The Russian Enterprise Ch. 03byWhiteWave48©
A chain story in short chapters
This story could happen anywhere. As old as time itself but in a modern context, it concerns wealthy or powerful men exploiting a poor but beautiful woman. Of course, part of it must tell of the woman's struggles as she becomes more experienced and the events in her life become happier.
This chapter depicts the initial exploitation that causes her to change her life. It involves ongoing blackmail and masturbation, and finally a brief episode of non-consensual coupling. The decision to read it is yours.
Ch. 03 - A Raw Deal
It was all over - her job, Mikhail, everything. Things couldn't get any worse.
Even as she hugged the new overcoat around her in the heat of the summer afternoon, Katya knew it was time to change her life; to take action immediately rather than wait a few days for the pain in her heart to subside. The coat was Armani, it was true - or at least that's what her boss, Mikhail Andreyevich had assured her - but what did such a gift mean to her when she'd actually paid him for it with her own body?
She looked a strange sight as she walked the long suburban blocks to her concrete apartment building some distance from the bus route on the main road heading south from St Petersburg. Wearing her own sturdy shoes, a poor match for the coat, she carried her smart heels in her bag. They were a stark reminder of his abuse.
But Katya knew that her body wasn't the only thing that hurt right now. Despair and anger welled from deep inside her soul as she drew the coat closer around her voluptuous body, restraining the sway of her large breasts with her arms. Beneath the Italian wool with its slinky silk lining, Katya bore the ultimate indignity. She was completely naked.
From her first day with 'Aurora Imports', her job as an office manager and English translator had seemed so wonderful, providing security of employment, regular online contact with the rest of the world, and an opportunity for her to contribute financially to the simple life she shared with her mother and twenty-year-old sister. Although the position didn't make the most of her education, it was at least a start, and far better than selling her more obvious physical attractions in an uncertain world.
The suite of offices was sleek and modern, built in a grand old warehouse and fitted out with imported Italian furniture right down to a state-of-the-art water cooler in the reception area and a coffee bar in the lounge. With a distant view of the water through the huge picture windows not far from her desk, she counted herself lucky that by day she could work in luxury, even if her bus trip took ninety minutes and her home at the end of it contained, by comparison, the barest essentials.
Before long, her boss, Mikhail Andreyevich, began to notice her, and little changes crept into her office routine. At first they seemed like a gift from heaven: a small favor here and there in exchange for a little something that had fallen from a shipping container; a slight change in routine if she'd accept a used piece of equipment they were updating.
It was all rather wonderful, and Katya's apartment warmed to the buzz of the new food processor in the kitchen and the gentle hum of her very first personal computer in the living room. She could now chat to people round the world from the comfort of her own home. For someone able to afford few luxuries, these gifts enriched her life and brightened her whole outlook.
Mikhail Andreyevich was friendly but strangely shy. When Katya completed a difficult translation he'd always make sure he came by her desk to give her a light pat on the back. Sometimes he'd put an arm right round her shoulders and squeeze for a moment or two, threatening to give her a kiss for her efforts. Then he'd laugh and draw back, turning to give her a little wave as he went into the adjoining office.
He'd even managed one full-on hug at the office party, pulling her close to him briefly and pressing his chest to her generous breasts so they swelled beyond the confines of her V-neck sweater. He was a polite, pleasant-looking man in his mid thirties with dark, wavy hair and serious brown eyes, so Katya began to look forward to his attentions. He didn't make her heart beat fast, but time spent with him was pleasurable.
Perhaps she should've taken more careful note of the first 'real' gift Mikhail sent home with her - the only gift with any life in it. At the time, she wondered why her mother had looked so shocked when she arrived home with a huge bunch of carnations, an impossibly expensive purchase in those uncertain times.
"I am without words," said her little mama when Katya burst through their front door, with a cloud of pink perfume in her arms.
"Disgusting," she finished, as she turned back to their tiny kitchen.
The bunch of long-stemmed blooms was wrapped in cellophane held together with gold and pink ribbons tied in multiple bows. Katya thought it quite beautiful in a foreign kind of way, and had hoped to sweep her mother into a kind of flower fantasy for a while.
