"She's still out there," I say, my voice shaking. "Svetlana. She's right outside the door."
"I know." He bends me over the desk, shoving papers and files to the floor as he makes a space for me on the cool, hard wood. His hand is firm between my shoulder blades as he pulls my leggings all the way off. “Pick up your feet, Mara.”
I obey, nearly shuddering with the force of how badly I want him. He strips off my leggings and my sweater, then my panties, his fist closing around the back of the lace bralette before he jerks his hand back, ripping it open as he pulls it off first one shoulder and then the other. I’m completely bare, my breasts pressed against the wood of the desk, his hand holding me downas he stands between my spread thighs behind me, still fully dressed except for his exposed cock.
“I mean for her to hear,” he says roughly. “This is her punishment,kotenok. She will understand that you're mine now. That there's no going back. I want you loud, Mara. I won’t let you come until you moan for me, until you scream for me. Until she hears me fucking you."
I feel the broad tip of his cock press against my drenched entrance, and he groans. “God, you’re so fucking wet. I’m going to make you suck my cock every fucking day if it gets you this soaked. I’m going to take you to bed and eat your pussy while you choke on it,devochka.”
He slams into me as he says the last, entering me roughly, possessively, and I gasp at the sensation. It's too much, too intense, too overwhelming. But it's also exactly what some dark part of me has been craving since the first time I saw him.
He sets a punishing rhythm, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise, and I can hear myself making sounds I've never made before—desperate, needy sounds that make my face flame with embarrassment and my stomach squirm with humiliation, but that only makes me wetter, makes the loud, sloppy sounds as he slams into me again and again more obvious.
“Louder,” Ilya grunts, slamming his cock into me again, harder. “Scream for me,kotenok.”
This is going to hurt tomorrow… hell, maybe in a few minutes. He’s too big, too thick, and no matter how wet I am, the furious fucking he’s giving me is going to leave me walking strangely afterward. But I can’t bring myself to care. It feels so fucking good, so excruciatingly pleasurable, and if he would just touch my clit, just give me a moment of friction where I need it the most…
"Say it," he demands, his voice rough. "Say who you belong to."
I shake my head, still trying to maintain some shred of resistance, some last piece of myself that he hasn't claimed. My face burns as I think of Svetlana outside, standing there between the guards, listening to this. I hate myself for how that turns me on a little more, the flare of possessiveness within me lighting on fire as I think of her listening to Ilya claiming me. I imagine him fucking me in public, in front of his guards, in front of all his men, showing them who he’s done all this for, and my pussy clenches around him, heat racing up my spine as I let out a keening moan.
“Mara—” His voice is a warning as he slams into me again, and I shake my head as his hand moves from between my shoulders to wrap around the front of my throat.
He slows down, drawing out each thrust, building the pleasure until it's almost painful. I'm desperate for release, for anything that will end this exquisite torture. I let out another ragged moan as he pulls out to the tip, fucking me with only that in shallow strokes that send jolts of pleasure ricocheting through my body, my clit so swollen I can feel it rubbing against my pussy lips. I cant my hips forward, trying to rub myself against the desk, but Ilya grabs my hip, keeping me firmly in place.
"Say it, Mara. Tell me who you belong to."
"No," I gasp, but it sounds more like a plea than a refusal.
He continues the slow, torturous rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of me in slow strokes that I know must be as painfully blissful for him as they are for me. My vision is blurring, my hands clenching at the desk, and I let out another sobbing moan.
“Fuck, Ilya! Fuck me! Please fuck me, please touch my clit,fuck!Fucking make me come,fuuuuck?—”
I know Svetlana can hear me. She can hear everything. And my pussy clenches and throbs at the thought of her hearingme beg for my release, knowing that Ilya is pleasuring me so thoroughly that I’m reduced to this.
The pleasure builds and builds, cresting but never breaking, keeping me suspended in a state of desperate need. "Say it," he demands again. "Say you're mine."
I'm crying now, tears streaming down my face, my body shaking with the effort of holding back. But I can't hold back anymore. I can't resist anymore. I can't?—
"I'm yours," I sob, the words nearly a scream, torn from somewhere deep inside me. "I'm yours, I'm yours, please—please I need to come, please, I’m yours, justGod, fuck me, Ilya?—"
He lets out a low, satisfied growl, slamming into me hard as his fingers slide around my hip and I feel the blissful pleasure of the first two fingers of his hand pressed against my swollen, sensitive clit.
“Ilya!”I shriek his name as he slams into me again and again, the desk sliding across the floor with the force of his thrusts, shaking, his fingers rubbing my clit feverishly as the orgasm breaks over me. I scream his name again and again, the pleasure beyond anything I’ve experienced, beyond anything I knew existed. It’s so intense I think I might actually die from it. I hear myself screaming, hear the sound echoing off the walls of the office, and I know that Svetlana can hear it, that she knows exactly what's happening in here.
And I can't bring myself to care.
“Fuck, Mara!” he shouts my name, and I feel him swell and throb inside of me, feel his hand around my throat loosen an instant before he grips the desk, his hand covering mine, his hips jerking against my ass as I feel the pressure of his damp chest against my back, pinning me to the wood as he spurts inside of me in thick, hot bursts. He groans, cursing in Russian, my nameinterspersed as he fucks his cum into me, his cock throbbing as he joins me in ecstasy.
We stay like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard and trembling with the aftermath. Then, slowly, he pulls away, helping me stand, steadying me when my legs threaten to give out.
“Don’t move,” he orders, leaving me just like that, draped across the desk. hen he fixes his own clothes and walks to the office door.
"Wait," I say, suddenly panicked. "Don't?—"
But he's already opening the door. “Don’t turn around,” he orders the guards, who have their backs to the door. “If you do, I’ll take out your eyes and leave you alive. Svetlana, look at me.”
She turns to face him, and I know she can see me just beyond him, draped over the desk, my face flushed and sweaty, naked. The expression on her face tells me she heard everything. Her makeup is ruined, mascara streaking down her cheeks, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She looks at Ilya, and the devastation in her expression is almost painful to witness.
