The (Russian) Devil in Mrs. Jones

Awakened by the touch of his fingers in her pussy, Abby discovered that while she had been imagining the brute overpowering and humiliating her husband, her glazed eyes had descended from Yevgeny's chest, and locked onto his huge, hairless, golden-brown penis. Chagrined, she tried to tear her gaze away, but found she couldn't. It was as if she were hypnotized by it—in the same way that a mouse might be charmed by a venomous serpent. Her spirit quailed to see how large his cock was... how eagerly it throbbed... how menacingly it was aimed... And her heart sank, because she knew that nothing she could do now would prevent it from spearing its way up into her most delicate and private recesses...

And then, all at once, her world turned upside down. A cold, empty despair seized her gut. Her chest tightened, her throat constricted, her face got clammy. Because suddenly, the fact that this strange man was about to 'stick it in her' was no longer her biggest problem. In fact, all the fears and worries and regrets and embarrassments she had suffered up to this point seemed to pale in significance.

Oh God, oh God—she realized with a groan—his penis was still bare!!

For Abby, this was neither normal, nor acceptable. Except in those rare moments when she had decided it was time to add to their family, she always made Steven put on a condom. This was one area of her life where she had simply been unwilling to cede control—not to the 'head of the family,' the hand of God, or anyone else. It was non-negotiable. But that was back home. Here in Moscow she was playing by Yevgeny's rules, and it now seemed he had something different in mind.

She tried to understand how she could have been blind-sided by this. It hadn't even occurred to her that the man might see unprotected sex as a possibility. For one thing, after years of married life, using a condom had come to feel like a natural part of 'doing it' to her. She took it for granted. But even if she had thought about it, she would have blithely (and foolishly) assumed that Yevgeny would no doubt want to use protection when having sex with a strange woman. Who wouldn't want that kind of insurance policy? Even she knew that's what promiscuous people were supposed to do.

But what had seemed like the merest common sense a few moments ago, now appeared to be a grave miscalculation; and it made this bargain of hers look far worse than before. It was one thing to sell her honor to this beast in exchange for her husband's freedom. Or even to pretend to like it. But to open herself up to his seed? Stake her future on the odds of his potency? Accept the possibility that he might stamp his mark on her forever? That cost was too high—she had to put a stop to it.

"W-wait!" she croaked. She had intended to speak forcefully, compellingly—to make it very clear that she was drawing the line on this one point at least. So, she was dismayed when her voice came out as a timid stammer instead. Yevgeny stopped and gave her a stony glare, but she tried to persevere. "Are... aren't you g-going to p-put on a... you know." She gestured lamely toward his cock.

"Put on what?"

"A... r-rubber..."

"Why?"

"B-but... You know I can't... You know that I... I-I'm not on b-birth control..."

He barked out a laugh that was frosty, unsympathetic, smug—and pressed her thighs open wider. She felt like she'd been slapped in the face. "I thought you were a hypocrite, like most Christians. But no, it seems you practice what you preach?" he smirked, "Well good! Then God must want you to take a Russian bastard home in that American belly of yours."

Despair welled up within her at these cruel words, and she found she couldn't summon the strength to keep fighting.   Dear God, how could this be happening?...

Yevgeny positioned her legs and shifted her hips slightly to provide himself easy access.   Lord, how could You allow something like this to be done to one of Your faithful...?

He used the tip of his cock to nudge aside her inner labia, and pressed it up against her vaginal opening.   I accept Thy will, Lord, I do, only... don't let me get pregnant... please God, don't let me get pregnant...

He grasped her thighs; and then, with one steady, irresistible thrust, drove his shaft all the way into her body.

Despite both her lubrication and the spit that still gleamed on his shaft, Yevgeny's impressive width created a good deal of friction when he entered her. The man didn't care, and he paid no heed to the gentle resistance he encountered as he pushed his way inside. Her pussy flared open and her cunt strained in order to accommodate him. It was just as well, he thought, that this woman had already been broken in. If she was some precious virgin, it might have been unpleasant.

