Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ivan’s cock is already half-mast and growing by the time his wife stirs in her hospital bed.

Oh, how beautiful she looks! After her surgeries, she’ll look even more like a proper, beautiful, dutiful wife! Her half-lidded eyes hint at her gorgeous baby blues and they hold an adorable amount of fear in them. Hasty as Ivan was after gaining access to his wife, he cannot regret already having her sunflower-like hair done in traditional russkaya kosa, Russian braids.

How can he not when the sight of her helpless before him brings the blood rushing to his cock?

He does pout a little though, because the muzzle strapped to her face hides those plush, pink lips from him. No matter, he supposes, because in time she’ll learn to speak when he allows, and he can remove the muzzle from her and kiss her for days and days.

A little patience is necessary if a man wishes to enjoy the fruits of his labor, after all.

“Mr. Braginsky.”

Ah, the doctor is here. Good, now he can finalize her transformation. Ivan loves his wife very much, but she is very…American looking. With her tanned body, small tits, and lean muscles making her look so unwomanly, she truly is a mutt like all Americans are. Nothing short of a travesty, to be truthful. Immigration in the twentieth century may have been a boon for the United States, but it is certainly not a boon for Ivan. Now his wife needs surgery to rectify the mistakes of her forefathers.

That is not good, no, no, no. She is marrying into his family, and he has a lineage going back to before the Tsardom. How embarrassing it would be for his wife to keep her American attitude and appearance when she is now Russian!

“My wife is ready for surgery, yes?” he asks, stroking her head. His eyes never leave her scared, glassy gaze.

The doctor knows it is best not to comment.

His wife whimpers, trying her hardest to pull away from his hand. How adorable! Even in her drug-addled state, she thinks she has a say in her life now. Once she learns the rules, she will be punished for being so presumptuous as to push away affection from her husband. But since she does not yet know the rules, he only giggles. Silly girl.

“She is ready,” the doctor confirms. “Will Mrs. Braginskaya have her first name changed? My team needs to know about the paperwork later.”

“Hmm,” Ivan voices his contemplation aloud.

It is not the worst idea. Amelia is a pretty name for a pretty wife, but it is not a Russian name, and she is a Russian wife. Still, his wife will be confused, and calling her by a different name will only frighten her more. After her surgeries, she will need a familiar presence, even if it leaves such a sour taste in his mouth to call her Amelia. Perhaps once she learns her place he can change it. Anastasia has always been a name Ivan was fond of.

“Nyet,” he finally said. “But change the spelling. Amaliya is more fitting for a Russian bride.”

And so, Amelia becomes Amaliya.

“I will make the change known.” The doctor hesitates now, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Mr. Braginsky, is it truly necessary to keep Mrs. Braginskaya bound and…nude? She…she was already injected with temporary paralyzers and inhaled a large intake of chloroform. Any bindings are unnecessary and she does not have to be…nude for the surgery.”

Ivan keeps his gaze on his wife. Amelia is very drugged out like the doctor said, and he does not hide his grunt at the thought. Fuck, he cannot wait to take her home and sink into her.

Amelia has no need for clothing. Why would his wife need to hide her curves from her lawful husband? Such behavior later on will have to be punished. Her wrists are bound to the bars of the hospital bed, her legs spread far apart with her ankles tied as well.

At this angle, he can see her pink cunt perfectly.

He agrees with the doctor that the bindings are unnecessary for Amelia. However, the nudity is necessary—for him. It is necessary for his pleasure. Amelia is his wife, and he has denied his pleasure for far too long for the sake of not being unfaithful to her. The bindings and naked form bring him excitement, and she will be in surgery for a while. He needs to occupy his time somehow.

Ivan knows he is a cruel man. His wife will know soon enough.

“The bindings are necessary,” he declared. Then, tearing his gaze away from Amelia, his boots clicked on the sterile hospital floor as he turned to the doctor. “The surgeries will be successful, yes?”

“Yes, sir. We anticipate smooth and effective procedures.”

Ivan’s cock twitches as the doctor lists off the surgeries he’s planned for Amelia. The thought of her slowly changing into a Russian woman, fills him with glee and arousal. A warm buzz accompanies him and he must turn back to his wife so he can properly stroke his length and imagine her plush lips wrapped around him.

The doctor does not comment on Ivan’s cock out in the open.

Amelia’s whines grow louder as she eyes his cock, no doubt stunned by the size and girth of it, but the paralyzers and bindings bring him comfort in the knowledge that she is as helpless as a newborn.

He won’t take her now, but he could, and that is what thrills him.

