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“I think I’m drunk, Uncle Sasha.”
The lips disappear from her skin and she wants to beg him to put them back, to forget that she said anything at all. Puts her face in the crook of his neck instead, the weight of her head too much suddenly.
“Oh, you’re definitely drunk malyshka.”
A moment where she expects it all to shift, heat turning cold and the world jostling with movement.
Instead there are only warm hands and a slow glide up and down her back instead, fingers thrumming over her ribs, the press of his cock burning. Her hair being guided off her shoulders, a teasing kiss again against her throat, a humming, contemplating sound, the scrape of teeth followed by complete silence. The fire behind her still and dormant, far away from any stray bouts of laughter from the party, nothing except the rush of blood in her ears.
Eyelids burdensome things.
The easiest thing in the world to let them close. Do absolutely nothing as the hands on her back travel upwards once more, on their way down a zipper held between them. Gentleness quickly replaced by greed as they find newly exposed skin, scorching now as they touch her, the little black dress she’s been wearing–collarbones, all of her hidden away from prying eyes–quickly peeled off her torso. Her own hands lax when they find his shirt, doesn’t know what she is holding on for.
“Sit up for me.”
The desire to obey overruled by the persistent troublesome weight of her body. A deep sigh and then her hair wrapped around a hand, a firm tug backwards and up, straining a little against the mellow pain.
“There you are, not that difficult hmm? Now open your eyes and look at me,” her first attempt at obeying useless once again. “Come on pet, be a good girl and do as you’re told.”
A good girl.
The very definition of Alina’s character.
Good and obedient.
Listening, always listening, the constant need for reassurance after the sensation of a thumb on her cheekbones and her tears replaced with something sticky. Opens her eyes, Morozova’s dark and endless as they stare back. A sharpness in him not even the alcohol can blur away from her, the constant danger thrumming as her jaw is released, hand trailing down, finger gliding along the cool chain around her neck, plucking up the ring resting between her breasts.
“So you didn’t tell them about my claim then?”
Wishes she could fly, teleport somewhere far away. No idea what to answer, lost, have always been so horrible lost around him, the lessons she’s been taught unimportant in comparison to the mass of feelings threatening to burst out of her chest.
“It’s okay pet,” saves her or maybe it was only ever a rhetorical question, the scotch bottle pressed to her mouth. “Go on, take another sip.”
One sip turning into three, her bra disappearing at some point while Alina is busy trying to make the world behave again. Fingers featherlight and tickling over her ribs, thumbs flickering over her nipples, teasing circles, mean tugs that she hiccups a complaint about.
“Me? Mean?” receives a quick laugh, an even quicker peck of a kiss. “You’re the first person to ever accuse me of being mean.”
“You’re such a liar Uncle Sasha.”
Something in her voice that hasn’t been there in a long time, head spinning trying to figure out what it is. Interrupted by his hands moving, one in her hair, the other cupping her jaw, holding her still as he leans forward, a proper kiss this time. Gently coaxing her mouth open, the swipe of his tongue over her bottom lip, over her own tongue. A pleased hum when her own hands slide into his hair, the very faintest of grips–you can pull harder than that malyshka–except she can’t.
Can barely do anything except shiver in his lap, shaking little twitches and she’s wet, cunt two moments away from dripping, whines when Morozova spreads his legs, thighs aching from the stretch. The kiss growing harder, bruising, gets small reprieves to catch her breath when he descends on her neck–that’s, you’re, please–Alina has no idea what she is pleading for, her dress inching upwards around her thighs, a gap of skin between her stockings and the hemline.
Doesn’t register the door opening until there is already a man leaning against the doorframe. Max–knows Max, knows him, likes him, doesn’t trust him–even more casual than normally. Eyebrows only slightly raised as he watches them and it takes her far too long to react, to duck and press her face in Morozova’s neck. Shiver and hide as the cold from the hallway creeps closer, twisting over her thighs, a yanking reminder of everything on the other side of the door.
“Why don’t you go find someone else to play with Max?” one of Morozova’s hands finds her waist, the other her breast, rubbing back and forth over the nipple, an unyielding touch that has her unwillingly rolling her hips in return. “Alinochka and I are quite busy tonight.”
