Russian Doll
- Reads 203
- Votes 9
- Parts 7
Ongoing57m
Last published Tue, Jan 15, 2019
Women are basically Russian Dolls; we conceive and produce a "Russian doll" which will produce another "Russian doll" of their own. It's a continuing occurrence until one of the russian dolls break and when it does it freezes everything.
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"Willow, I promise you I will get you anything you want. Just say it and I'll get it for you."
"You know I only want one thing, a Russian Doll of my own."
"You know I can't give you that."
"Then why promise."
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All Rights Reserved
#15
infertile
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"What are you?" the older man questioned, his voice a chilling blend of authority and amusement, like a knife wrapped in silk. "Your wife," I replied softly, my tone laced with the submission he seemed to crave. "No," he murmured, his lips brushing mine, the words a dark caress that sent shivers through me. "You are my doll, milaya." He towered over me, his intimidating presence both suffocating and intoxicating. The nickname, spoken in that deep, accented voice, wrapped around me like a chain I couldn't help but love. "You are the only woman who is allowed to warm my bed at night," he said, his voice a dark melody, smooth but unnerving. "The only woman who's allowed to step into my office and bend over my desk, waiting for me to come home so I can fuck you." A cold, low chuckle rumbled from his chest, the sound as sinister as it was intoxicating, sending shivers down my spine. ♡ Dimitri Mikhailov, the russian mobster. His presence filled the room like a storm. He didn't have to move or speak to dominate the room. Broad-shouldered and imposing, his scarred face told a thousand stories that he'd never waste words on. He was my husband and I was his precious doll.
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