"Mama is right," said her sister, looking up from her university studies at the table. "You think about it."
The generosity of the man did seem grossly out of place. With cut flowers the price they were, they remained the preserve of the rich. One carnation may have conveyed the message that her new boss was interested in marrying her, but two or three dozen looked like a gross insult to a family whose income went largely towards paying the rent. The gaudy display on the dresser reproached Katya by the hour until it withered and died a week later.
The day her boss gave her a used printer-scanner for her computer was the first time Katya found out there was a price to pay for his generosity. As she stood there, wondering how she'd carry the object home on the bus, Mikhail moved behind her and slid his hand deftly over her shoulder and down the front of her low cut blouse.
"You must know by now," he began, as his fingers explored her lovely cleavage and plunged lower beneath the central curve of her heavy breast, "That there is more to this little arrangement of ours."
"Arrangement?" returned Katya, startled, her body rigid with shock.
"Such gifts come to you at a price," he continued smoothly. "And today you are displaying your wares for me so beautifully - a most opportune time for us to strike a bargain - to write a new workplace agreement.
"You mean..." she hesitated. "You mean, you have written all this on paper?"
"Figuratively speaking," he laughed as he appreciated the inward curve of her waist with the other hand. "The goods are 'written off' by the company, you might say, but the debt still holds."
He kissed her on the neck.
"Debt?" asked Katya, astonished. "There is no record of a debt in the books."
"You are right," murmured Mikhail, nibbling her earlobe. "It exists only in kind - in terms of goods and equipment - but I can still call for a repayment... "
Katya broke free and turned on him, her eyes blazing.
"Mikhail Andreyevich! Are you threatening me? I have always worked well for you, and you know it."
"Milaya. Goloubka. Darling, calm down," said Mikhail in soothing tones, taking her by the shoulders and looking her in the face.
"Think about it," he continued. "There are so many educated young things out there now. Everyone is learning English to a high standard these days, so you are not so special any more. If you go, I can always find another to replace you."
He looked at her steadily, watching for a reaction.
"Go? You want me to go?" She was fighting back tears now, trying not to look weak and defenceless. The prospect of another endless search for suitable employment horrified her.
"Of course I don't want you to go, my darling! Why would I want you to leave? You know how loving I have been toward you ever since you arrived. I have always cared for you and given you special treatment."
Katya calmed herself. She couldn't disagree with Mikhail's words. He had indeed been kind - more than kind. Mikhail had always behaved like a loving father.
As he held her in his firm grip, their eyes locked in a form of stalemate, and Katya relaxed. Suddenly she knew what she had to do to make him kind again. She raised her face to his for a kiss.
"You must call me 'Misha'," he said as he reached for her breast.
From this point on, the gift-giving formalities undertook a transformation as intimate touches became part of each handing-over ceremony. The gifts themselves changed as well, and expensive lingerie and designer clothing began to make an appearance along with the other more practical items.
In exchange, Misha merely wanted to stroke Katya's hair and fondle her luscious breasts while she sat at her desk in the office. Already aroused at the thought of touching their smooth flesh, he'd approach her from behind during her lunch hour as she sat there with her little parcel of sandwiches from home.
At first she jumped at the touch of his cold fingertips, startling him with her apparent rejection. She reassured him by warming them in her own hands on that occasion, but he'd been made aware. From then on he remembered to visit the washroom and warm his hands in hot water before he came to her.
Perhaps the time he spent there with his hands soaking up the warmth gave him time to think. Certainly Mikhail began to elaborate on his earlier simple requirements. Little by little, some of the details changed as he developed his repertoire of gentle sexual attentions.
Listening for every small difference in his routine, Katya would hear the sound of his pants zipper sliding down, and she'd know that behind her, he was taking his cock out and beginning to masturbate with one hand as he fondled her neck and face with the other.
