Page 8 of Vasily the Nail

“I can’t,” I whimper. It feels like so much.

“You already have, see?” He wiggles his fingers to prove his point, and my pelvis leaps right off the floor. “Which means you’re ready for my cock. Remember my promise?”

“That, umm, that you’re going to keep me safe?”

“That you will feel good. Now I want you to hold me.”

I do as he says, and he nods against my cheek in encouragement when I squeeze what might be too hard. This is what he wants from me. He wants me to brace myself for this.

His tip nudges at my entrance, and already my breath is hitching. He’s holding himself with one hand, but the other rubs my arm. A second later, he thrusts.

He doesn’t go deep. He doesn’t need to. The new stretch is enough of a jolt on its own, but there’s something else that alarms me enough to cry out, “What was that?”

“My cock,ovechka,” he says, but his laugh is enough proof that he knows that’s not what I’m talking about.

Except I’ve never touched one in my life, certainly never felt one inside me. I’d almost believe my naivety was the cause of the surprise if not for that chuckle. There’s something strange about his . . . hiscock, something that I’m now too embarrassed to say anything about after he was so polite about my breasts. What if it’s some deformity? Or some cocks are just weirdly lumpy and I’m being rude?

“Give hand. Here, touch.” He guides me to his shaft, still sunk partially into me, and wraps my fingers around it. On the underside of it, pressed into my palm, I feel a pattern of bars and hard balls.

I gasp and pull my hand away instinctively, only to reach for it again and explore it better with my fingertips.

“Why did you do this?” I whisper as it dawns on me that this is nothing medical. It’s a series of piercings. The long bars like I’ve seen in some of my classmates’ ears, but these are embedded just beneath the thin, surprisingly warm and supple layer of skin on his penis. They’re spaced about an inch apart, making rungs of a ladder. I count five of them, but he’s inside me.

“For you,” he says, his voice as tense as the rest of his body suddenly, and when I take a moment to pinch the lowest capture ball and spin, he grunts.

“For me?”

“For . . . for lovers,” he clarifies, but barely. His voice is tight.

I reach further to see if there are any others and, instead, brush his testicles, causing him to lurch forward and sink into me.

“Oh, God!” I cry out, and holy cow, I get it. I get what he means about it being for his lovers. I’m sure that unpierced is nice, but this?

I’m knocked thoughtless again for a moment.

Thankfully, Vasily is also still in that moment. He’s breathing hard, and the hand he had over mine tightens enough to force me to push the bars into him. “You . . . you like this too, though,” I gasp, not sure why I needed to say that.

“Da,” he says with another breathy laugh. “Is too much for you?”

“I’m holding a lot.” I feel so filled with him already, but I can still hold him.

“Then you take what you want.”

I don’t get how I can control this when he’s the one thrusting, but then he flips onto his back and drags me over him, straddling his hips. I have no idea what I’m doing, and the blindfold seems like an even bigger hindrance now. I anchor my hands on his chest, and one by one, he takes them and folds them at the elbow to rest my forearms on him instead. “That will be better,” he tells me as he once again guides his cock toward my entrance. “Now take more cock, one bar.”

I nod and do as he instructs, pleased to find I’ve already loosened enough that when the first piercing digs into my rim, it feels good.

“Now second.”

The second is just as easy.

“Now third.”

I begin to feel the fullness then. I take a breath to settle myself, knowing this isn’t so much and I’ll be expected to handle far more of this when I’m married. If nothing else, this will prepare me for that. Camilla had little good to say of her first time.

“There, is good,” Vasily says. “Now lift to first again, not too far, and take however much you want this time.”

I’m probably overly cautious not to lift up too high before I lower again, counting, “One, two, three . . . four.”

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