“So I can see.”
And there is merciless teasing in his voice, deep familiarity, unspoken words that would have her off Morozova’s lap if not for the iron hold on her waist. No idea how long it is before the sound of the door clicking shut reaches her, heart hammering in her chest as she is allowed to straighten up.
The coldness lingering, threatening future sobriety, consequences, the never ending weight of stares bearing down on her. Drags a shaky hand through her hair, pauses at her lips, already swollen.
“I– I should go.”
Her ring finger screaming in exhaustion, a lump in her throat, rubs at her eyes before she can catch herself, no doubt smearing mascara and eyeliner. Morozova’s eyebrows knitted in a frown as he stares at her and she needs to ask what he did with her bra. Attempts to move except now there are two hands holding her firm, a brand over her spine.
“Go? Oh, malyshka,” no idea how he does this either, time moving in disjointed jumps, her arms suddenly raised, everything dark as he pulls her dress off over her head. “The opportunity for you to leave has long since passed.”
Tries to speak, to simply think, thwarted by the sensation of a tongue lapping over her right nipple, beard scratching as he moves. A bruise sucked into the side of her breast, moving to the other, Alina yelping as he bites down. Pain that has her rocking, his cock a hard, heavy line beneath her, another reminder that she needs to–
Morozova lifting his head, eyes shining, the kiss bruising, teeth nipping, wonders if she can actually taste blood or is simply imagining things. Dizzy when she breaks away, panting, all too aware of the sensation of soft-spun wool underneath her thighs, stripped to almost nothing, him in full armour, tie still neatly tucked behind his vest. The only thing off about him a few strands of hair falling onto his forehead. Shadows from the fire flickering over his face as his hand strokes over her belly, down, cupping her cunt, a half smile as he strokes over the black lace.
“That’s all it takes, hmm? A few nice kisses?”
Thumb rubbing, a taunt Alina doesn’t deserve, but tongue too twisted to speak, mind muddled, an eternity between each thought. Shifts her hips instead, gives into instinct, need, want, desire, hiccups, the buckle of Morozova’s belt cold when she touches it. Hands firmly moved away, placed behind her back, one of his easily circling both of her wrists.
“You– c’mon–”
“I know you’re eager pet,” free hand going to his tie, leisurely undoing the knot and pulling it free from his neck, a strip of navy blue silk resting in his palm. “But I don’t like destroying my toys the first time I play with them.”
Spreads his legs even further without warning, too busy holding her balance to protest as he begins looping the silk around her wrists. Grinning at her the entire time, fingers steady and sure, wonders how many other girls he has done this to. A brief wave of unpleasantness, washed away as he touches her necklace again, her, his, her, ring picked up, studied, Alina opening her mouth to complain just as his free hand slips inside her panties.
An absentminded stroke of his fingertips over her slit, coating them in her dripping slick, a slowness to it all as if Alina is desperately, achingly empty.
“Uncle Sasha–”
As far as she comes, trailing off and there are dots in her ears, sniffs, rolls her hips but his fingers are somehow skirting away and the pressure of his cock is no longer there.
“Mm, what is it?”
“Why–” the briefest nudge over her clit, head giving in, all of her collapsing into him. “Why aren’t you touching me?”
A rumble in his chest, fingers slipping free from her panties, the very opposite of what she needed. Palming her ass instead, stroking the curve of it, tugging at the waistband of her panties.
“I’m trying to decide if I should cut you out of these or fuck you with them on.”
“They’re La Perla,” grazes his throat with her teeth, wonders if he would be offended if she left a mark on him. Probably doesn’t bruise as easily as Alina does, would have to put more work into it.
“And?”
“They’re expensive.”
The same rumble again and then a sound she doesn’t recognise, a sharp, quick noise.
“I wasn’t aware your university degree had completely drained the Starkov fortune,” something cold lingering over her skin. “Sit still now, don’t want you to harm yourself.”
Over before her brain has even properly registered his words, scraps of fabric falling from her hips, only her stockings left to protect her. Scrambles backwards without thought, too quick for both of them, a hurried, panicked contraction of muscle that makes her tumble onto the floor, just barely avoiding knocking her head. Panting as she stares up at him, at the knife retreating out of sight.