And even with the canal of a wife and mother, Abby still gasped to feel how wide he stretched her, and how deep he was able to reach inside her. It seemed like a telephone pole had been shoved up between her legs—not in the sense that it was painful (for, after her initial shock, she had to admit that it wasn't), but that it made her feel she was impaled, immobilized, helpless in the face of its size and solidity. Her spirits wilted to feel her body possessed in such a way.

He smirked at her discomposure. "Russian women are used to dealing with big cocks, but maybe this is new for a pampered American woman like you. Now that you have had Russian cock, I fear you will find your husband disappointing."

She mustered what she hoped was a defiant glare, but it only elicited a patronizing chuckle from the oligarch. Then, redoubling his grip on her thighs, locking her eyes with his, he began to fuck her, slowly, deliberately, systematically. Each time he pulled out until only his glans remained inside her; and then he rammed home again, with a smooth, easy stroke. And each time, as he reached maximum depth, his groin rubbed up against her clit in a way that she found disturbingly stimulating.

The way her head was propped up, she found it hard not to gaze down her torso, to watch in spellbound disgust as her body was ravished. Her breasts had flattened slightly (nipples perked brazenly upward toward the ceiling) when she lay back on the desk, and she cringed to see how they jiggled each time he banged up against her pussy. Worse still, down in the gap between her wide-flung legs, was the sight of his swollen rod emerging from her intimate thatch of fur, and then forcing its way back inside her again—over and over and over... Because she and Steven always used missionary position, she had never actually witnessed his penis entering her. And surely (she thought), that was something no self-respecting woman should ever have to see!

Feelings of defilement, humiliation, violation slowly built up in her, and made her want to resist or fight back. But she realized that if there had ever been a moment to do so, it was now long past. Her supine posture, the clutch of his powerful hands, the sensation of being transfixed by his rock-hard pole—all of these left her entirely at the mercy of the Russian thug. Silently she cursed God for what was happening to her. Why had He chosen to stand aside while His servant was reduced to satisfying this man's degenerate appetites? Had she sinned in some way? Was this a punishment?

Desperate to block out the obscene images, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut; and yet she found that the sensory onslaught was undiminished. Each time he slammed up against her, it sent a profound shiver through her frame. She could feel the wobbling of her tits, the way her hair scattered around her head, the way the skin of her backside rubbed against the surface of the desk, the way her neck shoved up uncomfortably against the book that lay beneath it. Above the noise of his grunts, of their labored breathing, she could clearly discern the intimate sucking sounds made by his dick as it plunged in and out of her canal.

Nor could she suppress the, um... other sensations—sensations that she could only call sinful. Before he entered her, Abby had half-expected that her body would resist the villain of its own accord—that he would be unable to enter her vagina, or would at least struggle mightily. She had heard some Christian experts say this was how a decent woman's body responded to rape. Instead, however, her passage had yielded readily enough to accommodate him. And from there, things had only gotten worse! After that first thrust, the velvety flesh of their genitals had seemed to mingle together naturally, like hand in glove. And although her mind despised what was happening, the physical feelings generated by their contact were entirely different. She ought to hate the feel of this brute inside her, but instead she felt warm, tingly, alive. Each time he withdrew, she felt empty, and when he filled her again, she felt hungry for more. Why had she never experienced any of these feelings before? Was she being tested by the Devil?

And so the pounding went on, and on, and on. How could he possibly go on like this? Steven was always done in a minute or two, but this ordeal seemed unending. Surely Yevgeny must be about to finish. At least then it would all be over with!

"...Ahem..." Abruptly, off to one side, there came the sound of a female voice, clearing her throat and starting to say something in Russian. Abby's eyes fluttered open. It was difficult to make sense of anything through the electric jangling of her nerves, and the ceaseless hammering of Yevgeny's cock. But when she managed to focus, what swam into view was the personal assistant, Yulia.

The woman was standing beside the desk, not three feet away, with a cell phone in her hand. She addressed the oligarch as she spoke, but her glance was directed at Abby. Having first established eye contact, the Russian allowed her gaze to wander deliberately downward, scanning across Abby's naked, quivering body until it landed on the spot where her cunt lay spiked on the boss's dick. Then Yulia locked eyes with Abby again, and the faint sneer that played over her face conveyed her sense of superiority, along with dry amusement at the American's plight. Abby's cheeks burned.

