Page 17 of Ruinous Need

LISETTE

THE HALLWAY LIGHT flickers on just as I’m finishing a dance rehearsal. Perfect timing.

I have to suppress a cackle as I imagine his face.

“What the fuck have you installed in my apartment, Lisette?” Viktor grits out when he sees the way I’ve redecorated the living room. I don’t miss the way his eyes rake up and down my dance outfit, either.

“Just… A pole. A small modification.” I’ve set up a row of mirrors along the wall opposite the TV, pushed the couches and armchairs to the side, and installed the pole in the center of the room.

I got into pole fitness when I stopped being able to perform ballet. It gave me agency and autonomy over my body, learning a new form of dance, and developing a strength that I didn’t think I had. Now it’s what I do whenever I want to let loose.

Sure, the pole was an expensive order, but judging by the penthouse apartment I don’t think money is an issue. That doesn’t stop Viktor’s face from falling into a tense scowl.

Given what he does for work, I’m always surprised at how easy it is to get a rise out of Viktor. You’d think he’d have better control of his emotions than this.

Secretly, I like the fact that I seem to be able to push all of his buttons.

“I thought you were a ballerina, not a stripper.” He’s trying to sound droll and unimpressed but I know the signs now.

The jerk of the muscles in his jaw. The darkening of his eyes. The way he rakes a hand back through his black hair in frustration.

Viktor is attracted to me, even when he’s trying very hard not to be.

I roll my eyes and pout at him. “People contain multitudes. Pole fitness is a massive trend right now. It’s good for any dancer’s muscle definition and cardio.”

“I can’t invite people into my lounge while there’s a fucking stripper pole here, Lisette.”

“Why not?” I pout. “I could show them my routine.”

He lets out a groan at that. “Haven’t I made it clear that I don’t like to share?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Maybe you want a private show then.”

To my surprise, Viktor lets me lead him to a chair and sit him down.

He shrugs off his jacket with a resigned sigh, and I resist the urge to throw the routine out the window and kneel between his thick legs to undo his pants.

He looks on with the indulgence of a parent being dragged along to a dance show.

The second I put on the music, something changes.

This feels intimate. I feel powerful.

He’s been in control of me. That’s how this dynamic works. But when I let my body go through the motions of the routine I know so well, anticipating exactly how Viktor will react, it feels like the tables have turned.

I watch his black eyes glint, turning into the polished onyx that cuts right through me to my soul.

Dancing in front of Viktor is something that would have had me frozen with fear a month ago.

My phobia has always been different when it’s not ballet.

Pole fitness is not what got me into this predicament.

But even at pole class, I still had to relax my breathing and work up to it with small performances.

Now, for whatever twisted reason, I feel safe enough to dance in front of him. Maybe that’s because I’ve done much more humiliating things, like soaking his hand with cum or begging for his cock, than just dancing.

Despite a month in confinement without a proper studio, I feel good. Energized.

I try to focus on the routine and disregard the bulge tenting his pants, because if I focus too much on the size of it, my heart rate will sky-rocket enough that I forget my grips.

He doesn’t applaud when I’ve finished. He just rises to his feet and pulls me close to him. He tilts my chin up so I’m looking at him.

“You know that just because you’re a fucking excellent dancer, that doesn’t get you out of your punishment, right?”

Viktor’s hands drop to his waist and he removes his belt in one smooth, practiced motion. There’s a purpose to it. He’s already decided how he’s going to punish me for this. He was probably planning it out in his head the whole time, while he looked like he was enjoying the show.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He encircles both my wrists with one hand and drags me over to the pole, where he loops the belt in a criss-cross and secures it to the pole. My hands are bound halfway down the metal pole.

If I turn sideways, I can see myself reflected in the wall of mirrors. I’m already breathing hard from the routine. The way he’s man-handling me, shoving me into the position where he wants me, makes it impossible to catch my breath.

Viktor leaves me like that for a second, uncomfortably bent with my ass out and my hands bound, while he takes something else from his pants.

A knife. I see the sharp blade glint in the mirror.

Fuck. He’s not going to — all thoughts fade out of my head the second that blade touches the strip of exposed skin between my shorts and sports bra.

“You wore these little shorts just to tease me with that ass.” He traces it along the seam of my lilac booty shorts, down the centre of my ass, and the pointed metal tip is so sharp that the fabric falls away with barely any effort.

“You want to act like a slut, Lisette? Then I’ll treat you like a slut.”

I watch my shorts flutter to the ground in the mirror across the room. I’m sweating from the routine and from the anticipation of what he’s about to do to me. My hands slide lower down the pole.

Viktor hums in approval at the sight of me tied to a pole in the center of his lounge, unable to even cover my nakedness. With the angle he’s tied me at, my breasts are threatening to fall out of the bra too. He yanks the fabric down and they bounce free.

I clench my thighs together in a futile attempt to hide my arousal.

With the tip of the knife, he traces a pattern on my lower back, leaving a trail of red in its wake. The biting pain makes me gasp and hold the pole tighter. He uses just enough pressure to to sting, without cutting me deep.

