by Red Phoenix
After several minutes of stimulation, I start thrusting harder, mindful of keeping my fingers in direct contact with her G-spot. She starts panting and moaning. Soon, I hear the juicy sounds of her thoroughly wet pussy, but I am just getting started.
I have been curious after my laundry room encounter, wondering if every woman can gush with a watery come.
To have glee offer me her body is not only a sexual turn on, but a mental one as well. Being able to explore her body without the normal barriers imposed on us by society is a freedom I never thought possible.
I look down at her, lying naked on the table, tied up and completely at my mercy—my submissive. It is the trust I see in her eyes, despite her vulnerability, that inspires me and I will do everything in my power not to break it.
Around me, women are screaming, some even crying, as they receive the intense attention of their Doms. I sneak a quick glance in Durov’s direction and see he has a woman bound to an unusual wooden cross, something I believe is called a St. Andrew’s Cross. Instead of the multi-tailed whip he used last time, Durov is holding a wicked looking paddle with holes in it. The girl begs him, “Rytsar, please make it hurt.”
“Oh, I will, slave,” he laughs huskily.
Her cries of pain soon follow.
I return my attention to glee. Continuing with the manual stimulation, her thighs begin to tremble and she cries out in pleasure when I bring her to orgasm but, to my disappointment, she has not produced the come I was seeking from her.
After her pussy stops pulsing from the climax, I insert my fingers again. Remembering how hard I pounded the girl in the laundry room, I ramp up the tempo of my thrusting.
Glee tenses. After several minutes, she starts whimpering, “I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Relax and give into it, glee,” I order, feeling that I am close.
She looks at me and I feel her physically relax even as I begin thrusting my fingers into her like a jackhammer. Glee’s pussy becomes extremely juicy from my focused attention, and the wet sound of it fills my ears, letting me know I am close.
Sweat rolls down my brow as glee begins screaming. The speed at which I am thrusting seems almost violent, but the lust I see in her eyes spurs me on to continue.
Just as I am about to stop out of sheer exhaustion, I feel her body tense all over.
“Oh, Sir…oh, Sir…” she cries out in surprise.
All of the sudden, I feel the warm gush of liquid as glee orgasms for me. It flows from her, covering my hand before falling to the floor with a splash.
“What was that?” she cries, looking up at me in astonishment.
“You just came for me.”
“But I’ve never done it like that before,” she says, panting for breath.
“Did you like it?” I ask, legitimately curious.
She nods, still panting. “It was incredibly intense. I’m shocked my body can even do that.”
I bring my fingers up to my nose, taking in the sweet-smelling aroma. Encouraged, I lick my fingers and smile at her. “It tastes sweet.”
“Does it?” she asks in surprise.
I insert my finger into her quivering pussy, covering my finger with her essence before bringing it to her mouth. “Taste.”
Glee opens her lips and I inset my finger into her mouth. She begins to suck on it. The intimate sexual exchange has my cock aching with need.
Her eyes grow wide as she tastes her own come for the first time. “Wow…” she whispers.
“Would you like to try again?”
“Yes, Sir,” she answers with excitement.
I reposition myself, playing with her clit to prepare her body again before penetrating her with my fingers. Knowing the amount of thrusting required, I do not start out slowly.
Soon, her screams fill the room as her back arches in response to her building orgasm. I am relentless as I bring her to another watery climax even more intense than the first.
As her cries quiet, I’m suddenly aware that the dungeon has become silent. I look up to see the other Doms staring at me. I ignore them, turning my focus back on glee, wanting to know how many more times I can make her come like this.
“Ready for more?”
“I am yours, Sir.”
Her simple answer makes my cock grow harder. Leaning down, I suck on her breasts, biting them lightly before returning my attention back to her pussy. Having complete control over her is a heady power.
“You come over and over again until I am satisfied.”
“Yes, Sir…” she whispers breathlessly.
I play with her pussy to the music of her passionate screams, and I don’t stop until her entire body is covered in sweat and her own juices as her thighs continue to quiver uncontrollably even after the last orgasm ends.
I watch as her chest rises and falls rapidly as she lays there, her eyes half-open and dazed, too exhausted to move.
For the first time, I feel like a Dominant.
I look over at Rytsar and smile at him with newfound confidence.
He strides over, placing a hand on my shoulder as he glances at glee. “I didn’t know she was a squirter.”
“I didn’t know, either,” she mutters softly.
The Russian looks at me proudly. “You are full of surprises, comrade.”
I look down at glee and see she is still trembling. “I’m not finished with her yet.”
“By all means, continue,” Rytsar replies, standing back as he gestures to her.
I undo glee’s bindings, wiping away the aftermath of our encounter before I lift her up and carry her to a quiet corner of the dungeon.
Sitting down, I cradle her against my chest. “Thank you, glee.”
She lifts her head to look at me. “No, thank you, Sir. You are perfect.”
I chuckle, leaning down to kiss her lightly on the forehead. She moans softly in response, wrapping her arms around the back of my neck as she pulls herself up to kiss me.
