ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏɢʜᴏᴜsᴇ || ʟᴜᴠɪᴀ & ʀᴀᴠᴇ

[Luvia]

❝ 𝒜 𝒹𝑜𝑔 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝓅𝓊𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝑜𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 ❞ ​ ─── a roleplay by Luvia and Rave 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 She's a spoiled brat, Daddy's princess, a power-trip in a strapless dress and stilettos. Everywhere she goes, she attracts attention, gained by attitude and family history. The daughter of a high-profile Russian arms dealer, raised in California from childhood, she's chased away every nanny, butler, and bodyguard since she was twelve. Fed up with her antics, her father seeks an answer from the Motherland. Recommended by his oligarchian clientele, a man that can finally do the job flies across the earth for it. It's been a month, and unlike the others, he doesn't yell, he doesn't scream, he doesn't defy her. Yet, more importantly, neither does he yield. She can't walk all over him like she did to all who came before him. He can put her in her place, no matter the tantrum she might throw. He gets her home, even if he has to throw her over his shoulder to do it. Tension boils between them, growing, ebbing, nearly crashing her waves upon his shore. In a last ditch effort, she comes to a conclusion: If he sleeps with his boss' daughter, surely he'll be fired, right? Daddy would never stand for such a thing.​

 

[Luvia]

POLINA VOLKOV twenty-one | daddy's princess | spoiled ❝ 𝒟𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓎 𝒹ℴℯ𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌𝓈 𝒷ℯ𝓈𝓉. ❞​

𝅘𝅥𝅮 now playing : 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈​ Polina perched on the edge of a plush leather sofa, a little out of breath and a little sweaty. God, dancing was fun. Up on the second floor, her eyes flicked down from one person to the next, taking in the scene beneath her: strobe lights sliced through the haze of smoke and movement, casting jagged shadows across the crowd. The club pulsed with an energy all its own—chaotic, electric, intoxicating. It was as if the very air had been laced with a heady mix of rebellion and power. And she, at the center of it all, reveled in the high of it. The people here were all different from what she was used to—no men with sharp jaws and tailored suits, no women wrapped in designer gowns who salivated at the chance to talk to her. They all wanted something, usually. Attention, connections, a fleeting moment of indulgence. But Polina Volkov wasn’t like them. She didn’t need anything. Not from anyone. Her family’s wealth, her name, her beauty—it was all enough. Enough to stand alone, enough to make the world bend to her whims. The DJ, perched high in his booth, spun tracks that sent waves of sound crashing through the room. She let herself be swept up in it once again, walking up towards the velvet VIP banister, moving her body in time with the rhythm. Her dress, a slip of bright sequins, clung to her frame as she swayed, the fabric shimmering like molten silver under the lights. She knew how she looked. She didn’t need to check the mirror. Heads turned as she passed, whispers followed in her wake. She could feel their eyes, the longing, the curiosity. It was always like this. In this world, no one knew the real her. They had no idea who she was or what she could do, and that was exactly how she liked it. Tonight, she wasn’t here for approval or to impress anyone. She was here because, for once, she could be. She'd managed to shake him off—her father's dog. For the last month, he'd been following her around and had monitored her like a hawk. Being Aleksandr Volkov's daughter came with endless amounts of perks, though ultimately, it also came with a terrible downside—the man himself. Her daddy loved her, no doubt. It was precisely his love for her that crippled Polina in more ways than one. Her mother had died shortly after she'd been born. The result, was this: Aleksandr spared no effort in providing his one and only child with the best of the best—a galore of nannies and butlers and bodyguards to keep her comany. The man was as notorious as he was busy. And, controlling. Even now, at the respectable age of twenty-one, she was prohibited from going out by herself. If she wanted to socialize, he would arrange play-dates with the daughters of trusted partners. If she wanted to party, the occasion and her company were chosen for her. She was free to do whatever she wanted, and yet, she wasn't. ──────────────── ୨୧ ────────────────​ "My, my, it seems you have an admirer." An arm slung around her shoulders and caught Polina by surprise. Her carefully trimmed eyebrows furrowed, and she turned her head to look into the face of... Who was this again? Ah. Daria's ditzy friend. The girl who had invited her tonight. They'd met when she'd tagged along to a fleeting shopping trip. Emma, that was her name. "Oh, come on, don't look at me like that. I know, I know, you're used to guys fawning all over you. But listen! This one—he's so hot. Look!" She had half a mind to ignore her, to resume what she was doing. But then, she felt it—a gaze. It wasn’t the usual hungry stares of the men who followed her every move. No, this was different. This was intentional. She turned, just slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of him across the room. He was standing near the bar, his posture straight, the kind of stillness that made him stand out in a sea of movement. His eyes were fixed on her, unwavering, as though nothing else mattered. Her breath caught, just for a second. And then—dread. Unfiltered and raw dread stabbed her in her chest. Him. It was him. But how...? "Excuse me, I'll be right back." Shit, shit, shit, shit. Think! She had to be quick. The dog. He was here. To make matters worse, he looked fine. Completely unscathed. She'd hired men to make tonight possible, men who had been paid handsomely in cash to attack him. All she'd needed was a moment to slip away, to catch this annoyingly observant guy off-guard. Polina had hoped that after today, she'd never have to see him again. If not hurt beyond repair, she'd hoped that it would get him fired, at the very least. Inciting her father's wrath was easy when it came to her and those who disappointed him were punished severely. As she quite nearly ran past several groups of people, her heart was in her throat. She refused to be dragged back. It was exactly what he would do if he got his hands on her. Feeling cornered, her steps led her to the women's restroom. Drunk girls were by the mirrors, fixing their makeup. "Hey ladies, if I really needed to disappear right now, how would I do that?" They stopped in their tracks, one applying more mascara, the other some lipstick. "Babes, is it a guy? Do you need help? We could—" The expression on her own face suggested more urgency. That was a no. The girl trailed off. The other one piped up instead and shrug her shoulder. She pointed to the back. "Well. If you meant that literally, I guess you could try the window in the last stall over there." Polina followed her line of sight and her eyes sparkled. Oh. Ohhh, it was perfect. ​

 

[Rave]

YURI IVANOV thirty-one | doberman | fed up ❝ My patience is increasingly thinning ❞​

Yuri Ivanov had been given many assignments over the years. High-profile clients, dangerous targets, jobs that required precision and an unshakable will. First from the army, securing the Motherland's interests overseas. Then, from private contractors, one interested in hiring men of his unique skillset. But this—this was different. This was not a mission. It was glorified babysitting. Aleksandr Volkov, Russia's biggest arms dealer, had called upon him personally, a man accustomed to having his orders followed without question. He wanted his daughter kept in line, protected from the world, from herself. She had burned through every guard before him, chewing them up and spitting them out with little more than a tilt of her head and a calculated pout. She was reckless, spoiled, and insufferable. But Yuri was not like the others. He had spent the past month shadowing her, curbing her tantrums without raising his voice, redirecting her defiance without playing into her games. She threw everything she had at him—manipulation, provocation, outright hostility. And yet, she had not broken him. Like a leashed puppy, she had been reigned at every opportunity. Every bark from her thin throat resulting in nothing more than whimpering protest. He had to admit, though; she was uniquely qualified at getting under his skin. The men had been predictable. Hired muscle, disposable at best. They came in numbers, but numbers meant nothing when they relied on brute force over skill. The first had swung at him, wide and careless. A mistake. Yuri caught his wrist, twisting it until a sickening pop cut through the alley's din. A howl of pain. Another lunged, a flash of a knife catching in the dim light. The blade never found its mark. A single step to the side, an elbow driven into the man's ribs, and he crumpled like a marionette with its strings severed. Two more followed, each just as foolish. They fought with desperation, the kind that came from being paid well but not enough to die for it. And that was the difference. Yuri fought with purpose. His hands moved with the precision of a man who had been doing this his entire life, a machine honed by discipline and necessity. When the last man staggered back, gasping, his lip split and one eye swelling shut, he saw it. Fear. Good. Let them take their bruises and broken bones and crawl back to their employer. Let them tell her that it had failed. He stepped over them, his breath steady, his posture unruffled, and disappeared into the night. Finding her had not been difficult. Polina was not the type to blend into a crowd. She was a beacon, a live wire of reckless energy, drawing eyes without even trying. Up on the second floor, bathed in neon and strobes, she preened under the weight of attention, a goddess of youth and alure in her element. But when her gaze met his, the shift was immediate. A spark of recognition. A flare of panic. She ran. Of course, she ran. Yuri exhaled through his nose, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves before moving. He did not rush. There was no need. Wrinkling his fine black suit and the white dress shirt underneath any further than it had been from the attempted attack earlier would only raise his irritation at the whole ordeal. She was really crossing lines this time. Through the undulating crowd, she slipped, winding past bodies that swayed to the bass-heavy pulse of the music. She was fast, he would give her that, but not fast enough. He had spent the last month memorizing her patterns, anticipating her next move before she even made it. This would be no different. When she disappeared into the restroom, he did not follow. Instead, he walked outside. The back alley was dimly lit, the scent of cigarette smoke and spilled alcohol hanging thick in the air. His steps were unhurried as he moved toward the far end of the building, stopping just beneath the row of narrow, high-set bathroom windows. And then, he waited. Sure enough, a scuffling sound. A moment later, a figure wriggled through the opening, limbs flailing, balance lost. Polina tumbled gracelessly from the window...and Yuri was there to catch her. Strong arms closed around her waist, steadying her with infuriating ease. For a brief second, she was weightless, held against him, the scent of expensive perfume and adrenaline clinging to her skin. His grip was firm but not harsh, a silent reminder of control. His skin was warm, but not heated. No sweat upon his brow, a reminder that he hadn't broken one from her attempted discarding of him. His voice, when it came, was quiet. Amused. "Going somewhere, princess?" ​