I never know where he’s going next, leaving every nerve ending in my body anticipating his next move and aching for attention. My nipples bundle together in hot peaks, though the knife is nowhere near them.

The pain gives an edge of clarity to my pleasure. But it’s not enough. I want Viktor to do something irreversible.

I want him to carve his name into my back, to mark me forever.He doesn’t, just tracing light raised red patterns over my back. He’s still, infuriatingly, in control.

Everything he does to me is like this.

Tantalizingly good yet designed to be impermanent. I want it to last longer, even though I know why it can’t. Even though I know how precarious our situation is, still I crave him claiming me in a way that feels irreversible and unchanging.

As if he knows what I want, he murmurs against my neck.

“You want more. Pain slut.”

The words sting worse than the knife, but the mirror proves them to be undeniably true. My pussy gleams with arousal from the knife play. I’m trembling with desire as he trails the knife away from my back and slices my bra in two as well.

When the tight elastic drops away in ribbons, he slides the knife back into his pocket. I feel a shiver of disappointment. I don’t know what I wanted. Something more than a few scratches on my back.

He presses into me from behind and slides his hands to my thighs, which he pushes apart until I feel the cool air hit my pussy.

His throbbing hardness is seated against my ass.

Once again, he’s fully clothed, stripping my own clothes away until I’m nothing but a naked plaything bent over in the position he wants.

While he remains fully composed and in control of the situation. I want to see him let go.

“You knew I’d do this.” His voice rumbles from low in his chest. “You knew I’d have to punish you for turning my lounge into a strip club. For suggesting that other men could see you like this.”

He reaches a hand up my torso to tweak my nipple. “Admit it.”

I nod my head helplessly. “I knew.” He hasn’t touched my pussy and I’m already soaking wet.

“How do you want me to punish you?”

“With your cock.” The reply bursts from my lips eagerly. Too fast. I don’t care. Viktor’s only ever made me cum with his fingers. I’m desperate to feel him inside me.

He shakes his head and blows air out between his lips. “That would be crossing a line.”

“Are we not already?” I try to ask but my voice trails off into a weak, needy whine at the end.

I’m too distracted by the hardness pressing against my clit, then trailing over my pussy. Finally.

Something blunt presses against my dripping entrance. I almost sigh in relief, but to my disappointment it’s not Viktor’s cock. It’s hard, cool metal.

The knife. He’s going to fuck me with the handle of the knife.

He doesn’t do that either. He dips the handle in my juices, enough to get it wet, and then he presses the blunt head of the handle to my other hole.

I freeze. No-one’s ever done that to me before.

“Lisette.” His voice is hard when he senses my hesitation. I shudder as he brings his thumb to my clit. “This is meant to be a punishment, isn’t it?”

I nod my head slowly as he presses harder. I can already feel myself starting to open up from his teasing of my clit. He pushes more insistently now, and it begins to slip inside.

“Ohhh God.” I cry out at the feeling. The rush of pain, the stretch, then the feeling of fullness. I thought it would be his worst punishment yet, but I find myself enjoying the way the handle rubs inside me. He pushes it deeper. My ass tries to push it out.

“Relax,” he hisses in my ear, making my pussy clench with need. Until finally, the handle is fully embedded in my ass and Viktor carefully fucks me with it, his jacket wrapped around the knife blade.

The knife stuffed in my ass brings me agonizingly close to the edge, but my empty pussy is aching.

“Please, Viktor, please.” I beg him, debasing myself, my lips open. My voice is breathy. “Your cock, please, fuck me.”

Who is this person? I wonder as I watch myself in the mirror, my mouth-half open with lust, a sheen of sweat all over my body, allowing him to control me.

At least he’s looking desperate too. His face is dark, but not with anger or violence. With something closer to obsession.

That’s my consolation prize. Even as he teases me, delays my orgasm, Viktor is getting closer to the edge of a cliff too. “You’re killing me.” His voice is low and strained. “Would you let me fuck you there?”

I nod my head. I wouldn’t just let him. I’d beg for it.

But still he refuses to give me his cock. Even in my ass.

He does, at least, give me release, rubbing relentless circles over my clit until he forces an orgasm out of me. My pussy still feels neglected and empty, pulsing around nothing as I scream and hold tighter on the pole until my knuckles are white.

I think it’s over. But one is never enough for this insatiable monster.

Leaving the knife handle stuffed in my ass, Viktor dips his head to lick the juices from my pussy. He drops to his knees and presses his face against me as though he’s starved.

The groan he makes when he tastes me will echo in my head forever. He dives in again, lapping at my juices, filling my empty hole with his tongue while his thumb swipes over my pulsing clit, again and again.

“Mmm.” I try to hold it back, but I’m a wreck.

I whimper at the sensation of Viktor’s hot mouth all over me. All he has to do is breathe in the direction of my clit for another moan to rip free from my chest.

Finally, I feel full. I scream out with an orgasm, my legs shaking and Viktor’s face the only thing that’s holding me up as I drench him with my arousal.

When he slips his tongue out of me, he licks up every last drop. I whimper as he tugs the knife handle out of my ass, carefully, reverently, and he sweeps my sweaty hair back from my forehead.

“You did so well, little screamer.”