SNUFFED: SNUFF Sequel - Part One

by Bonny Capps

  I never thought that this realization would hurt as much as it does right now. Before, Dimitri would go mad at the thought of another man touching me, much less licking my pussy or fucking me. The sad, sad truth is plain as day. There is one thing that he cherishes more than me, and that is power. Days ago, I was afraid to tell him that I would be skating with a partner, and now … now I’m his whore and he’s my pimp.

  Once upon a time, I thought that I would solve the conundrum that is Dimitri. However, I begin to doubt this more and more every single day.

  Will he touch me again? Will he brutally fuck my ass like he did when I first returned back to his dacha? Will my pussy no longer be worthy of his touch because it’s tainted?

  I agreed to do this, yes, but even if I didn’t – I would have still been dragged to the politician’s suite. If I wasn’t “willing,” would the politician’s eyes have been so kind? Would he have been so gentle?

  Something tells me that he wouldn’t.

  I’ve learned that willingness keeps me from being hurt here, in the physical sense at least. My mind is already so fractured. I’m becoming somebody that the old me would pass on the street, feeling bad for the vacant look in the skinny girl’s eyes.

  There was a time when I loved myself … truly loved myself. Not only did I believe in myself—in my dreams—I also respected myself enough to never be stupid, to never be vulnerable.

  My mother taught me those things, and she was a shining role model. How am I supposed to be that for Eva? How am I supposed to teach her how to be strong and independent? Her mother is meek. Her mother is bendable. Her mother is broken.

  When the car stops in front of the dacha, my eyes travel over the gothic structure. The grey stone is stacked high towards the starry sky, towering above the gargantuan pine trees.

  To have power, you must give power. That’s how this bratva became a successful one. Because these men know that a sacrifice, even a small one, leads to greater things. I am the sacrifice. I am the one who will make my husband richer and more influential than he already is in this corrupt country.

  As I walk up the stairs, I wonder how far I’ll be stretched in so many directions.

  I’m to skate again, not only skate, but learn how to couple with another. That would be hard enough in normal circumstances, but now it’s hard to trust anyone in this country. I’m crippled by the fear of being dropped by Ilia, which only serves to screw up my concentration.

  I am to be Dimitri’s whore. While I should be honing my skating skills, I’ll be fucking complete strangers for my husband’s gain.

  I am to be Dimitri’s subservient mouse. I am to never question him or deny him. I am to dress as he wants me to dress, eat how he wants me to eat, say what he wants me to say, seduce who he wants me to seduce, torment who he wants me to torment … and kill who he wants me to kill.

  While all of these things pull me apart, threatening to split me in a million different directions, there’s Eva—the one who should be my main concern. She is, but I have to devote myself to keeping her safe, and that devotion keeps me away from her.

  Stopping at the foot of the stairs, my eyes travel to the door at the very end. That’s where Dimitri and his men drink, snort cocaine, and discuss “business.” I hear my husband’s voice, loud and boisterous, not displaying a shred of melancholy. Of course not. He wasn’t the one in that suite. His body wasn’t used as a trade.

  I wonder if his tune would change if he wasn’t the one sporting that sinister grin in the portrait. If he had to sit in a small cage, awaiting his demise. If he had to eat one stale bite of bread for days. If he were to be sprayed down like a dog. If he were the one to be tortured to death, split open, and made into a grisly display.

  My fingers curl into my palms, my fists clenching as I stare daggers into that door. Fuck him. Fuck those men. Fuck this place. If he wants me to be his Red Queen, I will be his Red Queen … there is no guarantee that he’ll like it.

  I continue on to our room before running a scorching hot bath. I hiss as I lower my body into the steaming water, watching as my skin flushes where the water meets, and imagining a world where I have control.

  Reaching between my legs, I insert a finger into my opening, twirling it around and collecting the politician’s semen before holding the finger before my eyes; pinching my thumb and index finger together and drawing them apart, watching the string of cum stretch between my digits.