 

[Luvia]

POLINA VOLKOV twenty-one | daddy's princess | spoiled ❝ 𝒟𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓎 𝒹ℴℯ𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌𝓈 𝒷ℯ𝓈𝓉. ❞​

Tight. Squeezing through that window would be an awfully tight fit, but she could make it work. Her dress might not survive it, but at this point, it was the least of her concerns. She had a thousand others like it and could afford a thousand others by tonight if she so wished. First, she'd dropped her purse. Then, her shimmering, silvery heels followed. Soon after, it was Polina herself who emerged next. How the hell did he manage to find me? She was so absorbed in thought that she hardly noticed that the very same man who she was cursing was already waiting for her, right there. Watching her, as she made a fool of herself. As she held on for dear life, dangling clumsily and suddenly regretfully as she questioned her own choices that had brought her here, another thought occurred to her. Judging by the depth of the fall she'd have to take, she wouldn't be able to walk away unharmed. Huh. Wait. Actually, this might work out. A crazed idea formed in her head. If she ended up spraining her ankle, perhaps that was for the better. If she got hurt, she could just pin it on him. Maybe that was what it took to make him disappear. She had never harmed herself, deeming the entire notion boorish and her body too precious. But now? Now—she fell. In lieu of landing on the hard concrete however, something decidedly worse happened. Something much worse. She'd leapt right into Yuri's arms. A soft gasp left her cushioned lips as she realized it. Her lithe body in his arms froze. Fuck. Being so close to him did all sorts of things to her, all at once. The most astonishing, for one—this man smelled good. Like mouth-watering heaven. And then, there was that annoyingly attractive voice, drifting so close to her ears. She willed herself to ignore the slight shiver it managed to coax out of her. Instead, Polina focused on something else. Something that got her blood boiling immediately. He sounded amused. Smug prick. "Let GO of me, ugh," she pushed at his shoulders and began to kick her legs, "Set me down, you stupid dog!" Shortly after, her feet hit the ground and she stumbled a few steps backward, regaining her composure and huffing. When their eyes met, she leveled him with a glare that was scorching. Oh, if looks could kill. For a split second, her gaze hushed towards the end of the alley, watching as people passed it. "I refuse to go back. I won't go back." She bent down to retrieve her purse and to pick up her heels. She paused as she studied the diamond encrusted butterflies on them, as if contemplating on whether or not she should use them as a weapon. It wouldn't be the first time. "Touch me and see what happens. I'll scream if I have to."​

 

[Rave]

YURI IVANOV 31 | doberman | fed up ❝ If Looks Could Kill ❞​

Polina smelled of expensive perfume and the remnants of something sweeter—liquor, perhaps, or the indulgent, heady thrill of her own rebellion. Beneath it all, her body was warm, tense, every muscle coiled as though she could will herself away from him. But it was useless. He held her without effort, his grip unyielding but careful, as if handling something both delicate and volatile. A mistake, she realized, and he knew the precise moment she did. The gasp, soft and unguarded. The way her breath caught just so. The fleeting second of stillness before she remembered herself and reignited into motion, a whirlwind of petulant outrage. Her palms pressed against his shoulders, small and ineffective, though she shoved as if she could move him, yelling away as if her bark was somehow stronger than her bite. Yuri could have kept her there, suspended in his grasp, long enough to make her truly squirm. He could have let her feel the inevitability of it, let her recognize that her tantrums would always meet the same end. But instead, he let her slip from his hold, feet finding the uneven concrete beneath them. She stumbled—briefly, beautifully—before righting herself with a huff, her glare searing into him like she might set him alight where he stood. She refused to go back, the declaration childish. Stubborn. He had heard it before, dozens of times over the past month, always accompanied by some new scheme to shake him. This night had been her boldest attempt yet, but like all the others, it had failed. Yuri inhaled deeply, exhaling slow. He reached into his coat pocket, retrieving his phone with the kind of measured patience that he knew would infuriate her further. The call was brief, spoken in low, fluid Russian. Contrasting his English that was still laced with the accent of the Motherland. "Подъезжай назад. Жди." Bring the car around back. Wait. His gaze remained on her as he spoke, watching the way her fingers curled around the straps of her heels, her grip tightening as though she were considering whether or not to use them as weapons. A ghost of amusement tugged at the corner of his lips. It wouldn't be the first time. Yuri tilted his head, watching her as one might observe a particularly dramatic storm—unbothered, vaguely entertained, yet entirely unsurprised by the spectacle. "Scream?" His voice was smooth, edged with something dangerously close to mockery. "Here? Who would hear you? A squirrel?" The alley was secluded, the distant pulse of the club muffling the sounds beyond it. Pedestrians passed in the distance, wrapped in their own worlds, oblivious. No one was coming for her. No one was waiting to save her from the inevitability of this night's outcome. And Polina—spoiled, untouchable, used to bending the world beneath her whims—must have known it too. He stepped toward her. One slow, deliberate step. "I have no patience for your antics tonight. You've ballet practice in the morning." Then another. He already knew the fight in her was simmering just beneath the surface. Anticipating it. But he was faster. In a single motion, Yuri closed the distance, catching her wrist with the same efficiency he had dispatched the men she had hired. No wasted movement, no room for struggle. He turned her smoothly, pressing her back against his chest as his arm secured around her waist, locking her in place. Like a child throwing a tantrum, she was lifted off of her feet again, a single muscled arm all he needed to control her. It tightened, lowering from her waist to beneath her ass, perfect feminine crurves now hoisted against his arm as if a throne. He pinned her against his broad and toned chest. Her arms were free, but no amount of wiggling from her lower body could free her from this. The limo driver had listened to orders, pulling up just as she was lifted, the headlights practically blinding for a moment, its sleek black exterior gleaming beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. The driver, ever discreet, did not turn his head as Yuri reached for the door, pulling it open with one hand while keeping her writhing form secured with the other. She was practically thrown inside, depositing her into the back seat before stepping in after her, shutting the door behind them. The air inside was cooler, quieter, the distant bass of the club now just a dull tremor beneath them. Yuri leaned back, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves before meeting her gaze with calm certainty. "Домой." Home. The driver obeyed without question. The car eased forward, merging seamlessly into the city's veins, carrying them away from the neon chaos and back to the world where, no matter how she fought, she was still his responsibility. ​

 

[Luvia]

POLINA VOLKOV twenty-one | daddy's princess | spoiled ❝ 𝒟𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓎 𝒹ℴℯ𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌𝓈 𝒷ℯ𝓈𝓉. ❞​

She couldn't see it, but she could feel it. When his hand disappeared inside his coat to retrieve his phone, her left eye twitched. Infuriating. He—was infuriating. Ungracefully and entirely vulgar, Polina flipped him off as he made his call. If there was one thing that she didn't tolerate at all, it was being ignored. And he did just that. Worse, he proceeded to mock her in the same way she'd grown to despise. Undisturbed and collected. He was her direct antithesis, a solid rock against her tumultuous and violent waves. "I'll take my chances with the squirrel. Maybe it'll come and tear into you." She raised her chin at him, proudly. "You'd deserve it." The way he appraised her was measured and cool, as if he had her all figured out. No, there was more to it. Yuri Ivanov had the likeness of a sharp dagger, sleek and precise, its edge honed by years of careful calculation. His gaze, however, was not the hurried glance of someone quick to judge; it was deliberate. He wasn’t merely seeing her—he was analyzing, calculating, weighing her worth in the way a predator would inspect its prey. His features were coldly handsome, sculpted like the edges of that very dagger. His eyes, though seemingly impassive, glittered with the intelligence of someone who was never truly fooled. They didn’t dart or shift, instead remaining fixed and unwavering, as though his mind was already five steps ahead of hers. There was an unsettling stillness about him, a calmness that never cracked even in the most tense situations. He was so unlike all the others who had been in his shoes before him. Polina recognized that quality in him and it vexed her—it vexed her that he wasn't someone she could control. At least, not entirely. The moment he lunged for her and locked her down in a tight hold, she made good on her promise. She began to scream. It started out as a flurry of curses, which rapidly evolved into yelling as he hoisted her up, then into full-blown, proper screams of indignation as he walked them towards the limo. Being tossed inside like a sack of potatoes was the last straw and earned him another final insult from her. "засранец!" Asshole! ──────────────── ୨୧ ────────────────​ Silence. Ever since they'd taken off, tonight has been different from their usual. It was quiet inside the limousine save for the sound of her angry texting. Polina refused to spare her uncouth kidnapper another glance, fully intent on ignoring him for the entirety of their ride. As they neared the opulent estate that was her home, she finally locked her phone and glanced up. The gears inside her head were turning, though this time around, it was difficult to tell just what she was thinking about. When their journey came to a stop and the driver moved to open the door for her, she exited the limo with the grace of a woman who expected nothing less. She didn't thank him, nor did she stop to look back. This was her turf, her territory, and it was only right that she carried herself in a way that reflected that. Just as it seemed as if she had dismissed Yuri's existence entirely for the rest of the night, she tossed her purse at him with a simple and degrading "Fetch." The corners of her mouth curved into an upward slant, undoubtedly sly and purposely demeaning. She associated him with a dog for a reason. As much as he was tasked with keeping her in line, he was also tasked with following her every command. If within her daddy's rules, no—for Yuri—was not an option. Polina sashayed inside the well-lit mansion, walking up a beautiful flight of stairs that led into her very own floor. It housed three in total; one for their servants, one for her, and one for her father. As they neared her bedroom, her steps slowed, though didn't stop. So far, Yuri had never been privy to how it looked like. Or rather, he'd never been inside it. That would change today. She was evidently still upset about what had happened earlier, angry at him for spoiling her good fun. She'd chosen to punish him by dragging him along and making him do whatever the fuck she wanted. She was spiteful and petty like that. "Stop." Once inside, she motioned for him to stand in a corner, close to where the door was. The way she spoke to him carried that bit of spite with it. "Be a good boy and stay right there, won't you? It's what you're so good at. My purse has been through a lot. Keep holding on to it until I grow bored of it."​