Having a preference for the touch of his own hands, Misha seemed unwilling to place his cock in her care. The one time he'd guided her hand to it, shuddering as she seized its hot, silky length, he'd come almost at once, shooting his load across her lap. As Katya gathered the folds of her skirt about her to absorb the wetness, he'd retreated to regain his composure, shocked that she'd seen his lack of control. He did not repeat the experiment.
So Katya had learned to listen to his breathing, waiting for the next stage when he'd lean right over and slide his cock-hot hands down her low-cut blouse, forcing the buttons apart and exposing her voluptuous breasts and large nipples.
For a good fifteen minutes he'd tantalize and torment, massaging her large, firm boobs and teasing her erect nipples, keeping her on the brink of satisfaction as he rubbed his exposed penis against her shoulders and masturbated till he came on her blouse.
For that little exercise she'd earn a pair of imported French panties or a lovely bra in satin and lace. Katya would then excuse herself and go to the washroom to finish off and clean up. This was understood.
"You have so many panties," he murmured one day in her ear, soon after she arrived in the morning. He gave her ear a playful nip.
"Today I want more from you so that you get more from me."
For the rest of the morning, Katya tried to imagine what 'more' meant to Misha. Half-way to lunch time, he was back by her side.
"What happens to you when I tease your nipples, my Katya?" he whispered, leaning low to her ear as he passed by.
He was back half an hour later.
"I have seen you go to the washroom," he said. "I know what you are doing there, and it is something that I want for myself."
He paused then, and watched for a reaction.
"Today I want you to do it for me."
Katya's eyes grew wide in alarm. So he knew! But how? How did he know that after each session she took herself to a cubicle in the washroom and frigged her clit to a quick climax as she leaned against a partition, swept away in her own private ecstasy? Or that she sat on a toilet and frantically strummed her shaft to relieve the ache he'd created in her swollen, wet pussy, one hand covering her mouth to stifle her cry as her orgasm throbbed into the other?
Did he have cameras in there? Microphones? Did he know that sometimes, when she inserted her fingers deep inside and pulled hard on her g-spot, she came with such force she squirted pussy juice with each pulse, sending jets of fluid into the bowl over and over until the pulses faded away?
Katya's face reddened as she spoke.
"Misha," she said quietly. "I think I know what you want."
She said no more, but when lunchtime arrived she was prepared - panty-free and wet with anticipation. Loosening her clothing, she leaned back in her chair as she felt him move behind her. Before his gaze, she spread her legs wide, and without saying a word, opened her labia with one hand and reached low to her swollen opening with the other, dispersing her moisture the full length of her slippery slit, all the way to the top of her hard clit shaft now rolling sensuously under her firm touch.
Katya knew that Misha had never brought any harm to her in the past; in fact he'd given her a certain amount of pleasure in his own way. Without a boyfriend at the moment, she'd grown used to her boss and felt strangely comfortable this day, pleasuring herself in his company.
Now she was becoming very aroused knowing that while he stood behind her, as he always did, in his peculiar way, he was leaning over her and breathing in the musky perfume of her moist pussy as he manipulated his balls in one hand and jacked his cock with the other. Wet, sticky sounds came from behind her chair as he spread pre-cum along his shaft and began to wank in earnest, his preparation for humping her back. His breathing was becoming more intense.
As she felt his hard cock against her body and his hands moving down over her bosom, Katya undid her blouse and exposed her breasts. They fell out of her bra and into his hands. Misha was massaging their bounteous roundness, pulling and tugging at her erect nipples, twisting them gently at first, then harder until she gasped and squirmed, thrusting her swollen labia into her seat as the yearning ache in her pussy increased.
She shoved two fingers inside her pussy tunnel, pulling on her g-spot as best she could as she rolled her clit shaft between the fingers of her other hand. All the while he pressed his turgid penis into her back, riding her spine with his hard length, thrilling at the sensation created by the smooth silk of her blouse.
A strange coupling it was, but Katya had become used to her Misha and his unusual ways. As she came, collapsing over the untouched sandwich on her desk, totally helpless in the throes of a magnificent, self-induced climax, he fell on top of her from behind, his naked, engorged cock bursting even further from his pants and spurting cum all over her hair, her neck and her blouse.
