Page 7 of Vasily the Nail

My breaking point might have also been after he used the tip of his tongue on my clit to draw another orgasm out. Probably the point where he flattened that tongue against me and licked me from clit to pussy.

It wasn’t all tongue, either. It was also metal. His tongue is pierced.

Camilla says her husband only went down on her a couple times after their wedding, but it felt like more of an overture, a half-assed attempt to appreciate her, than anything he enjoyed. And from the circle of married women she’s in now, she hears a lot of the same. Few of the men put any effort into it.

Well, Vasily must be one of the few because he licks me to another orgasm, rolls me onto my back, and then draws one of my knees over his shoulder so I can feel his body rock and I can rock with him.

The soft rumble from him as I instinctively dig my fingers into his hair is enough to make me forget that this is anything but a sensual, forbidden dream, and that I’ve been forced into this.

I tell him to stop, I do. Over and over again. I beg him, I push him away. But nothing has any energy behind it or finesse. The tears that pool in my eyes and dampen my blindfold are from the guilt I feel over how little resistance or control I have.

I’ve never felt so good in my life.

But then he reaches up and takes hold of my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers with another one of those satisfied sounds he makes.

The tears sting with a different shame as he drags himself up to clasp the other nipple in his lips and lathes his tongue around it. I’m flat-chested as anything. It’s not some delusion, not a desperate attempt at modesty when I know I’m attractive. I have a pretty face and attractive hair and a fit body. But the only reason I wear my 30A bras is because they’ve got the foam in them so my clothes aren’t baggy up top. Whenever my college needs an actor to play a young character, male or female, I’m the one who’s cast. My brother’s offered to pay for implants, but I refuse. It’s not like whomever he marries me off to is going to expect a discount because I lost my boobs in the genetic lottery.

I’m usually confident about my shape, but it’s different now. I can’t say why exactly, it just is.

“Stop,” I whisper more softly and evenly, as clearly as I can, so he knows I’m serious this time.

The sound he makes is animalistic, a tiger growling as his body shifts. He’s prowling over me, up to my mouth to force it open so he can slide his tongue into it. The whole time, he keeps a hand on my breast, what little there is of it. “Ovechkabeautiful,” he purrs after his bruising kisses.

I nod, but the hand on my jaw traces the bob of my neck when I swallow.

“Beautiful,” he repeats.

“I am,” I say with more conviction.

He squeezes my nipple with equal intensity. “Beautiful tits.”

I swear I can feel him staring at me through the blindfold, so I turn my head away even though I can’t actually see him. “I–it doesn’t matter.”

He moves off me, or I think he does, but then his hand takes mine and drags it to the zipper of his jeans. “You are virgin, but understand this, yes?”

Yep, I can definitely understand that erection. I’m a virgin but not an idiot.

“So you know I think beautiful.”

I don’t, not really, but I again remind myself that there’s no point in arguing. I take the opportunity to undo the button on his pants. I’m not stupid enough to think thisisn’thappening, so I’d rather get it over with.

His lips come down on mine, and I can’t imagine that what I feel from him is anything less than passion. I manage to get the button freed and the zipper pulled, but I can’t go any further. My gut is churning at this.

“Touch me,” Vasily urges. “You can.”

I shake my head, and blessedly, he doesn’t push further.

“Later, then.”

He sits up again, and I hear the rustling of his clothes, although I don’t think he stands. He must just push his pants and underwear down to his knees, and that bothers me for some reason, like I deserve some deeper level of intimacy for my first time, even if it’s being forced upon me.

He must pick up my distress on some level because he brings himself back down again, and with this kiss, I notice that he’s at least removed his shirt. I can touch his chest, the firm muscles and soft curls, the shiver that runs through him when I find one of his nipples.

He laughs against my cheek when I snatch my hand away, startled that he reacted every bit as much as I did when he touched my nipples.

And God help me, because I laugh, too.

“Take big breath for me,ovechka,” he says, and I do. The darkness behind the blindfold is nearly as soothing as the warmth of his body over mine as his hand trails back down. He’s already between my legs, his cock bobbing at my slit leaving a streak of damp warmth, but again, it’s his fingers that breach me, first one then two. On “breathe out,” he forces a third in, and a sob leaks out with my breath.

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