 

[Rave]

YURI IVANOV 31 | doberman | fed up ❝ If looks could kill ❞​

Yuri sat beside her in the limo, a figure of stillness and poise while she seethed beside him, thumbs flying furiously over the screen of her phone. Her anger was palpable—a storm barely contained within her slender frame—but she refused to acknowledge him. Not a glance. Not a word. Only the sharp, staccato taps of her furious texting filled the space between them. He watched her in the reflection of the window, noting the set of her jaw, the tension in her shoulders, the way her lower lip jutted out in a subtle pout of frustration. She was angry, yes—but beneath that, something more simmered. Her schemes had failed. Her pride had been bruised. Good. Only one problem. Beyond the satisfaction of victory in hunting her down and finding her, he couldn't help but think the one thing he kept trying to avoid. Something he couldn't verbalize lest he give her all the power and rob him of any control he could have over her for the forseeable future. Even if the reflection was the only current mirror to her face, to her body, to the way her dress clung to every one of her curves like it was designed with her in mind; she was so fucking beautiful. ---​ As they neared the sprawling Volkov estate—an opulent display of wealth and excess tucked behind wrought iron gates and manicured hedges—Yuri's gaze shifted from the passing scenery to her. He could sense her mind churning, thoughts spiraling, plots forming. She was always thinking, always planning. That was the danger of a mind like hers—it never rested. The limo slowed, pulling to a stop in front of the grand entrance. The driver stepped out, moving to open her door with practiced subservience. Polina exited first, all grace and entitlement, the cool composure of a woman who ruled this domain and expected the world to kneel before her. She did not thank the driver. She didn't spare Yuri a glance. She didn't have to. The purse came flying through the air without warning. "Fetch." The word landed with the force of a slap—sharp, degrading, intentionally cruel. The smile that accompanied it was laced with venomous satisfaction, the kind that came from asserting power, from testing limits. Yuri caught the purse in one hand, just barely before it touched the ground and turned grass-stained, his fingers curling around the delicate straps. Silken. Expensive. Pointless. He was of half a mind to throw it into the nearest fireplace he could find still lit within on his way up behind her, but cooler heads prevailed. He followed her in silence, the sound of her heels echoing through the vast, marbled halls of the mansion. She ascended the staircase with the sway of a woman who knew she was being watched, each step a deliberate provocation. He matched her pace, footsteps quiet, presence steady. This was her kingdom, and unfortunately, despite...some leeway, he was servant to the Queen. At the threshold of her private floor—an entire level dedicated solely to her whims and desires—she finally slowed. Her hand touched the ornate door to her bedroom, and then— An order, to stop. He did. Instantly. She turned, eyes gleaming with spite, and gestured toward the corner of the room just inside the door, every word that followed demeaning him one after the other. Yuri's eyes met hers, calm and unreadable, his stance as relaxed as it was deliberate. She always barked like this when defeated, and this was surely her way of getting back at him for the night. It didn't matter, in the end she was home, not at the shitty club where who knows what could have happened to her. He didn't move toward the corner just yet—no, not immediately. Instead, he took a slow step into the room, just enough to let the door swing closed behind him with a soft click. Still holding her purse, he tilted his head slightly, as though considering her command with the same weight he might give a request for his life. For a mere moment, he imagined what he might do to her if they were back home, and he was under no contract from her father. This ungrateful brat, in his opinion, really needed leashing. To be thoroughly put in place. Perhaps in another life, he thought. "As you wish." The words were smooth, low, carrying just enough deference to satisfy her demand. He stepped toward the indicated corner, his posture fluid and unbothered, settling there with her absurdly expensive handbag still held in one hand. His eyes remained on her, sharp and watchful, as though he were the one indulging her with this little game, rather than the other way around. It was true that he'd never been inside her bedroom before, decorated pristine and elegant as the very woman who slept in it. It felt a very private space, that he was invading, but orders were orders. "Let me know when boredom sets in, princess," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear as she moved about the room. "So that I can go tell your father you're safe and home by bedtime." ​

 

[Luvia]

POLINA VOLKOV twenty-one | daddy's princess | spoiled ❝ 𝒟𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓎 𝒹ℴℯ𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌𝓈 𝒷ℯ𝓈𝓉. ❞​

A twisted sort of satisfaction made a home for itself in her chest when he complied with her command. It was small moments like these that kept this little arrangement of theirs somewhat tolerable for Polina. Nothing was as thrilling as making men like Yuri bend to her whims. But, within this particular instance, the thrill was short-lived. Although the fleeting obedience in his voice was there, she could sense, his defiance—so quietly simmering. It never truly left, even when his body followed her orders. His gaze remained fixed on her, rather than on the floor where it belonged, as if daring her to push him further. It pissed her off. It wounded her ego, only seeming to feed a darker, sharper edge to her. Over the course of the last month, she'd done a myriad of things to get under his skin. None of them had worked. She'd tried to incite his anger, had tugged at the seams of his patience. She'd splashed water at his face, slapped him, forced him to tend to her like a slave would to its master. She had been cruel, mouthy, disrespectful and harsh. And still, he prevailed. Her eyes narrowed and her lips twisted into a brief, displeased pout. Princess. She hated it whenever he called her that. Coming from him, it wasn't endearing in the slightest. It was a mockery, an insult wrapped in a word that should have held power. She continued to observe him as she moved herself towards her bed, crossing her arms, taking a seat. Her body bounced off of it in a subtle manner, indicating that it was likely made of the most soft and comfortable material. Her silken sheets reflected the light from above, basking them in a soft sheen. "Try me. One more word out of that offensive mouth of yours, and you'll be standing there until dawn." Making him watch her sleep whilst she deprived him of it? It was almost genius, almost. Polina doubted however that she could sleep at all with him in her personal space. It was exactly where she didn't want him to be, unless it was to teach him a lesson. Like now. With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes tiredly, her own unceasing frustration a hard pill to swallow, before she opened them once more and bent down to reach for one of her heels. Through sheer coincidence, their gazes met for the split of a second, and she caught it. She caught him. A flicker of interest in those shamelessly scrutinizing eyes of his. Her brain misfired as she processed this. She stopped in her tracks, her fingers halting against her ankle. Then, with the slow deliberateness of a lioness, she raised herself back up and tilted her head at him. That's when it clicked. She had an epiphany. Time and time again, she'd tried to set him on fire in a very figurative sense. She'd tried to stoke a violent wildfire, one that was destructive in nature. Clearly, he wasn't a man that was easy to aggravate. However. There was something much simpler than eliciting a man's rage. Something much more carnal, but just as primitive. Desire. Lust. If what she'd seen hadn't been a figment of her imagination, then even the great Yuri Ivanov wasn't immune to the wiles of a pretty woman. To her. It meant that this game, their incessant tug-of-war, was far from over. Oh no. She could still break him. She crossed her legs, perching one over the other, her every movement calculated, practiced. She placed her manicured hands on her bed, leaning back a little, her mannerisms transforming into something decidedly more feline and provocative. She tipped her foot in his direction, once, twice, three times. She tilted her head again, willing him to look. Then, Polina spoke. "I've changed my mind. You take them off. Do it slowly." She dipped her chin in a wily nod, a new kind of smirk settling on her lips. The kind that was sensual and seductive. "On your knees."​

 

[Rave]