Her mouth forms an ‘O’ behind the muzzle and Ivan giggles again. Oh, sweet girl, trying to say “no” to her husband! She does not know this is also against the rules yet, but he anticipates she’ll have to be strictly instructed very soon after they are allowed to go home by the doctors. A stubborn bitch needs strict training if she wants to be little more than a broodmare, after all.

Tears fall down Amelia’s face, and Ivan frowns, wiping them away. “Do not cry,” he commands her. Women can be so emotional. “You will be remade. You are mine now, Amaliya Braginskaya, a part of me. Be grateful. I took you away from your mean father and brother.”

It is Amelia’s eighteenth birthday today.

She would have graduated today. Ivan was tempted to wait until then so she could have a nice memory to look back on before she made new ones with him. But then her brother and father began to fondle her in her junior year (as Americans called it) and he knew she needed structure and discipline to wash that impurity off her.

Amelia is a beautiful girl. But she should have known better. Since she is so beautiful, she should know dressing like a slut around men only invites them to treat her like a slut. She was so miserable when she was molested by her brother and father day after day, yet she continued to wear the tightest, skimpiest clothing around them. Sometimes none at all save frilly lingerie.

Maybe if she didn’t wear such eye-catching outfits, she wouldn’t have caught Ivan’s eye.

His wife tries to shake her head, but the drugs only succeed in allowing whimpers and cries to leave her. The girlish sounds are like Tchaikovsky’s symphonies, sweet and loud and perfect, without flaw.

Ivan’s hand trails down to her tits, which could barely be considered A cups. He kneads the sides, closing his eyes and savoring her whimpers and pathetic attempts to pull at her restraints and push him away. Silly girl, so stupid. Even if she tried, he would always be stronger. Ivan is a man.

Then, he slowly inches to her nipples, erect for him. His cock is still out, and he now has the sudden urge to fuck her tits, little as they are. Soon they won’t be. He contemplates the idea for a moment, his mind flashing with images of her body wrecked and leaking with his seed. No, he decides sadly. If Amelia is too rowdy during surgery he will just succeed in making it too hard for the doctors to work on her. A pity, but he supposed he must be patient.

So instead he simply pinches her nipple cruelly, twisting the things and smiling as his wife yelps so innocently, as if she wasn’t a slut, and asked for her brother and father to touch her like this. Music to his ears anyway! He cannot wait to hear her whine and whimper and yelp once he takes her home. Now she can only make sweet noises for him.

“Is this how Matthew Bonnefoy-Kirkland and Arthur Bonnefoy-Kirkland used to touch you?” he asked aloud.

Amelia’s eyes go wide and fear overtakes her. Trying to shake her head, sobbing shakes her frame and spoiled sniffles leave her lips. If the muzzle wasn’t an obstacle, he would have shut her up with a slap. Weeping and whining are fine, but ugly sobs annoy him.

And Amelia is not ugly.

Ivan decides to chuckle, lest he scare his wife away with his growing temper. “You are still a virgin, I checked. So silly that you would seduce them and not offer up your maidenhood.”

“N…” she whimpers. The muzzle makes it too hard to speak. He pinches again. “Uh!”

“No matter,” he assures her, flicking the nipple between his pointer finger and his middle finger. “If you wish to be a whore, you can be my whore. But first I will make you a good wife who knows her place. You are below me. You are inferior because you have a cunt. That is why, do you understand?”

Rage builds in Amelia’s eyes and she snarls at him. It amuses him that the Americans teach their women to believe themselves equal to men. Such stupid thoughts for a stupid whore. Ivan has his work cut out for him if he wants to remake Amelia and teach her that women are inferior. That she is inferior. The indignation he observes in her eyes will be bred out, or it will be beaten out.

One day, she will happily submit to him and cry at the slightest amount of independence. Until then, he will have to settle with a bratty wife. Excitement shoots up him at the thought. Training is always fun, but he aims for an end result, so he will have to savor the training days. Still, watching Amelia break will be satisfying enough, and he is ready.

Attempts to thrash in her hospital bed fail, and he giggles. Stupid girl. Ivan’s hand leaves her tits and trails down to her cunt. Amelia squeals, trying even harder now to evade him. Sighing, he grows tired of her insolence. The sounds of her fear are delightful, but his cock is erect and waiting for his wife.

“You may take her now,” he instructs the doctor.

Soon, he thinks. Soon, Amelia will learn her place. Then, he will fuck her and take her virginity. After, Ivan will spill his seed on and in her and fully claim his wife as his.

Amaliya Braginskaya.

What a beautiful name for a beautiful Russian bride.

Ivan stands behind a glass window, arms locked behind his back.

After twenty days post-surgery, three surgeries, one implantation, and two pitiful attempts at escape, Amelia is finally ready to come home.

Now begins the honeymoon!

“Mr. