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.”
“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.