Yuri Ivanov 31 | doberman | fed up ❝ don't test me ❞​

She was a vision. A creature spun from decadence, lounging against sheets that gleamed like liquid silver beneath the soft glow of the room. The subtle curve of her body, the way her ebony hair cascaded over her shoulders, the sultry, knowing tilt of her lips—it was all designed to tempt, to ensnare. And Polina knew it. Every movement, every glance, every slow, languid stretch of her limbs was an unspoken dare. She was exquisite, the kind of beauty that could ruin men, and she wielded it like a weapon. Yet, it was the fire in her eyes, the wicked intelligence lurking beneath the surface, that made her dangerous. That made her lethal. Yuri tried not to flinch. Not at the command, nor at the way she lounged before him, draped in arrogance and allure, a queen on her silken throne. He had spent the last month tempering her fire, weathering every storm she threw his way with the unshakable patience of a man carved from stone. And yet—this was different. This was not her usual defiance. This was something else entirely. Her foot, adorned by her priceless heels, tapped the air in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Once. Twice. Thrice. A taunt, an invitation. Her smirk curled, velvet and sin, as she tipped her chin toward him, the soft light of the room casting a halo over her golden hair. The words dripped from her lips like poison honey, thick with satisfaction, thick with promise. Another order, one contrasted to all that came before it. It wasn't not to touch her, no, it was to touch her more. On his knees. To slip her of the very heels she nearly stomped on him with countless times on the way home. A silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. Yuri exhaled through his nose, slow, steady. This—this was a new game. He had always known she would escalate, had anticipated that she would push him past patience, past restraint, to something far more dangerous. But he had not expected her to choose this route. Clever girl. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he held her gaze, as unmovable as ever. He could refuse. He could remind her who was in control, that no matter how she tried to wield power over him, it was only ever an illusion. But that would be letting her win. In truth, he had no capacity to refuse such a command, humiliating as it might have been. So, he moved. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them until he was near enough to feel the warmth radiating from her body. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lowered himself onto one knee. The air shifted. His large hands, rough with the remnants of old scars and callouses earned through years of violence, reached for the back of her calf. But when he touched her, he was unbearably gentle. The contrast was stark—these were hands made for breaking, for bruising, for wielding cold steel. And yet, as they encircled her delicate ankle, they were reverent. Careful. Soft as they descended down every inch of skin until calf gave way to heel. His thumb ghosted over the thin strap of her heel before he undid it, painstakingly slow, drawing the moment out like a blade dragged along tender skin. The warmth of her seeped into his fingertips, the pulse of her heartbeat barely perceptible beneath the fragile curve of her ankle. Yuri did not look up at her. No. He wanted her to feel this. That the road she chose was not a one way street. To feel the way his fingers slid along her skin, the feather-light pressure of his touch as he peeled away the first heel. The way he lifted her foot with one hand, his grip firm but careful along the curve of her foot, before placing it back against the lush carpet, bare and vulnerable. And then, the second. His hands traced the length of her calf again with unhurried precision, fingertips grazing along smooth skin, up to where the second heel rested against her foot. He could hear her breathing now, could feel the way her muscles tensed, waiting, anticipating. Another slow tug, another deliberate drag of his fingertips as he freed her from the last of it. Yuri did not speak, did not move to rise just yet. Instead, he let his hands linger for just a second longer than necessary, his touch whispering a silent warning against her skin. Finally, he let her go, rising to his full height with a grace that did not match his size. His gaze found hers, dark and unreadable, lips curved just slightly—not quite a smirk, it curved in the opposite direction. Irritation. Whatever she was doing was working. This was getting under his skin. "Happy now, принцесса?" The words were soft, edged with something that coiled low in the space between them. He had done as she asked. But at what cost? ​

 

[Luvia]

POLINA VOLKOV twenty-one | daddy's princess | intrigued ❝ 𝒪𝓃 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝓀𝓃ℯℯ𝓈. ❞​

He could have refused. He could have walked out of that door and hand in his resignation by tomorrow morning, for disobeying her. That was the point. If Yuri had been a man of integrity, he wouldn't have acquiesced, he would have excused himself and left. Unsurprisingly, he didn't. He dared to take her bait, which meant that she had been right in following her intuition. What she'd seen hadn't been a figment of her imagination—he fancied her. Unlike all the other times, when he had deemed it necessary to put his hands on her for entirely different reasons, he was being uncannily gentle now. It caught her off-guard, though Polina wasn't easily impressed. She had been around enough of her daddy's tutelage to know: Men like him were far from gentlemen. More likely than not, he was one tough, stubborn bastard. Heavy on the stubborn and additionally twice as prideful. For that reason alone, she knew that she was playing a dangerous game with someone like him. She was a fearsome individual in her own right for doing so. It was quiet inside the room save for the sounds of his careful exploration of her legs, of her fingers against the sheets as they shifted on them in response to his ministrations. If she had been unsure before, she would have been certain now—his touches weren't the kind one would expect from a man who was merely acting on duty. Those would have been more clipped and clinical. No. His warm fingers followed the curve of her calves too thoroughly, his hands pressed into her skin too firmly. He lingered close to her for far too long. Although she was observing all of this calmly, her heart began to flutter a little faster. A realization hit her. He wanted her to know. He wasn't trying to hide that he was attracted to her in the slightest. He was warning her to not tempt him. Not on this. Ha. Inwardly, she scoffed. The nerve. More bewildering than that, however, were her own reactions to this sudden turn of events. Did she feel a sliver of excitement? Why, because of him? Her? How fucking ridiculous. Polina denied it. She refused such an absurd possibility. She saw and met beautiful women and men every day, actors, models. People who were sought after for their good looks, paid. And yet, none of them had been able to draw out the exact same feeling that she was feeling now in the face of this insufferable man. She felt high on power and something else—something that made her want to push him further. With her bare feet now on the floor, she chose to stand as well. She was much smaller than him all of a sudden, but her ego remained the same. Intact. "Not at all. When did I say that you could stand? I said—on your knees." Her countenance was resolute and firm, evident in the obstinate way her eyebrows furrowed and her lips flattened into a grim line. The fire in her eyes held authority, as if to dare him to refuse her at last. It was a look that could either ignite a battle or provoke a surrender, and she wasn’t sure which she wanted more. Her resolve was unmistakable, yet there was something beneath it, something deeper. Where was this leading to if he continued to do as he was told? What would SHE do? Polina decided to dig the knife deeper. Her hands went to her hips, smoothening over her dress in a downward motion before she grasped it by its seams. "I feel dirty now that you've touched me. I should take a shower." A shower did sound amazing right about now. Her dark gaze bore into his, never breaking eye contact. She wanted to catch it again; the moment when he involuntarily allowed his own desires to peek through the cracks of his well-maintained mask. Her hands began to raise her dress up, up up up, until she had it all bunched at her waist, above her navel, revealing a sight that Yuri should have never been privy to. Her shapely legs transitioned into a set of lush thighs and well-shaped hips. Her stomach was toned, her physique slender but fit. Hers was a body that was artfully crafted by years of ballet and private sessions of reformer pilates. "You will make yourself useful. Take this off too." She let go of her dress with one hand and dipped a finger underneath the string of her thong by her hip, a flimsy little thing made of lace and luxurious cotton. She lifted it, then removed her finger, making it snap back against her skin. That same feline smile from before returned. "With your teeth."​

 

[Rave]