Abby did not catch a word Yulia said (nor would she have understood it if she did, of course). « ...You wanted to take Kavellin's call, boss? »

To Abby's shock and consternation, Yevgeny acted as if the whole scene was perfectly normal. He continued to fuck her, rhythmically, methodically, without any sign of pause. Each time he plowed into her, he uttered a low grunt that sounded triumphant to Abby's ears. How could he stand there, she wondered: naked himself, his penis lodged in her tract, casually pumping in and out, vocalizing like a mating animal—all while a female employee stood within arm's reach, taking it all in? Even if he cared nothing about Abby's modesty, didn't he have any sense of shame on his own behalf?

Evidently not. With a slight nod to Yulia, Yevgeny took the phone. He also spoke in Russian. « Kavellin, tell me that our friend...  Unngh...  has seen the light, and won't be making any more trouble for us. »

He listened to Kavellin's response. As he did so, a dark frown came to rest on his face. Apparently he did not like what he was hearing. As his frustration grew, he began to jam himself harder into Abby's vagina, seemingly without even being conscious of it. She found his ominous change in demeanor and the newly-jarring impact of his blows unnerving. Though it was hard to form coherent thoughts under the circumstances, it struck Abby that he would be a dangerous man to cross—or even to be around when his anger had been roused.

Whatever rage he felt seemed to have all been channeled into Abby's cunt, however, as his tone in replying to Kavellin revealed only cool scorn. «Hunggh...  OK, I understand. I'll make the arrangements...  Uunghh...  By tomorrow that bastard will regret the day he was born...  Unhgh...»

The other man talked again for a few seconds. Yevgeny laughed freely in response, his tension evaporating as quickly as it had formed. « The gym? Not quite, my friend...  Uhhgh...» Still speaking into the phone, he looked Abby in the face and switched to English. "At that party last night, you remember the American preacher man—Jones?... Hnnngh... Well I am having his pretty wife here in the office right now... Unngh... Hold on—I will send you a photo."

Holding his phone out, he tapped the screen. Then he flipped it around so Abby could admire his handiwork. She knew what the picture would contain—her hair disheveled, skin flushed, legs spread wide, tits flopping, nipples hard, massive penis shoved up inside her—yet still she recoiled to perceive the view from his angle. To see her gash split open that way, with every delicate ruddy fold exposed to view, and the Russian's massive, knobby flagpole planted firmly in the center—it was hard to imagine anything more damning or degrading. What's more, her face was easily identifiable. No one seeing that image could have any doubt that it was her. What would Steven say if he ever saw it?

"There, I sent it. You will get a kick out of it. We will talk again tomorrow." Ending the call, Yevgeny handed the phone back to his assistant and reverted to Russian. « What do you think, Yuli, shall I dock your pay since this nice lady is taking on some of your duties today?  HUNNGH!» He smirked at his assistant and slammed particularly hard into Abby's cunt to punctuate the joke.

Yulia gave him a look that was blandly unamused, but her boss ignored it. « I'll be done here soon. There's been a slight change of plan...  Uuhgh...  The whore will ride with me and Shevilov in the limo...  Unnnnghh...  I'll drop her at the airport on the way to Natasha's...  Uhhhnghh... Call and arrange for Jones to be released.   Hhunngh!»

Nodding her understanding, Yulia gave Abby a final glance of distaste, before turning on her heel and leaving the room. Yevgeny drew back (leaving the American's vagina feeling hollow), and gave a rueful sigh. "The life of a businessman—always work, work, work." Then he drilled smoothly home again (gloriously re-stuffing her with dick). "Ungggugh... But then, my dear, we have some unfinished business here, do we not?..."

Clearly ready to complete the transaction, Yevgeny increased the pace and intensity of his penetrations. Abby found herself in constant motion now, rocked and buffeted by the jackhammering of his cock. And even as he continued to bang away at her, without restraint or inhibition, he reached deliberately between her pussy lips with one hand, and (mmm that felt good) began to rub her clitoris firmly with his thumb, in time to his thrusts.

From the domineering expression on his face, she guessed that he was not doing it for her benefit, but as another mark of his ownership over her—a way of controlling her mind, as well as her body. At any rate, whether that was his intent or not, it certainly seemed to be the effect. Indeed, the new burst of tingling sensation that was awakened by his touch exploded in her brain like a rainbow, making it nearly impossible to feel or think about anything except the pulsing of her crotch. Like an addict in search of the eternal high, she found herself increasingly consumed by a craving for more of this stimulation, and still more. Involuntarily her pussy squirmed back against him. The craving seemed insatiable.

She could feel that a new surge of fluid had flooded her canal and overflowed and started dripping down her ass cheeks onto his desk. Her vagina was now drenched and dilated to the point where even his gigantic member hardly generated any friction, and simply sloshed each time it plunged inside. The small piece of her own self that remained aware at this moment despaired to see how her body and brain had betrayed her, had betrayed her vows to Steven and to God. But she felt like no more than a passive observer, helpless to alter any part of this debauched script—even her own responses.

Abruptly Yevgeny's bearing changed. The pace at which he massaged her clit increased, his face reddened, and putting back his head, he let loose a howl of triumph and gratification. Looking down across her ravaged body, Abby's glazed eyes were able to make out the precise moment when the man's groin began to tense, his shaft began to pulsate, and she knew that he was starting to ejaculate inside her. The notion filled her with self-pity and disgust; and yet... she was horrified to realize that her flesh not only wanted it, but was responding to it.

Instinctively, she appreciated how Yevgeny's animal reflexes and dominating nature drove him to maximize his chances of breeding her. Each thrust was purposeful, as if made in deadly earnest. His penis had inflated still larger, and grown even more insistent in its efforts to plumb her core. And at the moment when he reached his greatest depth, his cock questing relentlessly for her womb, his sperm inundating her reproductive tract, her body whispered ugly truths to her—that however adequate her husband might be, a fitter male possessed her now; and that however far her husband had reached inside her, this man had now gone far, far deeper. She tried to block it out. But if she was honest with herself, she knew these things could not be unlearned, and that some vestigial part of her would always think a little less of Steven because of them, and it made her ache with a sense of loss.

It was becoming harder and harder to process the wet heat of each new gush of semen as it jetted into her womb, and the obscene delight that her body took in receiving it. On and on the man went, dousing and coating and permeating her innermost recesses with his seed. She was appalled by how treacherously her female organs responded—gulping down each new deposit with greedy appetite, and writhing in satiated ecstasy. How was it that her spiritual intentions had proven so powerless in the face of her carnal impulses?

And then, as Yevgeny continued to work her clit, and fill her cunt, and grind against her pussy, and pour his essence into her, she experienced something she never had before. Involuntarily, and without warning, her hips began to buck back against him, hard. Powerful, rhythmic, euphoric waves of sensation began rolling inexorably over her—her glutes, abdomen, and pelvis spasmed; her back arched; her chest and shoulders quaked uncontrollably. Her brain buzzed, as if with static, and her eyes rolled back, and she felt carried away by it all. In that moment, she could not deny that she'd given herself to the oligarch wholly and voluntarily, opening herself completely, offering her abject and eternal gratitude for every drop of semen and every ounce of stimulation that he had to offer. With despair she realized that the bargain she had made with this fiend had been for her soul itself.

Oh, even now she tried to hold it back; tried to put a stop to it; tried to force her mind to think clearly; tried to hold onto some shred of herself. But it was impossible. It was like she was possessed by a demon. The tiny bit of Abby that remained could do nothing but mourn what the rest of her had become. And as waves of forbidden rapture continued to flow through her, and her body shuddered, and her cunt throbbed and clenched, she knew intuitively that it was drawing this stranger's sperm deeper and deeper inside her. Ensuring that they would mingle with her egg. Ensuring that new life would be planted inside her. Ensuring that she would always bear his imprint...