The Russian Unleashed

by Red Phoenix

  “Mine to please and torture at will,” I whisper in her ear.

  Her soft whimper excites me.

  Taking my ’nines from her mouth, I wipe it off with her braided hair. I do it as an intimate exchange, highlighting that her body is mine to use as I see fit.

  Ready to start, I wrap my hand around the ’nine’s handle and snap it near her face so she can hear the harshness of the tails as they cut through the air. I take pleasure in the goosebumps that rise on her skin.

  She has every reason to be scared.

  This will hurt.

  But, first, I introduce her to its gentler side.

  I lightly drag the tails over her skin, from her arms to her shoulders, and down her back to her buttocks. The soft caress adds to the goosebumps on her skin as I tickle her with it.

  At one point, she lets out a giggle.

  I take that moment to step back momentarily and gently slap the ’nines against her mound. It is a possessive move, laying claim to her pussy—it’s meant to stimulate her mind as well as her body.

  She lets out a cry of surprise, then moans in response. Already my cat o’ nines is weaving its wicked spell.

  Moving into position, I order her to straighten her back and move her shoulders forward. I want access to every inch of her.

  I cut the air several times with my whip to warm up before we begin. Bound as she is, I want kroshka to anticipate what is about to happen.

  A few subs watch us from afar. Their heads are bowed but they sneak covert glances at my cat o’ nines. I recognize each submissive, and all of them know its bite. They seem to be drawn to it like moths to a flame.

  I smile to myself, confident that kroshka will soon feel as they do.

  Ending my warm-up, I ask her, “Are you prepared for the pain?”

  I hear the catch in her voice when she answers, “Yes, Rytsar.”

  I immediately deliver the first stroke. Her body tenses upon impact and she lets out a throaty scream that is a mixture of terror and desire. Her cry is truly alluring, just as Shurik said.

  I follow that first lash with two more in quick succession, and the entire dungeon echoes with her screams.

  Now that I have her attention, I know every one of her senses is focused solely on me. It is a heady experience knowing I am the center of her universe.

  I thrive on her willing submission as I watch her physically tremble after my initial set of lashes.

  Kroshka holds her breath as she wonders when the next lash will fall.

  I change my stance and give her a challenging stroke on each buttock, excited by her tears and the growing redness of her ass.

  “Would you like it harder?” I ask.

  It takes her several moments before she nods.

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  She looks back at me. “I want it harder, Rytsar.”

  As she readies for a powerful stroke, I watch her entire body tense.

  Instead of giving her what she expects, I graze her back with a gentle stroke and hear her gasp in surprise.

  “You are mine to control,” I remind her. I run my fingers lightly over her back, appreciating the marks on her skin. When I reach between her legs, I find she is incredibly wet.

  “Do you want to come?”

  “Yes…” she murmurs breathlessly.

  I smirk as I suck my finger and taste her for the first time. I then move back into position.

  Taking the time to study her back, I determine the best place for the next stroke. Raising my arm, I smile as I deliver a powerful stroke that steals her breath away.

  I wait several moments for her body to recover before delivering the second, equally powerful stroke.

  Kroshka’s sexy cries fill the dungeon, turning me on even more. I vary the power of my lashes, inciting various screams from her lips and creating a vocal concert as I carry her into subspace.

  I hand my ’nines to a sub and pick up a cane. Knowing her body is still reverberating from the caress of the lashes, I approach kroshka.

  “Now for your punishment.”

  I rub her red ass with my hand and hear her whimper. I stand back and strike her buttocks with enough force to leave a prominent welt.

  The cry she makes is the most alluring yet and dissolves the last of my control.

  I toss the cane to a nearby Dom and undo my pants, pressing my hard cock between her legs. Rubbing the head of my shaft against her swollen clit, I growl in satisfaction. “You are wet…”

  Her sobs quickly quiet as her body responds to my need, her pussy covering my cock with her wet excitement. I press my shaft against her anus and feel her shiver.

  “And now, you will come.”

  I push into her ass with little resistance, her body opening itself up to my darker needs.

  I grab her bound wrists as I begin thrusting into her so the rattling sound of the chains will announce every stroke into her ass.

  She begins moaning again—that alluring sound I find intoxicating.

  Releasing one wrist, I grasp her throat possessively as I thrust even deeper, demanding her complete submission.

  Changing the angle of my thrusts, I stimulate her G-spot as I fuck her.

  “Who owns you right now?”

  “Rytsar!” she cries.

  I thrust harder and faster, wanting complete possession of her.

  I know her orgasm is near when her entire body tenses. “Come for me.”

  She fills the dungeon with her erotic screams as she orgasms.

  As soon as her climax begins to ebb, I slow my thrusts and concentrate on the depth of each stroke.

  The dungeon is quiet while the chains rattle with each pronounced thrust. I let my climax build until I can no longer hold back. Pressing myself against her, I grit my teeth as I release my seed deep inside her ass.

  The sound of her sensual cries and the smell of our mixed sweat fill my senses as I embrace the primal essence of who I am.

  I make no excuses.