My shaft hardens in response, pressing against her. She looks down with a smile and asks sweetly, “May I suck on your cock, Sir?”
I nod.
Noticing she is slow in her movements, drained by our encounter, I undo my belt and pants, freeing my cock as she settles between my legs.
Sighing in satisfaction, she wraps her lips around my aching cock and begins slowly bobbing up and down. I close my eyes, concentrating on the glorious sensation. Unlike times before, when my cock was too sensitive to hold back, I find that my prolonged state of arousal has made it possible for me to control myself much longer than I’d anticipated.
I open my eyes to watch her mouth slowly descend on my cock before pulling up as she sucks hard. The slow and constant stimulation is extremely pleasurable, but there comes a point when I need more.
I start thrusting into her mouth, and glee instinctually speeds up her rhythm. Groaning in pleasure, I growl huskily, “Good girl.”
I let the ache build as my climax approaches. Glee grasps my shaft with her hand, adding to the sensation. Taking profound satisfaction in the success of the scene I’ve played out with glee, my climax consummates the power exchange between us.
It is by far the best orgasm I have ever experienced in my life. I don’t hold back as a low, guttural cry escapes my lips as I come.
I pet glee’s hair afterward, grateful for her beautiful submission. That feeling of hope I felt the first night Durov introduced me to the dungeon has grown stronger since tonight.
The intimate connection I feel with glee is now a by-product of the power exchange we’ve just experienced. The possibility of relating to women on this profound level, without the entanglement of emotional ties, is life changing for me.
Hell, there may even come a time when I will be able to open myself up to love again…
I smile down at glee, grateful to Durov for opening up a whole new world to me.
His Truth
Durov is silent on the drive back to the beach rental. Once there, however,
he immediately gets out two tumblers and a bottle of vodka.
“This is cause for celebration!” he states as he heads back into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of pickles from the refrigerator.
“You do know the legal age for drinking is twenty-one?”
“That law was made for irresponsible drinkers. Are you an irresponsible drinker, comrade?”
“No.”
“Then the law does not apply to us.”
“That’s not how it works,” I chuckle.
“Da, it is.”
He pours a generous amount of vodka into each glass.
“How did you get this vodka, anyway?” I ask.
“I have Russian connections,” he answers with a smirk, “and I drink only the best.”
Handing a glass to me, he holds his up to make a toast. “To a magnificent first scene.”
I nod to him in appreciation, holding up my glass before I knock back the strong liquor. It burns all the way down my throat. Following Durov’s lead, I take one of the pickles and immediately consume it afterward.
He grins at me. “You were impressive, comrade.”
“Thanks,” I reply, humbled that he feels that way.
“To go from seeming like a joke when you walked in to having a dungeon of Dominants, mostly sadists, captivated by your scene, is reason to celebrate more!” Durov exclaims as he pours us another round of vodka.
I down the next one and feel the heat of the alcohol seeping into my veins.
Durov grins at me, a proud look in his eye. “I’m glad to know you, comrade.”
“Likewise,” I answer, still riding the high left from the scene. I wouldn’t be here tonight if it hadn’t been for Durov inviting me into his secret BDSM club. I owe him.
When Durov starts to pour another shot, I have to laugh.
He looks at me seriously, handing me back my glass. “Vodka opens up the soul, and you and I have much to talk about tonight.”
I realize he’s preparing to talk about his loss. I’m uneasy about the pain this conversation will bring for both of us, so I quickly slam down the shot of vodka.
“Do not forget the pickle, comrade. It helps lessen tomorrow’s hangover.”
“Really?” I dutifully pick up another small dill pickle and take a bite.
“Da, we Russians are experts when it comes to consuming vodka,” he says with a mischievous grin.
Looking at Durov, I do not see a kid of eighteen. Although his face is young, his overall countenance is that of a man much older. The haunted look in his eyes reminds me of my own grief and, for a moment, I consider stopping the conversation before it starts—for both our sakes. But the desire to understand and to be understood overrides my mounting fear.
Durov sets down his glass, walks over to the sliding glass door facing the ocean, and opens it wide. Although the night is pitch black, the soothing sound of the waves enters the room, enveloping me.
With the warmth of the vodka flowing through my blood, I find the sound instantly calming.
The Russian turns back to me. “What we discuss tonight stays between us.”
“Of course.”
“No one, outside of those involved, knows what happened…” The graveness in his tone speaks to the profound level of sorrow he carries.
“I suspect we share a similar pain,” I tell him.
“Do you feel responsible?” he asks, his eyes filling with tears.
“I do.”
He nods his head.
Durov says nothing for a while, and I do not push him, knowing how hard it is to voice such things aloud.
“Have you ever been in love, comrade?”
I instantly think back to Isabella, my childhood sweetheart. Her family was more than our good friends; they were as much a part of my family as my own blood relatives. Isabella had a kind heart, as well as being beautiful and exceedingly intelligent. At a young age, her talent as a musician was unquestionable and only served to cement my devotion to her.
