ability to take my cock up her ass and actually enjoy it on her first time when I’ve done nothing to encourage her pleasure. Still, as her cries slowly taper into moans, I’m confident she’s starting to like it. And as much as I want to punish Whitney for antagonizing me further when Bianka already pushed me over the top today, I can’t help but be turned on by the fact that Whitney enjoys getting ass fucked.
Whitney shudders forcefully, and then her tight entrance constricts around the base of my cock, gripping it so hard it hurts.She’s fucking coming.My balls tighten as the realization hits me full force. Fucking hell, it’s so hot, I’m suddenly on the brink of my own release, and the feel of her clamping down around me, her body begging me to fill her with my cum pushes me over the edge.
I explode deep inside her, all the built-up anticipation of this last week pouring into her as burst after burst of my seed fills her ass and starts to ooze out around the base of my cock. I groan throatily at the overwhelming relief. I remain inside of her until she’s taken the last of my load, then I pull out.
The sight of her blossoming asshole and dripping slit fills me with a deep sense of satisfaction, and I press my finger to her clit to draw out her torture a little longer. Whitney sobs quietly as her clit twitches in response and her legs tremble violently.
“Hmm,” I rumble in amusement. “If I were inclined to make you feel good tonight, I would say you’re almost ready for another orgasm, but I think leaving you in a state of frustration will help your lesson sink in a bit better.” Still, I run my fingers between her wet folds and push two inside her pussy, enjoying the way she tightens with anticipation.
Then I step away, leaving Whitney tied as I tuck my cock back inside my jeans and button them once more. I leave her tied in the uncomfortable position as I pick up my belt and thread it through my loops, enjoying the sight of her well-used holes on full display. When I finally remove her ball gag and untie her, she sinks to the floor, her legs seeming incapable of holding her.
After several minutes, as she sits silently watching me dress, I offer her my hand to help her to her feet. She accepts it without a word as she rises shakily, her eyes guarded when they meet mine. I somehow find her silence more discomfiting than her frank observations earlier, but I don’t dare open a line of communication after the intense lesson I just gave her.
Perhaps I pushed her too far. But she never used the safe word–or the safe signal–to tell me to stop. Now I wonder if she might have forgotten it’s always there to use if she needs. No matter how forceful I can get, I don’t actually want to hurt Whitney. This day is just too full of situations threatening to uncap the dangerous emotions I locked away long ago.
Right now is not the time to attempt an honest communication. Rather than digging into our scene tonight, I think it’s best if I go home. Normally, when I make the drive to see her, I spend the night at her apartment. But right now, I need space to clear my head and wrap my mind around the day. Whitney doesn’t stop me as I collect my things and head for the door without another word.
16
WHITNEY
On my first day of school, I can’t seem to concentrate on my surroundings. I walked to school in a dreamlike state, hardly aware of the time slipping by until I was suddenly at the foot of Rosehill's dance building and class was about to start. I head to the designated room for Professor Moriari’s choreography class, but still, my thoughts linger on Ilya and my time with him this weekend.
I don’t quite know what to make of him after how moody he was about his sister. I was just trying to help Ilya lighten up, but the more I think about my final words before he closed off and punished me for saying too much, the more I’m coming to realize that the word “love” really triggered him.
He was more aggressive than usual, more punishment focused. I still have the stripes on my ass to prove it, and he’s never left a mark on me before–aside from a hidden hickey or two. Despite the intensity of our sex and my punishment, it turned me on. A lot. I don’t know if part of it was due to abstaining for so long while he was gone. That might explain some of his built-up frustration, but even after we finished, he still seemed angry, bent on teaching me a lesson.
If I’m being honest with myself, it didn’t feel as much like a game. It hurt more than usual and felt like he was actually taking his anger out on me. Perhaps that’s what Bratva men do because they can’t take out their anger on their sisters.Is that part of the role he expects me to play?I don’t quite know what to make of that possibility, though this is the only time it’s come up in our year together.
I normally like all the different sides to Ilya. He’s shown me so many ways to have fun, all the scenes keep things fresh and interesting, the sex intensely focused on my pleasure. But this time, even though he clearly shifted into his Dom role, it was almost like he meant it when he said I crossed a line.
Swallowing hard, I recall the expression on his face as he spoke about Bianka. I have to admit that seeing him so concerned about his sister did something for me. It drew up emotions in me that I’m not supposed to have for Ilya as my employer. He clearly cares about Bianka, and that vulnerability made care for him more than I would like to admit. It opened my heart and made me care about his concern, his protective intensity.
“Hey, Whitney! How was your summer?” Paige asks as I enter the dance classroom and distractedly step out of my combat boots to don my dance slippers.
“Oh, hey, Paige. It was nice. Busy. How was yours?” Putting myself in check, I silently remind myself that what Ilya and I have is just a contract, not love. Maybe he was right. I did cross that line more definitively than I’d realized.
Forcing myself to pay attention to Paige’s happy chatter about her summer travels, I push Ilya from my mind. We make our way to the mats and start stretching, warming up our muscles for the grueling workout I’m sure is about to come.
“…was so hot I couldn’t do the beach for more than a few hours at a time. Honestly, I spent most of my days taking a train to Paris so I could shop at the stores along the Champs-Elysees…” Paige gushes, and my brain tries its hardest to tune her out once again.
But the thoughts it replaces her typical materialistic blather with makes my skin heat. The memory of Ilya massaging my smarting ass, spreading my cheeks and daring me to come without his help… I shudder as my core tightens and my raw flesh tingles at the recollection. Once again, I force Ilya from my mind and return to Paige’s story just in time to realize we’ve moved on to her experience of Italy.
“Venice was my favorite,” Paige says as she leans into her stretch. “But they have a pasta that absolutely freaked me out. They use squid ink for sauce, so the whole dish is black. Luckily, my parents are fully on board with my trainer’s meal plan, so I couldn’t eat it anyway. No carbs for me.”
“How long were you there?” I ask, trying my best to sound like I care. Though if I’d flown halfway around the globe to experience Venice, I would try the squid-ink pasta, dancer’s diet be damned.