  My belly warms when I think of the politician’s face between my legs, his dick moving in and out rhythmically, slick skin slapping and sliding, and the way I clenched around his length once I found my release once more.

  I’m already changing, wriggling from the cocoon that I’ve come to know so well. The bitter end is calling my name, though it isn’t a life lost as much as it is a life gained. Trading my pure soul for one that is as tar black as Dimitri’s and giving into a perilous life to please him; the demon who’s clipped my wings.

  A rebirth is a necessity to become his confidant, his lover, his right hand …

  And the one who will send him flailing into the abyss, into the darkness where he belongs, never to return again.

  Stumbling down the hallway, my shoulder crashes into the wall.

  Thinking of her with another man, it was too much for the vodka or cocaine to tame my rage. Was I a fool to do this? Will the last string of my sanity be jeopardized because of my greed?

  I swore that I would never allow another man to touch her. She is mine; mind, body, soul. Mine. Everything in me screams to punish her. I want to punish her for what I told her to do. The rational part of my brain, the part that usually remains silent, tells me that this is no fault of hers. Yet, the irrational thoughts cloud that singular, conscientious fueled thought.

  If she’d said no, I would have beaten her, yes … but she wouldn’t have been ruined, again.

  She allowed this to happen, therefore, she must suffer the consequences. I let the determination straighten my legs and balance my feet as I continue on my way, seeking her out. I lick my lips in anticipation. I want to watch her suffer. I want her to plead for my forgiveness as I rain the blows down upon her.

  Yet when I open the door to our bedroom, I’m confused. Why isn’t she hidden beneath the sheets crying tears of shame? Why isn’t she throwing herself at my feet, begging for my mercy?

  Instead, she sits in front of the warm fire as it flickers, her hand lazily holding a glass with clear contents as her forearm hangs off of the leather arm of the chair. Thunder rumbles outside, and a quick flash of lightening illuminates her soft features, yet something is sharp about her tonight.

  I quietly close the door behind me as I observe my wife. Her nails, usually naked, are painted midnight black, matching the silk robe that she wears. Her blonde hair hangs over her shoulders, tousled and curled at the ends. Her lips are a delicious crimson red, and her eyes are lined with black.

  The robe opens down the middle, enough for me to see the soft curves of her breasts as the corset presses them up and the lace panties tease me. Her legs are wrapped in fishnet stockings which are secured to garters that match the rest of her ensemble.

  I cross the room, staring down at her, but her eyes remain fixated on the fire before her. “Sofia,” I say, my tone gritty as I wait for her to do something … anything.

  Finally, her eyes flit to mine. Dark pools of knowing … wisdom, even. Who is this woman?

  She smiles a devious smile before taking a sip of her drink. “I thought you’d never come to bed. I was waiting for you.”

  Running my hand through my hair, I look down at her completely baffled.

  Her soft laughter fills my ears. “What is it, Dimitri? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I shake my head. “Why are you acting this way?”

  She stands slowly, her eyes remaining fixed on mine, and though she is still as small as the day I took her, she seems taller. More confident. Less meek. Less eager.

  “Remember wha
t you told me, Dimitri?” she murmurs, unbuttoning my shirt before leaning forward and placing a soft kiss over my heart. “You want me to be your queen. Your Red Queen.” She pauses, placing another kiss over my chest. “I am giving you that. Right now.”

  I choke back a moan when she runs her fingers over my erection.

  “I want you to pound away every disgusting memory of that politician fucking me. Diminish his touch and replace it with yours. Give me every bit of yourself, and I will do the same in exchange. I will be everything you want me to be; your mouse, your confidant, your queen,” she whispers, trailing her long nails along my chest before stepping behind me and slowly pulling my shirt over my shoulders.

  Her nails leave fiery paths from my shoulders to the small of my back. “I will kill for you. I will stand behind that camera with a mask, with you—for you. I will do anything.”

  “Don’t lie, Sofia,” I growl, not wanting to trust her.

  She has given me so many reasons not to in the past. Seeing her like this, it makes me harder than I’ve ever thought possible. Harder than the night I took her virginity. Harder than our wedding night. She is something to be reckoned with when she’s like this.