“Now, what did you do that for? Did you hurt anything?”
Devastatingly easy to forget about how easily he hides his violence. All frowning concern as he bends forward, picks Alina up and settles her on knees between his spread legs, gentle as his fingertips stroke over her cheekbones. Hair brushed out of her face, easing pains that aren’t there, petting her and it’s nice. Wants to touch him in return except long afternoons spent with Uncle Leo learning how to escape cuffs and bonds useless now, the tie firm around her wrists. Opens her mouth when Morozova taps it, two longer fingers gliding in, pressing down on her tongue, thrusts them in and out a couple times, a miracle she doesn’t gag. Tears swelling in her eyes, a few escaping, Morozova cooing as he wipes them away.
“Fucking your throat is a really appealing idea right now Alinochka,” a thing string of spit hanging between her mouth and his fingers, breaks as he wipes them on her cheek. “Unfortunately we have more pressing concerns. Don’t worry though, you will probably enjoy my other plans better.”
Blinks at him.
“What–”
Cut off as the scotch bottle is pressed to her lips again, swallows without second thought, so easy to simply listen to Morozova, follow his instructions. Rest her cheek on his knee, idly floating as he shrugs out of his suit jacket, his second concession of the night. Black shirt under black jacket, cufflinks disappearing onto a side table, rolling up the sleeves, reveals the little knife contraption around his wrist.
A third concession as he unbuckles it, places it next to him on the couch.
“Between you and me,” a conversational tone as he throws a pillow onto the floor behind her. “I would rather keep it on, too many of your family members lurking under my roof. They might not be entirely on board with what I'm about to do to you.”
“Then why don’t you? Keep it?”
Her own voice far away across the ocean, the insides of her thighs sticky, cunt leaking despite nothing touching it and it’s a relief when Morozova bends forward, two fingers stroking through her folds, a steadfast refusal to sink them in where she needs them. Not enough, doesn’t know if anything will be enough, a struggle to stay calm, to not let her tongue go loose and spill all the please and c’mon and I need that she wants to. Her mind fuzzily accepting the tiny morsels of pleasure he gives her, his forehead pressed against hers, close enough to hear every little breathy whimper she fails to swallow.
“I would rather not have an accident stretching this pretty cunt out for my cock.”
Thinks that’s unfair of him, done nothing except slowly tease her so far, tease and get her drunker, limbs turning to lead, beyond her control.
Everything beyond her control.
Lifted up in his lap again, the world doubling as she moves, spread open over his thighs, nuzzles into his neck, nothing she can do except sighs as he finds her cunt again. The same teasing stroke, barely there rubs over her clit, painfully precise, heart fluttering at the contact, feet curling under his thighs. Unfair yet again.
“Uncle Sasha–”
“Poor little Alinochka and her poor little neglected cunt.”
“Please–”
Warm and bones filled with lead, closing her eyes, everything dizzy and out of focus, finally–finally–rewarded with a single finger dipping into her. A hot knife through melted butter, cunt immediately clenching around it, futile as Morozova slips out again.
“You’re making a mess pet,” two this time and Alina has taken more, so much more, the stretch of them still burning. “This dripping cunt of yours is going to stain my sofa.”
Shakes her head, cheeks flushing, not her fault, any protest she might have mustered falling away in a moan as he curls his fingers. Every movement relaxed and unhurried, gentle as he moves, free hand everywhere, cupping her ass, stroking her back, nudging her face upwards to press a kiss to her lax mouth. Fisting into her hair, teeth scraping over her cheek, mumbles words she doesn’t catch, thumb pressing down on her clit as his mouth latches onto her pulsepoint. Pain as he marks the flesh, offset by, or maybe just enhancing the orgasm that spills out of her.
A toe curling thing that has her shaking, biting down on his vest, mouth filled with wool and cotton, muffling her garbled moans as she rolls her hips. The orgasm both ending and not, Morozova’s fingers never stop moving, scissoring her open as he rubs her clit. Wishes her arms were free for her to grab onto him, a final struggle against the tie holding her despite knowing it will leave her with nothing except even more bruises on her wrists.
“Uncle Sasha?”
“Mm, what is it?”