  I am Rytsar Durov—sadist at heart.

  The Dragon

  I wake with a start, and my hand automatically goes to my shoulder. I rub the dragon tattoo as the last remnants of a dream disappear.

  I vividly recall the day I got the tattoo and the reason I wanted it.

  It happened right after my grandfather gave me the ring.

  Looking back now, I realize that night changed the course of my life and the lives of those I hold most dear—but I didn’t know it then.

  Although I wasn’t close to my grandfather, I highly respected the man. His intellect was unmatched, but it was his self-discipline and open mind that I admired more.

  Sadly, my father was the opposite of my grandfather, and I have often wondered what my grandfather thought of his son.

  Our family had gotten an unusual invitation from my grandfather to join him for dinner. Normally a recluse, we were all excited at the prospect of having a formal dinner with the distinguished man.

  Even my mother, who was not a Durov by birth, was ecstatic about the unexpected chance to spend time with my grandfather. She had a deep interest in our family history and longed to learn as much as she could about him.

  I loved that about my mother. Whereas I was embarrassed by my lineage because of my father, she embraced the Durovs because of her sons.

  I let out a ragged sigh, remembering that night years ago when we went to visit my grandfather and I learned the significance of the black dragon…

  “You come from an important family, Anton,” Mamulya tells me as we walk behind the others to the limousine. “Throughout history, they have been men of honor who were known as strong protectors. Don’t ever lose sight of that. The blood of your forefathers flows in your veins, and they were great men.”

  “But Father—”

  She looks at me, her expression suddenly somber. “You are strong and wise like your grandfather, Anton. Embrace his traits.” Her eyes soften. “You will be a great man someday. You are destined for it.�
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  “I prefer being stupid and happy, Mamulya.”

  She laughs lightly, roughing up my hair. “You will never be stupid, my son, but I hope you are always happy.”

  As my brothers get into the vehicle, my mother suddenly insists that Vlad sit with my father while she takes a seat in the back with me.

  My father is pleased with her suggestion and pats Vlad on the shoulder. “I prefer to have my firstborn beside me.”

  Vlad looks at me and mouths the words Mama’s boy.

  I smirk. I have no problem being called a mama’s boy when my mother is such an extraordinary woman.

  Grandfather does not meet us when we arrive. Instead, the servant escorts us to the drawing room reserved for special guests. There we are left to wait for him.

  My father is insulted and begins to pace the room. However, I see it as a compliment rather than a slight, and tell him so.

  “The man is a pompous fool!” my father shouts. “Treating us as if we are unwanted guests rather than family.”

  “A fool?” I hear my grandfather say as he stands up from a lounge chair facing the fireplace.

  Instead of being embarrassed, my father demands, “What kind of father chooses not to greet his only son at the door?”

  Grandfather ignores him and turns to my mother. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Anya.”

  My mother bows her head and smiles. “I feel the same.”

  My grandfather glances at each of us five boys, but his eyes return to me and he continues to stare at me for several uncomfortable seconds.

  “What is this all about?” my father huffs.

  When Grandfather turns to look at him, I see my father shrink under his gaze. “We will be having dinner together,” he states matter-of-factly.

  Grandfather then turns to me. “But first, I will speak to Anton—alone.”

  “Alone?” my father snarls. “What the hell for?”

  Grandfather glares at him. “You will speak to me with respect.”

  My father grimaces, having been put in his place in front of all of us.

  Grandfather gestures for me to walk to the door and answers my father. “This has nothing to do with you, Vladimir.”

  I can feel the weight of my brothers’ jealous gazes as Grandfather escorts me out of the room, but I am uneasy about this private talk.

  I have been getting into trouble lately, having far too much fun with Titov as we find new ways to entertain ourselves on the streets of Moscow. It’s all been in harmless fun, but it has been an embarrassment to my father and a source of growing tension between us.

  Grandfather leads me to the study and closes the door. He orders me to sit while he walks to the liquor cabinet.

  I watch as he quietly pours two glasses of fine cognac and walks back to me, handing me a glass before sitting down.

  The expensive alcohol instantly sets my mind at ease. I know now this is not going to be a lecture about my shortcomings.

  “I have been watching you closely, Anton,” he states, swirling the liquor in his glass and taking a whiff before sipping.

  I fight the urge to down it like vodka and follow his example. The rich aroma enhances the flavor as I take the first sip, enjoying the unique flavor notes of chocolate, caramel, and fig.

  I have to hand it to my grandfather. He has exceptional tastes in alcohol.

  “Very good,” I compliment him, holding up my glass.

  “I thought it appropriate for tonight.”

  He has my curiosity piqued, but I don’t want to sound like an overeager child by asking him what he means, so I keep my cool and take another sip to better appreciate the flavor. I am surprised to taste a hint of something unexpected. “Saffron.”

  He smiles, obviously pleased that I picked up on the taste. “It is the reason I prefer this cognac above all others.”

  “I’m a vodka man myself, but I appreciate a superior drink in any form.”

