Submitting to the Billionaire(23)

All day long I tried to forget her. I told myself I didn't need to rush  back for a bit of pussy. Then, like a cheap strung-out addict, I climb  into my car in the early morning hours, and speed to her body, my cock  hard as stone. Fuck, I even run up the stairs.

She sleeps with only a thin sheet to cover her. I walk up to her and  look down on her. It's like looking at a fucking angel. Something I  dreamed up.

I lift the sheet. Her nightgown has ridden up. I lay my hand on her thigh and push the nightgown upwards.

She is bare underneath. One good thing. She knows how to take instructions.

She wakes up then. In the dark she opens her legs in invitation. My body  becomes electric with anticipation. I unzip my trousers and take my  rigid cock out. Getting on the bed, I plunge it into her sweet cunt. She  cries out. The sound is feral and uncontrolled, exciting me.

I don't use a condom and she doesn't ask for one either.

I need to be bare inside her. I just want to fill her pussy with my cum.  It must be the same for her. As soon as her wet, warm pussy sheaths me,  the pent-up rage and frustration gnawing away inside me eases away. She  feels incredible. So much tighter than I imagined.

I find a steady rhythm and lose myself in it. I fuck her deeply, each  thrust measured, allowing me to revel in the intense pleasure of her  sex.

When she lets out her scream of pleasure and comes hard around my cock, I  thrust into her faster and harder, again and again, until my own  release approaches.

I take her twice. The second time I am rough. She claws my back and grunts at every thrust.

When I pull out of her, she looks up at me with wide eyes. In the dim  light, her eyes gleam and her hair shines like spun gold. I don't like  blonde hair on a woman, but I want to bury my face in hers. I want to  smell her hair.

It won't smell of biscuits, I tell myself, but I can't bring myself to do it. Through the fog, the memories come.

I leave her bed, grab my trousers, and get out of her bedroom.



Nikolai

1990





We wake while it is still dark, and wait our turn to use the outside  toilets. Afterwards, we wash in the unheated water. Together with all  the other forgotten children we file into a massive dark, dank room with  row upon row of long wooden tables and benches. It is so Dickensian it  reminds me of the movie Olivera Tvista (Oliver Twist).

We join the line of silent children moving in an orderly fashion to the  counter where there are two middle-aged, uniformed women wearing blue  scarves around their heads. Their hard, unsmiling eyes refuse to make  contact with either Pavel or me when it is our turn. They slop thick  buckwheat porridge into our trays like robots.

Both Pavel and I are starving and we scarf down the cold food quickly. I  look around for Sergei and his gang, but I don't see them. After  breakfast Pavel and I are separated.

He is taken to a classroom for children his age, and I am forced to join  a room filled with eleven and twelve year olds. All of them look  defeated and resigned to their fate. There is a girl sitting in the  corner, on her own, rocking away, oblivious to us all.

The teacher wears thick glasses that make his eyes appear twice the size  of normal people's eyes. He stands stiffly, several arm lengths away  from his charges. There is a thick strap of leather hanging beside the  blackboard. It is well worn and there is no doubt what it is used for.

We have History, followed by Math, followed by Geography, followed by  Literature. Every change of routine is announced by the ringing of the  bell. We don't change classrooms or teachers. We simply open new books  to suit the next lesson.

As soon as recess is announced I dash out to look for Pavel. He smiles  at me, and I feel relief. Unlike the children in my class who look like  they have been beaten into dull acceptance, the smaller children in his  class look terrified. I know I will see the same terror in my brother's  eyes too if we stay here for much longer. I have to find a way to call  my uncle.

"Just wait here for me," I tell him and run to the Director's office.  There is no answer when I knock. Looking around me, I try the door, but  it is locked. The door looks too secure to be broken in.         

     



 

Lunch is watery cabbage stew. There are a few bits of vegetables  floating in it. Then it is back to more lessons. We are given a short  fifteen-minute break at four when we are allowed onto a concrete  playground. It is bitterly cold and the kids don't seem to do much  except huddle around in groups, shivering and waiting for one of the  staff to allow us back in.