We’d grown up together from the time we were infants and were best friends. I never questioned that I would marry her someday.
Both families knew this and approved—but that all changed two years ago.
I am not that boy now.
I have no interest in marriage, and I would only bring Isabella pain.
“No, I have never been in love,” I tell him.
“Well, I have,” he tells me. “I found my soul mate—and I will never love another.”
“Those are strong words coming from someone who’s only eighteen.”
“It is the truth,” he states in a sober tone. “Tatianna…” His voice breaks saying her name aloud.
Durov closes his eyes, but the tears still fall. After several minutes, he clears his throat and looks at me. “I have not said her name since that day.”
I only nod, knowing there are no words of comfort I can give.
“When I lost her, I didn’t think I could survive. Even now…I struggle.”
The hairs rise on the back of my neck. I understand exactly what he is saying.
“How long ago did you lose her?”
His face loses all color when he answers in a distant voice, “I lost her just before spring.”
“Six months ago?” I’m shocked by how recent his loss is.
“March 8.” He chuckles sadly, adding under his breath, “On International Women’s Day.”
I am only vaguely familiar with the Russian holiday but, knowing that it centers on celebrating women, the fact that she died on that day must hold all kinds of complicated emotions for him.
When he looks up at me, I find myself suddenly overwhelmed with his pain—as if his pain is mine. “She died on March 8 by her own hands, but the truth is, my beautiful Tatianna died long before that.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Durov.”
“My name is Anton.”
I nod. “Anton.”
He looks at me expectantly. After trusting me enough to share that part of his past, it’s only natural he would expect me to return that trust—but still I hesitate to tell him my given name.
Durov, however, is a stubborn soul and lets the silence between us grow to an uncomfortable level.
Not wanting to lose our growing friendship, I throw caution to the wind, telling him my name even though I promised myself I never would.
“You can call me Thane.”
Durov stares at me in silence, but I can see the look of recognition slowly coming to his eyes. “The Thane Davis,” he states.
“Yes.”
He shakes his head. Instead of words of condemnation or even sympathy, he asks, “What really happened to your father?”
I’m momentarily speechless. If he knows who I am, he knows all about the scandal surrounding my family. Surely, he must know what happened that day.
“My father took his own life.”
“I know this, but why?” he presses.
Tears prick my eyes remembering the events that led up to that day. I boil it down to the simplest terms. “I kept a secret that killed him.”
Durov’s eyes narrow. I’m fully prepared to be questioned, but he tells me, “I thought it true the moment I met you. We are meant to be brothers.”
His reaction is the last thing I expected. His acceptance of me after revealing my dark truth, bonds me to Durov in a way I have never thought imaginable.
“As for me, my beautiful Tatianna is dead because I failed to protect her. If I had it to do over again…” He pauses, then looks at me with those tortured blue eyes. “Well, it doesn’t matter—does it?”
I shake my head in agreement. “No, we cannot change the past. It is the cruelest part of surviving the suicide of someone you love. You relive it every day, but you will never be able to alter the events that led to their death.”
“Nyet. You are condemned forever for your failure.”
I shudder, the truth of his words sending a cold chill through me.
“How did your father die?�
� Durov asks.
The blood and violence of that moment flashes through my mind, and I struggle to speak. “Gunshot.”
He only nods.
“What about Tatianna?”
“She…slit her wrists,” he chokes out.
Knowing how recent her suicide was, I can only imagine what he is going through emotionally. At six months, I wasn’t able to talk about it with anyone—not even the therapists.
“My father apologized to me before shooting himself in the head,” I confess to Durov. “He died in my arms.”
Tears form in Durov’s eyes. “I do not think I could have borne such a thing.”
“So, you walked in after she had died?” I ask quietly.
The look he gives me is full of such raw pain, it steals my breath away.
“I came bearing flowers…”
Durov starts sobbing uncontrollably and immediately turns away from me.
I walk over to him, his pain my pain. Pushing past the walls I have built up, I put my arms around him, giving him my strength. He resists only for a moment before burying his head in my chest and crying openly.
I hold back my own sorrow. The pain he is suffering is so new, he has no mechanisms to deal with it.
I’ve had two years.
I know how to compartmentalize that unbearable pain.
Moy Droog
The two of us talk well into the night, and I open up to him like I have never done before with anyone.
“My father was incredibly talented. His music literally changed people’s lives based on the numerous letters he received from around the globe. Everyone loved him, and yet…he still treated me like I was what mattered most to him.”
“Moy droog, I am envious of the close relationship you had with your father, even though it ended tragically,” Durov confesses, “My father has only earned my deepest resentment.”
“Why?”
Following his example, I pour a glass of vodka and hand it to him to help ease the conversation.
Taking it from me, Durov downs the liquor angrily before speaking. “I have four brothers. As a family we should be strong together, but my father destroyed that. In every way he could think of, he made me the outcast in my own family. I am utterly alone except for my mother.”