YURI IVANOV 31 | doberman | fed up ❝ don't push me ❞​

Yuri had expected her to push. It was in her nature—a spoiled brat, defiant, unrelenting in her need to test him, to find the chink in his armor and pry it open with delicate, manicured fingers. But this—this—was pushing boundaries that could lose him his job whether her obeyed, or disobeyed. Standing before getting his command to do so was a mistake, and he was made to pay the price for it. Again he was commanded to his knees, this time in tandem with her own rising that brought back the flats of her feet to the floor, and her slender legs to carry her up. Clearly, he was irritated, the annoyance on his face difficult to hide as brows furrowed and open eyes nearly closed into tighter slits in gazing at her. She was, for the first time, succeeding in actually getting under his skin. Yet he had to obey nontheless. As he lowered, to both knees this time, she stood before him, so much smaller than he was yet utterly fearless, wielding her own body as both bait and blade. For now, she had the height advantage. The room held its breath as she lifted her dress, as smooth, supple skin was revealed inch by maddening inch. Her legs—long, toned, sculpted by years of meticulous discipline—her hips, her stomach, every curve a deliberate temptation. "Ms. Volkov--" An immediate attempt to protest what was to come; But then—the final blow. Her fingers toyed with the thin lace of her thong, lifting it just enough for the elastic to bite when she let go. The soft snap was deafening in the silence. Shutting him up before the rest of his words could complete. Yuri remained utterly still. But his pulse—his blood—betrayed him. She was watching him. Hunting for that flicker of weakness, that slip in his carefully maintained restraint. She wanted him to react. To stumble. To break. His teeth the culprit that would put him on the path. The demand settled between them like a slow-burning fuse, poised to explode. For a long, weighted moment, he said nothing. He did not move. The air was thick, heavy, charged with something neither of them could ignore. His dark eyes, usually so unreadable, dragged over her body with slow, deliberate scrutiny. If she wanted to play this game, he had no choice but to participate. "Your father would not approve." A warning, subtle, but poignant, that she was risking pissing her father off as much as she was risking Yuri's own job. But perhaps, with his cock's tightening in his pants as it grew and hardened in betrayal, that was tomorrow's problem. Then, he moved. He leaned forward—close enough for her to feel his breath on her inner thighs. His fingers found her skin, not rough, not harsh, but firm as he pried her hand away from where she held her dress up, forcing her to let him take control. He would have his agency in this at least, a sliver of it, even if his humiliation continued. The fabric pooled around her hips, still bunched, still waiting. And then—without a word, he set himself to task. His large, calloused hands traced the outer curve of her thighs, just barely, just enough to make her wonder if she imagined it, before his grip turned firm and strong. The heat of his palms ghosted over her skin, a stark contrast to the slow, searing burn in his gaze as he tilted his head, positioning himself exactly where she wanted him, half his face hidden beneath her mound from the nose down, the other half looking up at her with disdain carrying a hint of lust. The moment stretched, unbearable. And then—his mouth found her hip, his breath warm against her skin. He did not rush. No, that would be giving her what she wanted too easily. Instead, he let his lips graze the delicate lace at her hipbone, lingering just long enough to make her muscles tighten beneath him. It was as if there were unpressed kisses and bites, dragging across her skin until he found the perfect a little further in along the dip of her hips. Then, ever so slowly, his teeth caught the fabric. The fragile material resisted for only a second before yielding, slipping between his lips as he began to pull, inch by inch, dragging it downward in a way that forced her to feel everything. The slightest scrape of his stubble against her pubic landing, the press of his chin ever so momentarily against the hidden petals just above, the drag of his lips against her clit in innevitable consequence on his way down, the hotness of his breath against her core—intentional, precise, devastating. His fingers never assisted. He let gravity and patience do the work, teasing the lace inch by inch down her thighs, past the smooth expanse of her porcelain legs, almost in worship, until it barely clung to her ankles. Only then did he let go, allowing the flimsy scrap of fabric to fall to the floor in complete silence. For a brief moment, he remained there, knelt before her, his eyes trailing up the length of her bare legs with slow, languid appreciation before finally he saw what he had revealed. A perfectly pink, glistening, tempting slit staring him in the face from beneath her dress. A sight he should never have looked at in the first place, but now, could not look away from until he literally had to force his thoughts quiet and his face to fully look up at her instead. He could not be caught staring at the brat's little cunt. As tempting as it was. At least, he had done as she asked. "I suggest you stop now before this gets out of hand." A threat, that carried less weight than usual considering he was speaking it from his knees before her, and the fact that his cock was now firmly erect and tenting his pants. "Surely you have one of the many puppies following you around to do this kind of shit with you. You're on, what, your fourth boyfriend this year? I'll go call one for you." He snarled. "Maybe you can throw your little tantrum at him" Spite in his words, but it was...unconvincing. ​

 

[Luvia]

POLINA VOLKOV twenty-one | daddy's princess | shocked ❝ ℱ𝓊𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓇ℴ𝓊𝓃𝒹, 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 ℴ𝓊𝓉. ❞​

The corners of her mouth lifted higher at the mention of her father. It was amusing at best, not a threat. Aleksandr's approval over this matter was hardly something she cared about. On the contrary—she knew that he wouldn't look too kindly upon an employee getting intimate with his precious daughter. She was his treasure, a mirror image of his beloved wife. He would get angry with her at best and berate her. Then, he'd go back to indulging her. It was the exact reason why Polina had turned out the way she did. She was his only child and incredibly versed in wrapping people around her little finger, especially her daddy. Everybody who knew them was aware of this, which is why he spared no effort in ensuring her safety, why Yuri had been hired in the first place. Silly, clueless dog. He was the only one who had something to lose here, with both of his job and his dignity at stake. ... At least, that's how it had started. An unexpected shudder rippled through her from head to toe at the sensation of his breath against her skin. Watching him from her current vantage point was a treat she hadn't recognized as such until his lips ghosted over her body. Polina also hadn't been aware that she had held her breath until his face hovered dangerously close to her there. With each second that they lingered like this, she found herself getting sucked into a bubble she had no business in indulging. She rarely relented control, rarely allowed the reins within her hands to go slack. She was in charge of herself and those around her. It was something she was trying to convince herself of, even as his presence swept over her like a tidal wave, probing, tugging at the seams of that very same prized control. The truth was that she'd only ever been intimate with someone else once, and only because she had seduced the son of one of her daddy's acquaintances. She'd shared kisses with plenty of people, has had dozens of boyfriends and changed them whenever she felt like it. But, as with every other matter in her life, there was a limit to how far she was permitted to go. Aleksandr scorned the idea of his babygirl being a harlot, a slut. Not on his watch. Her toes curled and her breath hitched in her throat when he purposefully teased her clit. It lasted for no longer than a second, but it was damning. By the time he'd managed to guide her thong to her ankles, she'd become a tensed and confused mess. Her game—she realized—was starting to affect her as well. A sense of horror overcame her when she also realized what else had happened. She was wet. Usually, it would take much more effort to get her aroused. She'd get the job done herself, either by rubbing herself into a semi-satisfying orgasm or by resorting to various media outlets to get her mind going. Yuri had done nothing but barely touch her. She was shocked. "Out of hand?" Her voice sounded more muted and less biting, even to her own ears. With her chest rising and falling a little faster, she stared down at him, her mind racing, her body humming with a new-found excitement. For the first time since they've met, Polina's hand reached out towards him. She stroked it against the side of his face, a thumb over his jaw, recalling how his stubble had felt against her. "It seems you still don't understand your current position," she tutted. "The only hand you should be worrying about, is mine." To punctuate her words, she grasped him by his chin, tilting his face up higher. And god. This look—it suited him. He looked ravishing. She made her satisfaction over this known by biting her bottom lip. "Besides," her gaze flicked down. Surely enough, the evidence she was alluding to was right there. "I think we've gone well past that point." As if to humiliate him further, she sat back down on the edge of her bed, raising a foot to trail up along his thigh, slowly, stopping only when it came in contact with the buldge underneath his pants. Polina could tell that she was finally getting to him. His body's reaction to her was one thing, a given, but he was also telling on himself with his choice of words. "You're more shameless than you look. What innocent, normal bodyguard would be this invested in his client's romantic affairs? Hm? You're being quite pathetic." She leaned back a little, supporting her weight with her elbows, her long hair pooling around her on the silken sheets. "Don't pretend like you've never imagined what it would be like to be one of them. You've never been curious?" Slowly, she spread her thighs, drawing his attention to what he had unwrapped himself. Then, she chuckled, the sound hollow, sardonic. "Liar." Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now she was pissed and horny. Because of him, of all people. "Your shamelessness is annoyingly infectious. You're an inconvenience even now." Her legs spread wider. Polina paused, as if contemplating her next words carefully. "What was your name again? Ivan? Ignat?" Another degrading jab. She knew exactly what his name was. "You should clean up the mess you've made yourself." ​

 

[Rave]

YURI IVANOV 31 | doberman | dangerously horny ❝ how the fuck did i get here ❞​

Regret was a funny thing. He should have stopped this the moment it began. That was the thought pounding through his skull as he remained there, still on both knees, with the ghost of her touch still lingering against his jaw. He could practically taste her against his lips, the arousal ligering along his tongue just behind the teeth. He should have ignored her games, should have left her standing there in all her arrogance, in all her spoiled, self-satisfied glory. He should have walked out that door and let her seethe, let her plan her next pathetic little scheme to get rid of him. Instead, he had done the one thing he had sworn not to do. He had played along. And now? Now, she was looking at him like she had already won. Perhaps she did-- for what better sign of surrender than the cock tenting his pants in that very moment? Waving a flag of defeat? A muscle in his jaw ticked as she leaned back onto the bed, propped up on her elbows, her long, silken hair cascading over the sheets like a dark halo. He could still hear her voice, smooth as velvet, taunting, cutting, meant to degrade. "There's little about you that ever causes me worry, princess." He snarled back, a bark that wasn't backed up by a bite. Yet defiance lingered in him, for the time being, small as the flame was. Though really, there was not much more he could say when she directly pointed out the obvious: she was dripping, he was hard, and the evidence was impossible to ignore. "We shouldn't have gotten to this point in the first place, but I am bound by your damn orders. Your father's incredibly stupid rule." He bared his teeth at her, a chained dog forced into obedience, trying to pretend he didn't enjoy it-- like he wouldn't hump her leg as if a dog in heat given the chance. "And of course I take interest in your private affairs. It's my job, you ungrateful brat." There was a hint of something else there, a notion previously undetected. "I watch the way they touch you. Hold you. Try to win your favour. I am under orders to break fingers should they wander too close for comfort." Oh. It was a hint of jealousy. "Now mine are just as tainted." Yet all the barking was moot when her foot dragged up his thigh, stopping just over the evidence of his own undoing. His cock strained against his pants, painfully hard, betraying him in the one way he couldn't control. It throbbed against her, pulsed, twitched up as if begging for touch. She spread her legs wider, watching him, waiting for his reaction. Goading him to admit that he'd imagined her like this before, that he touched himself to the thought of her. Of course he did. He pictured her almost daily, in anger and frustration. He imagined angrily taking out everything she did to him on her throat, he imagined dragging her to her childhood bedroom and breaking in the bed with her, he imagined bending her over and making her forget her own name. Would he admit to any of it? No. At least he had a new order, one that would conceal the truth by busying his lips enough into shutting up. His head tilted just slightly, the only indication of his reaction. Then, he exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a single second before opening them again. She had asked for this. It was an order! He couldn't disobey, right?...right? He moved before he could think any further, fluid and slow, the way a predator moves when it's already decided the kill is inevitable. His large hands found her thighs, fingers pressing in just enough to make her skin yield beneath his touch. "If your father finds out about this..." A final warning. Yuri leaned in, his breath hot against her, his lips hovering—just hovering—over the wet and inviting slit ahead of him. His stubble scraped against her skin as he let his mouth barely ghost over the delicate curve, lingering just enough to make her shiver. It was no use thinking about what would happen now. He sowed, and it was time to reap. With tongue first and foremost, as it dove inwards to immediately drag itself along her wet cunt's lips from base to clit. Starting at her taint, he rolled the tough muscle upwards to lick her clean, dragging himself all the way up and back down again. The mess she made was...significant, practically gushing out of her. So much so it leaked along his chin, smeared his lips, and dripped down his neck. He wanted to be silent and stoic, to pretend like he was just doing this because he was ordered to. But again he was betrayed, but a moan erupting from his throat at the taste of her. Honey. Nectar. Tempting enough that without being ordered to do so, his tongue parted her folds as if the red sea, and dove in to seek more of what was offered. He was thorough in everything. Even this. ​

 

[Luvia]

POLINA VOLKOV twenty-one | daddy's princess | needy ❝ 𝒲𝒽ℴ 𝓌ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉? ❞​

Hook, line, and sinker. She won. He was unraveling, and fast. His mistake? She had never ordered him to close that last bit of distance between them. Her own choice of words had been crucial here—she'd said that he should, not that he had to. He'd unwittingly fallen into her trap, and he had no one to blame for it but himself, for coveting what he shouldn't have, for being as simple-minded as the rest of them. Instead of stopping this charade however, or thoroughly celebrating the fact that she'd managed to outsmart him at last, the unthinkable happened—she wanted this. She wanted him, to continue. Not because she particularly liked him, far from it, but in this moment, watching him give in to her was the most intoxicating and thrilling thing she's ever experienced. There was more to it, too. She loathed to admit it, but it was undeniable—the way their energies matched, now that they were fueled by a sexual spark. Whereas the sight of him had filled her with a sense of dread before, now, she felt anticipation. She couldn't pinpoint when exactly it had happened nor did she care. All that mattered was that charged attraction between them. The fact that he had paid close attention to her beyond his orders should have repulsed her, the jealousy in his voice disgust her. But Polina was a girl who lived in the present. In this very moment, all she wanted to do was yank him by his hair and feel his lips between her legs. His final warning fell on deaf ears. "Save your breath." She was getting impatient. He was so, so close, yet lingered a breath away still. Her thighs under his hands shivered, her mind attuned to his every movement. The tension in the air was palpable and taut. Then, when he finally touched her, really touched her, Polina felt something within her snap. Her lips parted in a pretty 'o' and her head fell back. His tongue on her felt so good. Better than she had thought. It bore the same satisfactory weight as her indulging herself in her favorite food, her favorite champagne, her favorite designer brand. Becoming her favorite—what a daunting notion. A languid, low moan crawled its way up her throat as she felt everything, one stroke up, one stroke down. That changed however when he went well past just licking her clean. His crumbling boundaries were crashing into hers. Her voice transitioned into something more vulnerable and sweet, giving way to the fact that she was just a young woman with the same needs and wants as any other. Her brows furrowed, and she moaned again, the sound delectably feminine. "More." Whiney. Her head raised back up and the look in her eyes when she sought his once more was almost pleading. Almost. A moment of clarity hit her. She sounded like she was dangerously close to begging him. Her. It was laughable. Pathetic. Polina Volkov didn't beg. She only ever took. What was he doing to her?​

 

[Rave]

YURI IVANOV 31 |doberman | totally fucked ❝ I'm going to get fired ❞​

Yuri could not stop himself. Not physically, nor emotionally. In a way, this felt like his own get-back. Like he was being rewarded for a month's saintly patience, a month putting up with her attitude and her antics. If tasting forbidden fruit was the prize earned from all this hardship, then so be it. He would take everything from her, with lips and tongue, to suck her soul from her if he had to. If he was going out like this, he was going to go out with a bang. Her scent, her warmth, the way her body trembled beneath his hands—it had already consumed him. There was no turning back now, not when she had asked for this, the lack of momentary cleverness not to notice that it wasn't an order aside. Not when her voice—so often sharp, cutting, cruel—had softened into something else entirely. "More." The word, barely more than a whimper, slipped past her lips like a confession, sultry and petulant all at once. He should have tortured her, really. Should have left her panting and desperate, drowning in the consequences of the game she had started. But she wasn't the only one losing ground anymore. His grip on her thighs tightened, his fingers pressing into smooth, yielding flesh as he pulled her closer to him. His mouth—his breath—was molten against her skin, dragging lower, teasing, tasting. Where before he was teasing, there was urgency in his movements now. She was no longer satisfied with simple drags and sampling, and neither did he have the patience to leave it at just that. Like the red sea, her folds were parted by his tongue's invasion. In a single wet and swift motion, he plunged himself into her. Lips sealed around her southern pair, suckling at the folds in tandem with his newfound advantage within her. The wet muscle quickly began to circle her within, dragging across every inch of her inner walls as if to coax out further honey. To feed himself with her nectar, a man parched from the day's hard work. He explored her with the slow, thorough deliberation of a man determined to leave an impact. A man that finally got his hands on her in a way that could rob her of all self-control. His own desires were made bare, in the form of moans manifesting from throat and through his lips, vibrating her folds against him with every escaped sound. They were wordless confessions, of how much this aroused him, of how his dam was quickly decreasing in fidelity, going from leak to full break. As if to make a point, Yuri's grip upon her thighs tightened, and she was pulled further from the bed until her legs would be made to hang over his shoulders instead. In that one motion, his tongue suddenly thrust deeper into her still, but more-so, his entire face was thrust against her mound. She'd feel his nose suddenly rub up into her clit, his stubble teasing at her pussy lips, his chin dragging across her taint. Not a single part of her was left unattended, for that would be a job poorly done. Yuri had never half-assed anything in his life before, and this was no exception. No, this was a special case. A task of a loyal dog. A faithful servant. Dedicated to her release. ​

 

[Luvia]

POLINA VOLKOV twenty-one | daddy's princess | hooked ❝ ℬℯ𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶 𝑔ℴℴ𝒹 𝒷ℴ𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊. ❞​

Good. Why did this feel so good? In her head, she was cursing him. Yuri had been hired because he was a man of many talents, many of which she'd gotten a first class front-row seat to. It seemed that there was nothing he wasn't good at. And, as he obliged with her little demand, she found out quickly that this was certainly not an exception. Intrinsically, nothing about their dynamic had changed, and yet—everything had. He was wickedly talented at using his mouth on her, too. Which, in her book, was his first and only redeeming quality, one she was progressively growing obsessed with. Polina's eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head when his tongue slipped inside her, her eyelids fluttering, nearly closing. It felt ticklish, wet and hot. The sensitive nerves inside her core were responding to his intrusion immediately, causing for her hips to buck up against his face. She tightened around him, and he hummed in response. It was fucking maddening. Her fingers clenched and unclenched on the sheets as he tortured her with the same insistent pressure, pulling soft noises from her. A flick here, a flick there—he was exploring spots within her that even she wasn't familiar with. He was tasting her as if she was the most delectable thing he's ever indulged himself in, and it did something to her brain. It completely misfired. His own desire was evident and all-consuming, surely fueled by copious amounts of repressed frustration and forcefully instilled restraint. The result? A strange sort of intimacy between them, marked by so much hunger. She sucked in a harsh breath when he pulled her closer, the entire motion effortless, easy. It served her as a reminder—if Yuri wanted, he was capable of doing unspeakable things to her. All it would take was a little... push. Now that she was on her back, Polina was free to move her arms, and her hands shot to his head as his tongue dipped in deeper. Her body writhed under his ministrations and she clenched around him, welcoming him in, but also crying out for something bigger, deeper. Her eyes widened at the sensation of his nose against her clit, teasing her with the promise of the pleasure she could feel if he focused his efforts on her there. With her legs suspended on his shoulders, she was completely at his mercy. She tried to move, to rub herself against him on her own terms, but to no avail. The man was as unmovable as a rock. She ended up surrendering to his pace, her control slipping. Her fingers in his hair fell away and she began to lose herself in this, in him. It inspired her to tug at the straps of her dress, pulling them down along her arms until the rest of it followed suit. She exposed her perfectly rounded breasts to the cool air, not wearing a bra. With a needy whimper, she began to fondle herself, pressing her hands into the softness of her tits, grasping at them, kneading up, squeezing. Her eyes closed and her head whipped aside as she resumed to focus on her nipples, rolling the stiffened peaks with the tips of her fingers. When was the last time she'd felt this turned on? When was the last time she'd enjoyed herself this much? She found no answer. Only—this. "Don't stop. Fuck, don't stop." Polina's back arched some more and the heels of her feet dug into his back, adding to her urgency. "Please." Please... what? Her face twisted in concentration. Pleasure made her feel like she was floating, but she wanted to crash. "I'm so, so—," her hips bucked again, and a loud, unabashed moan escaped her when he hit another perfect spot. "I'm so close. Please." As if bewitched, the tone of her voice changed into something she knew would egg him on. If given free reign, she had a hunch that Yuri wasn't a gentle lover. "Fuck me like you mean it, you stupid dog." ​

 

[Rave]

YURI IVANOV 31 | fucked | really, really fucked ❝ I don't care anymore ❞​

To Yuri, the act of eating a woman out was an art. He knew all the brush strokes of tongue that made a girl's toes curl up, to have her squirm and slather him with white paint. He knew how to use more than his tongue, but his whole face, to make it a mat for his lover to grind on and rub herself against until she flooded him. He was practiced, careful, measured. But not this time. Yuri was practically devouring the bratty princess laying ahead of him, careless to all techniques and fine movements. He was disinterested in subtlety or finesse-- no, he had no mind for them to begin with, entirely bewitched by his own frustrations erupting out on her. She was not simply being ate out, he was tongue fucking her, plunging himself in an out of her with a rabid appetite appropriate for the demeaning nickname she gave him; dog. She only made it worse, aching for him not to stop. The initial pleadings had two consequences: the first was a sudden spank across the side of her ass, hard enough to echo its voice across the room. It was instinctive, barbaric, base. He didn't think about it, it was his body's natural reaction to push hers further as she was practically begging him to. The second, was that his eyes opened and canted up, gazing upon her body in full. Her breasts had spilled outwards, the dress bunching at her waist, her own hands fondling them with eager arousal as if to tame her body's aching for him. Yuri's cock nearly throbbed its way out of his pants, struggling against its confinement even harder from the sheer sight. He could bare the imprisonment no longer, dedicating a single hand to freeing the twitching captive with a quick undoing of his zipper and the button of his pants. It left his cock to suddenly spring forth, smacking down into a grip that was eager to stroke it. Anything to stop the incessant ache of arousal rushing through his body. It also revealed a humorous similarity between them; neither were particularly fond of underwear, it seemed. Slurp, slurp, slurp He drank from her. A parched dog from the stream. Her moans were practically falling on deaf ears, a man dedicated to his task. Yet certain words were far too provocative to ignore. A pleading, a begging, for him to keep going. That she was close. The brat, the princess, the whore, was going to cum all over him, and he was determined to see it through. Yet where he had assumed he'd bring her to completion in their current position...her final order changed everything. And Yuri snapped. It was as if the canine was set off-leash. Given the order to do whatever the fuck he wanted. Like a predator cornering prey, a Lion hunting the rabbit, he tore his tongue and lips from her and in an instant, lunged upwards and onto the bed. In a blink, he had her beneath him, his cock hanging low and hard, every vein upon it visible from sheer arousal. It touched at her inner thigh, just as his hands touched at her wrists, bringing them crashing down at each side of her head. His breath was hot, chest heaving, control completely lost. "I'm getting fired anyway." He snarled his words out now, undone and rabid by her hand. "So I'll break you before I fucking leave." That would be her one, and only warning. A single promise that she would not survive the night without bruises, before a hand parted from her wrist to grip the base of his cock instead. In a practiced, smoothly guided motion forward, she was instantly speared. Without gentleness nor patience, without slow pace nor carefulness, Yuri rammed every inch of him forward in a single, aggressive thrust that had his groin smacking into her own, his hips into her ass, his cockhead into the very back of her. It was made possible by his tongue's initial ventures, smoothing the way for a full assault upon her core. His back arched instantly, a groan loud enough to wake up half the staff in this mansion bellowing from his throat. A howl fit for a wolf, not a dog. His hand did not return to her wrist, but instead, reaching upwards to wrap around her neck. It would force her to look up at him, to see him towering above her, dwarfing her in size, his cock buried so deeply within her she'd feel it in her very stomach. That was when the thrusts began. One, after another, after another, crashing him into her with immediate, violent need. He had the upper hand now. "You... are no--...aggh..., princess..." He whispered his words, venom within them equal to the fondness. To the lust. "You are a шлюха" "whore." ​

 

[Luvia]

POLINA VOLKOV twenty-one | getting fucked | really, really fucked ❝ 𝒴ℴ𝓊 𝒷ℯ𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝒹ℴ𝓃'𝓉 𝓁ℯ𝓉 𝓂ℯ 𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽. ❞​

One moment, she was close to cumming. The next, Polina's body tensed for different reasons. The sound of rustling fabric was her only warning before she was forcefully pushed back onto her bed. Her eyes flew open in shock, though mentally, she was still somewhere between wanting to complain and whining about the loss of his tongue. Their change in position had happened so fast. By the time she realized what was happening, Yuri was already hovering above her, staring down at her with the ferocity of an animal that had been poked at one too many times. His gaze right then and there was unforgiving, devastating. Her pulse quickened, her breath catching in her throat as the weight of his stare pressed into her skin like a physical force. He was so close, so dangerously close, that she could feel the heat radiating off his body, the tension coiling between them. The silence was thick, pulsing with an energy that vibrated in the very air they breathed. Until— "I'm getting fired anyway." "So I'll break you before I fucking leave." That's when she noticed it. The weight of his cock along her thigh, the change in his movements, in the way he carried himself. He'd decided to take her order literal, only seconds away from fucking her in proper. A sliver of panic washed over her as she found herself staring up at a man she didn't recognize, at the version of him that was no longer bound by the shackles of his contract. If Yuri's words were anything to go by, he'd already resigned himself to losing his job, which meant that he was going to fuck her without any abandon. Like this, he was unrestrained. Unchecked. Not her bodyguard no more, meant to safeguard and protect. No. It meant that he was going to fuck her as his most authentic and real self. And somewhere deep inside, she welcomed it. In the heat of the moment however, when his hand left her wrist, that very same wrist snapped up and she slapped him across his cheek. Her lips parted in protest, a snarky remark at the tip of her tongue. How dare you—but she never got to voice it. Instead, her eyebrows twisted upward and her eyes closed by a fraction. Her teeth sank into her lower lip before a teary and guttural moan tore from her throat. Within a single push forward, he was inside her, stretching her. Despite being incredibly wet, Polina was having a difficult time accommodating him. Her pussy was tight. She was squirming underneath him, feeling assaulted by a sudden mix of pain and even more pleasure. She felt his own groans deeply within her bones, where they lingered and ensnared her into momentary submission. More. She wanted to hear more. As if sensing this, he forced her to look up at him, fully taking control now, both of her body and her state of mind. For the first time, she learned how it felt to be small within the bounds of their dynamic. Yuri began to move and Polina lost her mind completely. She was still sensitive, still so fucking aroused from what he'd done to her only moments prior. That dangerous edge he'd brought her close to? Oh. It was still right fucking there. With each smack of his hips against her and the added pressure of his cock deeply inside her, she was coming undone fast. She was feeling so full, so light-headed. She wasn't a virgin, but god did it feel different with him. No man had ever ravaged her like this, too frightened by what her daddy would do in case he found out. She laid her free hand on top of his, where he held her by her throat. Not to remove it, but to encourage. Her fingers brushed over his, then curled them more forcefully against her skin, the entire thing spelling out a single message. Do your worst. Ruin me. And ruin, he did. The pressure of his fingers and the sensation of his cock filling her were the only things that mattered. Nothing felt as thrilling as being his whore. With him being balls-deep inside her, he kept hitting the very same areas he'd stimulated before and the inevitable happened. "Hmn, ah, AH! Fuuu—" Without wanting to, without having any control over it, Polina came. Hard. She was crying out pathetically, her back arching, her pussy clamping down on him tightly. Her legs quivered to both sides of his hips and her eyes squeezed shut. Wave after wave after wave of mind-numbing pleasure overwhelmed her. But—he didn't stop. They'd only just started.​

 

[Rave]

YURI IVANOV 31 | breaking a bed | with a whore in it ❝ Only thing you'll catch a cock between your slutty little lips ❞​

There it was. There it finally fucking was. He reached the promise land, ushered in by a gushing cunt that suddenly viced around every single inch of him. He knew he was driving her crazy, and knew that her hold upon her own barriers was breaking before he even plunged himself inside her. It seemed a few thrusts were enough to break the dam entirely, and now, at least initially, she had completely left him stuck and wedged within her. Her cunt clamped down in eager force, legs twitching, toes curling, Polina losing control of her senses. She would not be granted such a bountiful release without consequence. To imagine that he would remain still while she rode her high was naive, a thought that if she dared to have it, would be immediately disproven by a rut forward that forced his cock past the tightening clamp of her walls around him. Mercilessly, impatiently, Yuri fucked the whore through her orgasm, plunging himself in and out of her again, and again, and again, with complete disregard for the quivering thighs and the arching back, the closed eyes and the scratchy moans leaving her throat. She would be fucked into submission, bred like a brothel whore hired for a night's entertainment, and she wouldn't have a fucking choice in the matter. Each oncoming thrust now splashed evidence of her release along with it, leaving squirts of her cum to be plungered out of her in sharp jets of release. All of them spraying out from whatever small corner or inch unplugged by his girth with every thrust inside her. "Look at you, making a fucking mess." He growled out his words, hand tightening upon her neck now that hers was atop it, sealing the choke just a bit tighter to deny her breath entirely for a moment. "A petulant child. That's all you are. That's all you ever were." She sowed, and now she reaped, the frustrations and anger of a man she toyed with one too many times. He had not forgotten the earlier slap, so kindly, his free hand responded with one of his own. The open palm of his hand crashed across her cheek in punishment, in humiliating smack, to put her in her fucking place, and not once did he dare to pause his rutting of her. Instead, his pace simply slowed, shifting from rabid and animalistic thrusts to deep, invasive pounds that carried the full weight of his muscled body behind them. Every push forward shook the entire bed beneath her, making the wooden frames beneath the mattress creek and splinter. The very headboard rattled above her head, from the impact of his body into her own alone. "What would daddy say if-...he...agh...saw you...now..." He taunted, the hand upon her neck finally releasing just enough to allow her breath again, to allow her some fucking words. A generous gift, if she could even let out a noise with his cock so far up her cunt she'd feel it in her stomach. "Look...at...yourself-..." His hand left her neck, reaching up to grab her by the top of her head instead, her hair bunching in his hands. He'd force her to look down at herself, at the outline of his cock practically visible from the outside of her skin, of his entire body used as a battering ram to beat every inch of him into her womb. "F-u...fuck-...!" Yuri wasn't entirely immune to what this was doing to him either, and fate so had it that in the moment he was meant to taunt, to make her look, her eyes upon them aroused him enough that pre-cum suddenly began to pump and spill from his cock. She'd bare witness, to the throbbing of his cock as it slid half-way out, and feel the gush inside her when it plunged back in, smearing her insides white. "You-...whore...fuck-.." A thrust. -- "You..." Another thrust. "You fucking--..!" And another. "Whore!" And another, and another, and another, and another, and another. Retaliating words, that were said with more...adoration, craving, and wanton, than any before. If they weren't enough? He was sure that the aggressive kiss he crashed upon her lips a moment later would do it. ​

 

[Luvia]

POLINA VOLKOV twenty-one | daddy's worst nightmare | his whore ❝ 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝒷ℯ 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓂ℯ 𝓉ℴ 𝒷ℯ. ❞​

She was surrounded by him. He was everywhere. For a long moment, Polina didn't know where he began and where she ended. Overwhelmed by the intensity of her orgasm, she felt like jumping out of her own skin, though she remained right where she was—fucked ruthlessly into her sheets, held into place by his crushing grip on her. Her feet dug into the mattress and her hand next to her head opened and closed into a tight fist. Yuri was whispering degrading things into her ear, but she didn't even know what was coming out of her own mouth. Was she moaning? Crying? Screaming? She had no idea. She just kept on cumming, the tension inside her exploding into violent little tremors all over, into the farthest corners of her body. Her vision was blurry as her orgasm continued to tear through her, robbing her of any sense of self. This, it was pure bliss; it felt so fucking good. For a while, all she could register was his hand on her throat and the way he continued to fuck into her. Each following thrust only prolonged this moment of bliss for her—until, it didn't. Her high ebbed, and his grip around her throat tightened, forcing her to blink up at him with her lips parted, though no sound came out. Her dark eyes were wet with unshed tears. She couldn't breathe. Like this, she felt every drag and pull of his throbbing cock along her sensitive walls; every other sensation was suddenly heightened. The smack to her face earned him a choked, shrill gasp, and her hand on his began to scratch, leaving red rivulets along its back and down his wrist. Somewhere on the periphery of her mind, Polina processed what he was doing to her. He was completely dominating her, no—making an example out of her. He was showing her exactly how it felt to be on the receiving end of being humiliated and shamed. Under different circumstances, she would have crushed him underneath her heel for this. Nobody was allowed to talk to her like this. But now? Now, he was doing just that, and for some godforsaken reason, she enjoyed it immensely. Maybe, this is what she had wanted all along—someone who saw her for what she was and knew what to do with it, knew how to handle her. Being challenged like this, it was exciting. It kept her right there with him, the burning sensation of overstimulation rapidly transitioning into another incoming and nerve-wrecking orgasm. He released his grip on her throat and a crazed laugh sounded from her mouth. Her hand on his wandered, up along his arm and ended up closing around his own throat. "Fuck you." Something like spite flashed in her gaze, though it promptly disappeared when he made her look. Another choked whine. This sight, it was fatal. It was so lewd. He was taking her so deeply. Seeing the sheer outline of his cock inside her was maddening. Heat consumed her, and her cheeks flushed a bright red. He was claiming her like she was a cheap little toy, a filthy little whore; with no signs left of the spoiled and untouchable princess. And it did the unthinkable—it calmed her mind into a weird sort of headspace. One that told her to moan louder and to thank him for it. So when he kissed her, Polina didn't dare turn her head away. Her tongue flicked out and licked against his upper lip in an upward stroke before she opened up more and kissed him back hungrily. It wasn't a simple kiss by any means—it was every bit as dirty as the way they fucked. She buried her fingers into the back of his head, into his unruly dark hair. At the same time, she wrapped her legs around his hips and locked them at the small of his back. It's when she realized that he was still fully clothed, and she was the only one who was almost completely naked safe for her dress that had bunched up at her waist. A thought occurred to her as she was so, so close to cumming again. Judging by the way his movements became more erratic and the way she could feel him gradually tense and throb more wildly inside her, he was close as well. "I will— aahh...," she cried with a soft high sound. "I will fucking kill you if you cum inside me. Do you... understand?" She was saying one thing, but her legs drew him closer. "I'll m-make you... hmm, regret it if you do." He had not earned that privilege. Not yet.​

 

[Rave]

YURI IVANOV 31 | reckless | cumming ❝ Breaking In A Little Whore Is Hard Work ❞​

Defiant. To the very end, she was defiant. Ruined. Ravishing. And still—fighting. Even now, as her body betrayed every last shred of pride she clung to, as she moaned and clawed and gasped beneath his weight, Polina would not surrender without dragging him into the flames with her. Her voice—cracked and sweet and still sharp—cut through the haze. The flicked tongue drew in his kiss to be as consuming as the rest of him, lips crashing down upon her own with such aggression that his tongue practically licked at the back of her throat. Only stopped by the presence of her own, a barrier, a dance partner, fighting his presence and welcoming it all at once. If the crashing of his hips into her groin was the bass, and the slaps Every pump inside her unravalled him more, leaving him walking a line he was quickly falling from. The heat of the moment, the violence in their fuck, the unspoken angst and frustrations, all of it overwhelming and leading him off the edge of a cliff. She'd feel it, the way his cock pulsated inside her, the way he throbbed with every incessant pound he made her watch pummel its way deeper and deeper into her guts. The very bed was now shaking at its foundation, creeking into the wooden floors below, leaving scratches on the floor as she left scratches on him. She clawed him with painted nails, marking him above as she did below with gushing orgasms and legs sucking him in. Her orders contradicted what her body demanded. Her legs pulled him in greedily, even as her mouth whispered threats through gasps. Yuri looked down at her, panting, lips swollen from their kiss, skin flushed and glistening. No different to how he was losing control of his own facilities. He didn't even have time for a witty retort—he was cumming, and he was cumming now. "Oh fuck-- Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm going-...I'm going to fucking--!!" It was all the warning he could muster, not that she fucking deserved any in the first place. She'd see it in real time, how his thrusts increased in pace, leaving him practically breeding her like a dog in heat, his cockhead smashing into her very cervix with every thrust. She'd see how his eyes rolled to the back of his head, how his back arched above her, leaving him towering over her further. She'd see how every single muscle on his body tensed, contracting and flexing to prepare for the oncoming storm. She'd even feel how his balls throbbed against her taint, ready to pump, ready to unleash everything it had deep within Polina's womb. Every single sign pointed to him ignoring her orders, to doing what he wanted to anyway and leaving her a cum-stained whore filled to the brim with his seed. But Yuri was a well-trained dog. Through sheer will-power he'd later question the source of, every fiber of his being was used to pull him out at the very last second. A groan loud enough to wake every maid in the house erupted from his throat, howled out towards the cieling, before his cock was stolen from her insides to land in the palm of his own hand instead. "Oh my fucking go--...god...fuck! Fuck! Ohhh fuck! Polina! Fuck!" The words erupted from him as quickly as his cumshots did, rope after rope immediately starting to fire forward like a hose unleashed. It'd be a matter of seconds before every hurried geyser of cum began to drench her, getting the bodyguard's seed into every little exposed piece of skin the princess had to offer. The cum sprayed on her cunt below, the stomach above it, her swaying breasts, her lips and jawline-- it even reached as far north as her eyelashes and hair. It would be a future reminder of how...convenient, cumming inside her would have been, and if she denied him the opportunity to do so, well... She'd not just be called a cum-stained whore, she'd look the part too. ​