Here is where I see the bullies Sergei had told me about. They are older  than me. One looks like he might even be sixteen or seventeen. He has  dark hair and a livid scar on his face. I see them glance at me. One of  them smiles. It is not a good smile. I turn away quickly and try to  shield Pavel from their eyes.

After more lessons it is playtime. We go into a big room and play with a  few broken toys. Two children beat an orange ball dispiritedly.  Strangely there are glass cases full of donated toys still in their  packaging. It is the old Russian mentality of saving for a rainy day. No  child was allowed to have its personal toy. The toys belonged to the  "collective".

Afterwards we are sent to wash. There is no hot water so no one wants to  wash properly. After pretending to wash we file into the cold chapel  for half-an-hour of prayers. The teachers walk up and down the aisle to  make sure that no one talks or rises from their kneeling position.

Dinner is the same as lunch. Thin cabbage stew with a few disintegrating  vegetables suspended in it, but this time there is a small piece of dry  black bread to go with it.

I eat quickly and, telling Pavel to wait for me, run to the director's  room. It is still locked, but as I walk back along the corridor, I meet  the director coming towards me.

"Good afternoon," I greet immediately.

"Good afternoon," he returns the greeting, and carries on walking towards his office.

"Director Razumovsky, I need to make a phone call to my uncle."

He whirls around slowly, a bizarrely graceful movement for such a fat, round man. "Yes, you do, don't you?"

"Can I make it now? Please."

"It depends on  … "

"On what?"

"Whether you plan to be a good boy."

I frown. "I am good."

"Come into my room and we'll see how good you can be."

I follow him to his room and wait for him to unlock his door. We enter  the room and he locks the door. Already something feels wrong. I can see  his phone on the desk.

He pulls a chair to the middle of the room. "Sit down," he says with a smile.

"Thank you," I say politely and sit.

He goes behind his desk and from one of the drawers he pulls out a white  handkerchief. He pulls another chair out to face me and sits in front  of me. "So you need to make a phone call?"

"Yes. It is very urgent that I do, Director Razumovsky." My voice is low and respectful.

He strokes his handkerchief. "It is actually against the rules of this  dyetskii dom to allow the children to use the phone as and when they  please."

"This is very important. My brother and I do not belong here. I have to  call my uncle so he can explain that to you. He needs to come and pick  us up. He has money. He will pay you for the phone call."

His eyes gleam. "Very well. I will break the rules for you this time, but what will you do for me in return?"

It is the Russian way, bribe the doctor, bribe the nurse, bribe the  director of dyetskii dom. I stare at him. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing too difficult," he says, and starts unbuttoning his fly. There is a fixed smile on his face.





Chapter Thirty





Star





The first thought in my head when I wake up is the shocking way I gave  myself to Nikolai last night. Completely. Without any inhibitions. As if  I was desperate for him. My fingernails raking his back, my hips  pushing up, forcing him deeper and deeper into me. If Nigel could have  seen me. How greedy I was. He would be so shocked.

I close my eyes at the memory.

We didn't even use a condom. Worse still, I don't regret it. I wanted to  feel him bare inside me. I still do. Even now, just thinking about him  makes me throb with desire.

My hand strays between my legs.

My flesh is distended and puffy. Ever since I arrived here I have been  like this, and I cannot understand why. Why he has this effect on me. I  don't even like or respect him. He exploited Nigel's weakness and  blackmailed him so he could get what he wanted. That is despicable  behavior.

Besides, he makes it abundantly clear that he only wants me for one  thing. Not even the smallest hint of tenderness has he shown to me. He  uses my body callously, then he leaves me as if I am dirt. Something  unclean that he has to have, but hates himself for the weakness.         

     



 

And it is a weakness. I felt it last night. This undeniable need in him  for my body. He could not wait to get inside me. When he climaxed the  release wasn't one from someone who had been waiting two weeks, but  years and years. He became utterly rigid. Then dropped his face in the  crook of my neck and remained panting for a long time, while he tried to  recover.