Mouth lifting from her throat, gruff, her head wrenched back again, the ceiling swimming above Alina as he inspects something.
“Could you–”
“I’m not untying you pet,” slowly working a third finger into her. “Decreases the chance of you running away.”
The notion laughable.
Isn’t sure if she is even currently capable of crawling to the door, nothing in her body her own anymore. Morozova slowly robbing her, Alina cutting herself on every sharp edge of his smile, the only thing keeping her together is the confidence he touches her with. Fingers slowly moving, the harsh grip on her hair released, tries her best to be good, remain upright instead of collapsing and crumble the way she wants to.
“You think you’re ready to take my cock now?”
Straining muscle and willpower, blinking him into focus, watches him take a sip of he scotch bottle. Quick, neat, not a drop wasted.
“I don’t know.”
His fingers leaving Alina's cunt, the ache of the emptiness flaring up again, wants them back, thinks they’re enough for this evening.
“I should probably warm you up a bit more,” stands and takes her with him, stocking-clad feet stumbling over the floor as he walks them backwards. “Or take you upstairs, but you’ll forgive me won’t you?”
Unsure how she ends up on the floor, hands guiding her down, kneeling in front of the fire, breaking in two, face cushioned by the pillow he’d thrown there earlier. No idea if she is comfortable or not, left alone for a moment as he turns to put more wood on the dwindling embers. Comes back to her as one tiny blue flame starts licking its way upwards, turning yellow and comforting as leather oxfords nudge her legs further apart.
“Beds are for wives you see,” crouching behind her now, the faint sound of a zipper being lowered. “Don’t worry though, we’ll get there soon enough.”
“What are you– what are you talking about?”
All of her squirming, tries to lift her head enough to look back at him. Achieves only the pressure of a firm hand around her neck, pressing her down, down, down, a snarl in his voice, his eternal patience finally passed.
“Stop moving Alinochka,” rude, his other hand ruthlessly adjusting her hips, ass pulled higher in the air. “Be nice and let me use you the way you are meant to be used.”
Mind swimming, the weight of her body too much, his words asking for no answer, one slipping out nevertheless.
“Yes, Uncle Sasha.”
A pause, the sensation all girls know of someone looking at you, fingers slipping against hers and her rings make a rattling sound as they are thrown against the floor. Wants to ask, opens her mouth and then the head of his cock is stroking through her folds, realises she still hasn’t seen it, only sensations to go on. Had felt the press of it, hard underneath her before Morozova moved her to better be able to play with her. Different now, the heat of it, a heavy weight nudging at her entrance and–
“I’m not sure,” babbling, broken tone, only the hand at her neck holding her still. “Uncle Sasha, I’m not sure it’s gonna fit!”
“Shhh, it’s okay,” no mercy for her, only hands tightening their hold on her as he slips in an impossible inch. “Of course it’s going to fit, you’re a good girl aren’t you? My good girl, just mine.”
Grateful now for the alcohol he poured into her, softening her up, allowing Alina to be just that, Morozova’s good girl, stare at flames through half-lidded eyes and let herself be used. The stretch never ending, a glacial intrusion, every inch a hard fought victory that leaves her gasping, pathetic little mewls and twitches in her toes. Soothed every time it becomes too much, the hand on her neck moving, stroking over her back, fingers laced with hers. Holding her as he finally bottoms out, hips pressed against her own.
Her cunt a fluttering mess around him, slick dripping down her thighs, full in a way she can never remember being. His cock the only thing that matters, his cock and the sensation of it nestled inside her. The buckle on his belt cold when it touches her ass, cock grinding, not properly fucking her, half an inch back and forth, making room where there are none, a reedy little sound escaping her.
“Jesus Christ, Alina,” a finger on her clit and she can’t breathe, whimpering for air, nowhere for her to go, the tears coming uninvited. “It’s okay malyshka, you cry, you look so pretty like that.”
Comes at the first snap of his hips.