It was the first time they had come together. She accepted the French lace bra in silence. Misha mentioned it was worth $300 US.
And that is how Katya came to own quite a large wardrobe - a real one. She'd mentioned to Misha one day that she kept all his gifts in several big cardboard boxes, and he was horrified. The designer suits... the shoes... they deserved better than this, so he looked in his warehouse and selected quite a large piece of furniture in pine, with three doors opening out at the front in the traditional way. With some difficulty, his men delivered it up the narrow stairwell.
Behind one of its doors was a set of drawers, now packed with dainty bras, panties and teddies, pantyhose, stay-ups, stockings and suspender belts - night wear too. All of them came from expensive lines produced in France or Italy, and all were made of the most exclusive silk and satin and lace.
Hanging behind the other two doors of this wardrobe were suits and skirts and dresses, each outfit representing a lunchtime feel-up with Mikhail Andreyevich or a harmless little session with him after everyone else had gone home. Woolen sweaters were lined in rows along the top shelf, and shoes and boots, still in their boxes, were stacked on the timber floor.
Yes, they were in their boxes. Every item in the wardrobe was still in its original wrapping - hanging in plastic, folded between sheets if tissue paper, or packed into classy boxes - all untouched. Katya's wardrobe was a huge 'white elephant'. It was a monstrosity she didn't want and couldn't use.
How could a young woman like her flaunt these things in her neighbourhood? How could she wear those pricey little nothings underneath her clothes then wash them and hang them on the line to dry in front of her neighbours? How could she wear such extraordinary fashions to the office in front of her co-workers, or to the cinema, or the opera, or even to the city mall? Katya liked to dress as well as she could, but in these things she'd look overdressed.
After many months, there came a day that was different to all the others.
It began when Mikhail remarked that he hadn't seen Katya wearing any of his gifts, and that the next day he expected her to appear in a complete outfit from her collection at home - from the skin up. If she complied with some new demands, her gift this time would be something different, something she needed for winter. It would be a warm overcoat.
He made more promises too. If she was very good to him this time, he would supply her with a fur coat on the following occasion.
Katya thought of her mama working hard taking in violin students. She thought of her sister, still studying and doing small sewing jobs for extra cash. Her mama would so love to wear a fur coat to keep out the cold while she worked.
That evening, Katya opened her wardrobe and examined her treasure trove. She selected carefully, unwrapping the most classic, simple items she could find and laying them out on the chair, ready for the next morning.
When Mikhail closed and locked the door to his office at 10:00AM the following day, he seemed highly excited and straight away asked her to remove her silk panties. Katya became alarmed.
"Mm," he murmured approvingly, casting a look of undisguised lust over her clothing as she hesitated. "You have chosen well today."
Quite unlike his usual, shy self, he was facing her now, holding her promised coat aloft with one hand and openly fondling the large bulge protruding into his pants with the other.
"You have taken all my gifts home," he said, hefting his balls beneath the bulge. "Now I want you to bring them back again - day by day - on your body. It is my wish to see you wearing every single item, here in this office, even if it takes weeks or months."
He tossed the classic coat onto a chair.
"Turn round and take everything off now," he said breathlessly, "Except the heels."
Katya turned to face her desk so that he was behind her as usual. As she began, slowly, to take off the beautiful clothes and drop them on the floor beside her, she could hear him unzip his pants.
"A little faster," he urged.
Removing her exquisite bra, the final item hiding her modesty, she felt the weight of her heavy breasts as they fell into her arms and she was glad he couldn't see clearly from behind. She heard him move closer. He was bending low beside her, gathering the clothes from the floor using one hand. With the other he was masturbating and she could hear those familiar sticky, wet sounds.
"Now bend over the desk."
She complied, her face reddening with confusion, unable to explain why she was giving in to his demands, why she was so aroused, why everything was so different today.
He'd never asked for complete nakedness before. He'd never even touched her pussy or her ass. Now it looked as though he wanted to enter her, and the thought frightened her a little, mixed with all the promise of pleasures associated with their earlier times together. She was afraid to speak in case she destroyed his concentration.