  She is a black soul wrapped in something beautiful and pure. A white lie—so perfect, so dishonest. Her nails against my back remind me of the scratchy voice that is my conscience. Her touch, so gentle, reminds me of my mother’s. Her innocence, once so inviting, is no longer.

  The woman that stands behind me has been tainted, her soul blackened like my own. That was my doing. Unlike me, she was born innocent. I did this to her. I made her this way.

  “Husband,” she purrs, stepping in front of me, her chest and chin high as her eyes shine with determination. “Take me to bed.”

  “You’ve been with another man,” I snap, but she doesn’t falter.

  “It was your wish.”

  I cannot deny that. My shoulders slouch. She’s right. I came into this room with every intention of hurting her … for what? That will not do shit. It very well might feed my bloodthirsty demons. They crave welts, blood, and heartache. They feed off of hurt—her hurt, to be precise—and I do not know why.

  I want to feed them, but I am drunk. So drunk, that my body sways with each breath that I take. I threaten to fall when I lift my hand and lower it towards her face, yet she stops me by grasping my wrist.

  “Harming me will do no good,” she murmurs, her dark eyes locking onto mine. “If anything, it will make matters worse. You are drunk, Dimitri.”

  In a quick movement, she twists my vulnerable form, turning me and landing my ass in the chair she once occupied. “Do not twist this on me, husband. I’m simply becoming what you’ve craved all along. You asked me a favor, and I stuck to my word. I slept with that old bastard. You should own up to what you asked, or told me to do … I did, but it doesn’t mean that I wanted to.”

  She slumps onto my lap and wraps an arm around my neck. Leaning forward, she whispers to me, “It was your wish for me to fuck him … to please him … and I did. He said he was like my papa, he wanted to make his little girl feel good.”

  My cock grows painfully hard at her words. “Did he?” I growl, digging my fingers into her thigh.

  She moans softly before rubbing her ass against my length. “He did. He fucked me like a good papa would.”

  “Fuck,” I seethe, quickly removing us from the armchair, causing her back to land harshly against the rug before the fireplace. Her legs wrap around my hips, and her heels dig into my lower back when she brings my cock closer to her pussy. “Do you want me inside of you when I force you to kill an innocent soon?”

  Her eyes flash, showing me that tiny sliver of innocence that she has left before they turn dark, and unrelenting once more. “You will not force me anymore, Dimitri. From now on, I will not fight. Fuck me. Claim me. I am yours, Dimitri. Mind. Body. Soul. I am yours.”

  My chest flush against hers, our breaths combat and my dick nags to be inside of her: the innocent girl turned bad. The pure virgin turned Red Queen.

  I grab her face in my hands and squeeze. She is the epitome of beauty. Everything about her calls to me. I could stay inside of her forever, have her nails dig into me as her teeth bite into my flesh, like a feisty little kitten. Before, I longed for her innocence. Now, I’m not sure what I want more. Her begging me to stop or her like this: dirty, nasty words rolling off of her tongue travelling directly to the head of my cock.

  “Tell me what you want me to do to you,” I rasp, rubbing my length against her clothed cunt.

  “I want you to fuck me. Hard. I need to be put in my place. Tell me how bad I’ve been.”

  “That’s what you want?” I growl, hooking my thumb into her cheek harshly before reaching between us with my free hand and freeing my cock. Ripping her panties to the side, I shove into her, not needing to check and see if she’s already dripping wet. I know my wife, and I know her cunt. She cannot deny my touch. Even if she tried, her body always deceives her.

  “Ahh!” She shrieks before her hands snap to my back and her nails claw into me. My hand wraps around her jaw, holding her head straight so she can look me in the eyes every single time I pump inside of her. She clenches around my cock, and I know she’s so close, but I slow and she whimpers.

  “Tell me you love me, and mean it. Mean it, or I will take you below and make you bleed.”

  I almost stop fully as I stare into her eyes. Once so soft, they’re shrouded with mystery. I want to be able trust her.