Sobbing into the pillow, the pleasure making her silly, a wave crashing through her, only the hands gripping her hips keeping her in her position. Through it all Morozova fucks her, a gentle slow rhythm, the drag of his cock endless, Alina desperately clenching to keep it inside. Filled and empty and filled again, yielding around him, tries to roll her hips to meet his thrusts, a hum of laughter and then she’s lifted up and back, halfway onto his lap, her legs spread over his. Turns her head into his neck, doesn’t know if she hates him or is grateful for the reprieve.
One warm hand plucking at her nipples, the other cupped around her hip.
“Look down,” a smile pressed to her cheek. Shakes her head once, doesn’t want to, wants to hide and wait for him to move again. “Alinochka, do as you’re told. Look down.”
Useless, helpless, looks past the fingers toying with her necklace, his ring, down below her stomach where there is a faint little swell where there usually isn’t one.
Vision unsteady, the light trickery, takes her a couple of blinks, distracted by her cunt fluttering, a tremble running through her.
“Oh.”
Morozova’s hand leaves her hip, stroking over where they can see his cock buried inside her.
“Don’t know which part of you is prettier malyshka.”
Lips slipping down her cheek, a faint kiss to the corner of her mouth before they find her throat again, beard scratching–tickles, stop moving–rough as he suckles yet another mark into her skin.
Slips out of her without warning–what? No, please, I was good–manhandling her, spun around until she finds herself with her back on the floor, head cushioned against her pillow, uncaring about the uncomfortable wet spot from drool. Morozova between her legs and his hair is a little damp and there are more strands falling into his face but the rest of him so composed it isn’t fair. Simply looking at her, hand wrapped around his cock as he drags it through her folds, slipping over her clit.
“Time to put a baby in this stomach of yours I think.”
An easier press inside her this time, Alina more relaxed, Mrozova’s cock slicked up from her orgasm. The words ringing in her head–a baby, a baby, baby–jostling around, multiplying and bumping into each other. A hand on her neck, once more no answer being demanded and once more one spilling out.
“Yes, Uncle Sasha,” mumbles it, thumb stroking over her pulse, the muddled mess of her mind dastardly aware that it’s connected to the same hand that made her an orphan. “Thank you Uncle Sasha.”
Her shoulders sore, all of her used in a way she hasn’t been in years. Still willingly spreads her legs further, lets Morozova press himself deeper even if there isn’t any room. Rougher with her now, the slap of skin echoing, wraps her legs around him as best as she can, locks herself in place. Difficult, her legs sore as well, the right one thumping back down, Morozova slowing his pace, bending down to kiss her, laughing into her mouth.
“Poor Alinochka,” groaning as he shifts his angle. “My good little girl didn’t plan for this, did she?”
Shakes her head, too full, nothing she can do but whine and sniffle, more tears that he kisses away. Another orgasm she melts into, steals away the last control she has over her muscles, above her Morozova grunting as her cunt clenches, both hands gripping her waist. Alina’s eyelids giving in as well, the last of her energy spent on gasping little hiccups.
“Is it too much pet?”
“No, Uncle Sasha.”
It isn’t.
Is finally used the way she is meant to be.
Finally beneath the man she was always meant to be beneath.
No idea how many more minutes Morozova continues fucking her. Could be two–put a baby in you, my good little girl, everyone will know–or an eternity, wants to tell him that it’s okay, that he can come now. Tongue uncooperative, the entire world uncooperative. Swimming together in a big mess when she tries to open her eyes to make him understand, blurring when she closes them again, every hard thrust of his cock making it worse, making it better.
Can’t quite decide.
Something shifting eventually.
Morozova burying his face in her neck, biting down as he presses a thumb to her clit one last time. Comes to him moaning in her ear, the sensation of hot cum filling her. Sniffles as he stays inside her, butterfly kisses across her shoulder, back to a barely there grind.
“What–”
“Give me a minute, have to make sure you’re filled up properly.”
Left on the floor after he slips out of her, hands finally untied, curls up on her side, grateful for the coolness beneath her as she listens to him walk around. Oxfords sharp against the floor, a command for attention when he stops next to her. Crouching down and she can barely make her eyes open to look at him when he traces her jaw. The only thing off about him is the lack of a tie, serious as he examines her.
“You’re going to be my good girl and make me a daddy now, yes?”
Smiles up at him, already half asleep as he picks her up, arms strong around her.
“Of course Uncle Sasha.”