  We sip the drink together in comfortable silence. It appears that my grandfather is not interested in rushing our time together even though my family is waiting.

  I follow his lead and sit back in the fine leather chair to savor the moment. Once I’ve finished my drink, I set my glass down on the side table and wait patiently for him to speak.

  “You do not take after your father,” he states.

  “No, I do not.”

  “And you are nothing like your brothers.”

  I snort. “If it weren’t for the obvious physical resemblance, I would question whether I am related to them.”

  “But, you do take after your mother.”

  A smile spreads across my face at the mention of her. “I certainly strive to.”

  Grandfather sets his glass down. “I have the utmost respect for Anya.”

  “She feels the same about you, Grandfather.”

  He presses his fingers together contemplatively and then surprises me by saying, “I owe your mother.”

  I look at him questioningly. “How so?”

  “You will come to understand in time, Anton.”

  I find his answer both dissatisfying and unsettling.

  “Have you heard the saying, ‘With great power, comes great responsibility?’”

  I shake my head slowly. “No, I have not.”

  “It has become the mantra of my life.”

  I shrug in sympathy. “You are the family patriarch. I’m sure it’s not an easy position to have.”

  His voice is somber when he replies, “It is not. Your father envies my wealth, but it is an overwhelming and thankless obligation.”

  “My father is an idiot.”

  He frowns. “Normally, I would correct anyone making such a grievous statement about their father, but in Vladimir’s case…” He lets out a long sigh. “…I agree with you. “It pains me greatly that Vladimir is a cruel person. Irina and I did our best to mold him as a child—but we obviously failed to make an impact.”

  “My brothers are easily manipulated by him. What does that tell you?”

  He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, then abruptly changes the subject. “Has your father explained the significance of the family crest to you?”

  I shake my head.

  “I thought as much.”

  He points to an archaic flag emblazoned with our family crest hanging on the wall. “Your forefathers put great thought into its design. They wanted not only to proclaim our history but to also express the expectations of our future.”

  He stares at the flag as he explains, “The band at the top denotes our leadership and the color red speaks to our strength.”

  He glances at me. “The Durovs must always remain strong leaders for our country, Anton.”

  Looking back at the crest, he continues, “The blue background speaks to our loyalty to the people, while the estoile symbolizes that we understand we are under God’s guidance.”

  “Estoile?” I ask. I am unfamiliar with the word.

  He points to the star with eight points. “The estoile is gold to signify our willingness to give fully whenever it is required. And the dragon in the center proclaims our vow to be valiant defenders of all that is right and true.”

  Realizing that every color has significance, I ask, “Why is the dragon black?”

  His expression becomes grave. “It conveys the deepest truth.” Looking up at the flag, he tells me, “True leadership requires great sacrifice.”

  I feel a chill at his pronouncement. “Grandfather, I know you say it is a thankless job and I do not know what you have sacrificed. However, I am grateful for what you have done for the family.”

  He nods in acknowledgment, but I see the anguished look in his eyes.

  “I know everything about you, Anton. My men have been following you for the last three months.”

  I suddenly tense, fearful this has all been an elaborate setup to chastise me for my reckless ways.

  Rather than defend myself, I simply say, “And?”

  “You are foolhardy
…” He stands up and gathers the two glasses. As he pours us both another drink, he adds, “But, that is to be expected from someone your age.”

  He walks back to me and hands me the glass. “You are extremely intelligent, although irrational at times.”

  I hold up my glass. “What can I say? There are times when my passion gets the best of me.”

  He smirks. “That passion is your saving grace.”

  I tilt my head, not expecting to hear that response.

  “While others may treat you like a wayward boy, I see you as a man of substance.”

  I stare at him, completely surprised by the turn of events. Rather than a dressing down, I am receiving unexpected praise.

  I notice my grandfather playing with the gold ring on his pinky. When he looks me in the eyes again, the intensity of his gaze steals my breath.

  “I see great things in you, Anton.”

  I am both inspired and terrified by his pronouncement.

  “So much so…” He pulls the ring from his finger. “That I want you to have this.”

  He puts the ring in the palm of my hand. I feel the heavy weight of it and look down to see the gold band with the symbol of the dragon etched in black stone. It is something I have admired since I was a boy. I know it has been passed down in the family for generations.

  I shake my head as I stare at it, afraid to tell him the truth. “I can’t accept this, Grandfather. I’m not worthy.”

  “You are wrong.”

  The confidence with which he says it stirs something in my soul.

  “Wear it and remember where you come from. We are Durovs, proud defenders of the Motherland.”

  For the first time since I was born, I feel proud of my bloodline as I slide the ring onto my finger.

  Grandfather sits back in his chair, looking at me with pride.

  I am not used to such treatment and take a drink of my cognac to hide how uncomfortable it makes me.

  He sips his and then asks, “What are your plans for the future?”

  “I have yet to decide. I have no interest in becoming a lawyer and zero talent as a doctor. Unfortunately for me, there is no money in bare-fisted boxing.”

  He chuckles. “You are impressive, though.”

  My jaw drops. “You’ve seen me?”