  She sighs, reaching up and cupping my cheeks, she whispers, “I love you, Dimitri Vavilov. I love you.” I begin quickening the pace as she repeats, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  When I find my release, my forehead drops to hers as my erratic breathing begins to calm. “I love you, Sofia. I love you so much.”

  I stare at Sofia from where I sit on the bed. She stands in the bathroom, her back to me as she applies the crimson over her plump lips. The black dress she wears hugs her every curve. Her blonde hair is in a neat bun, and her beautiful cinnamon colored eyes are lined in black, lifting at the ends, making her resemble a cat.

  It has been weeks since she fucked him; weeks since I fucked her in front of the fire. She has changed in so many ways. Her demeanor; the way she walks, sashaying her hips from side to side as if she knows every human with a dick is drinking her in; her voice, once so timid, is now confident and sexy.

  She is sex. She is the very definition, and I couldn’t be more proud to call her my wife. My queen.

  “Dimitri?” she purrs from the bathroom. “Is today the day?”

  I smirk before pulling the vile out of my pocket, unscrewing the lid, and snorting my lifeline into my nose. “It is, my love. Are you ready?” I ask, standing and approaching her.

  Placing my hands over her slender shoulders, I give them a gentle squeeze.

  “I’m ready,” she murmurs, and I smile when she winks at me. “But first, I have something for you.” Turning to face me, she presses a soft kiss to my cheek before moving into the bedroom. “I hope you like it.”

  Opening her lingerie drawer, she digs beneath the silk and lace before retrieving a jewelry box. Turning toward me, she gives me a half smile. “I hope you like it. Happy birthday.”

  I sigh as I take a step towards her. My birthday has never been cause for celebration. My father never celebrated the day of my birth. Mama did before she died … but, that ended with her. Since my father died, I have been preparing for this celebration. It is a celebration of my rule as well as my birth. It’s a celebration for change.

  Retrieving the box from her, I open it slowly. My lips curl up at what I find. It’s a ring. A skull with a mouse peering from one eye, it’s tail hanging from the other. The mouse’s eyes are ruby red, staring up at me.

  “I love it, Sofia,” I whisper, leaning down and catching her lips with mine.

  Pulling away, I peer into her eyes as I run my thumb along her cheek. “Now come. The grea
test gift you can give me awaits below.”

  “If she is going, then I am going too!” Alexei shouts, throwing his hands in the air.

  “You are a fool if you think that you will come out of that dacha alive and well! Dimitri will kill you! He will not only kill you, but torture you first!” David retorts, standing from his desk and resting his hands on the wooden surface. “You are the future of this bratva! Putting yourself in harm’s way is ignorant!”

  Alexei grimaces. “That is all you care about? The future of this bratva? What about your daughter? What about your granddaughter?”

  “Goddammit, Alexei!” David snaps, shoving the papers from his desk. I watch as they all drift to the floor like dead leaves falling in autumn. “She is all right! In fact, you heard Konstantin yourself! She is more than all right!”

  “Have you ever thought that she is doing what she is doing to stay alive?”

  “Of course she is!” David bellows, running a hand down his face. It’s as if I shouldn’t be standing here witnessing this dysfunction, but it’s a constant in this home.

  Finally, I decide to chime in. “I highly doubt that Dimitri will harm him. This will be a huge event. He’s going to make sure of it. Let him go. Maybe Dimitri will ease off if Alexei can raise a white flag on the Dmitriev end.”

  “What exactly are you implying?” David seethes, his eyes boring into mine. “Are you saying that we just wash our hands of this?”

  “Absolutely not,” I respond. “I’m saying that we feed his ego. Let him think that we are caving in. Pitch a partnership of sorts. This bratva is well established in drug and weapon trade. You have far more loyal buyers than the Vavilovs in those departments. Let that be a driver.”

  “I agree,” Alexei remarks, his cautious eyes traveling from mine and hardening when they land on his father’s. “Let me go in there and fix this. The quicker we do this, the quicker we can get them out of there.”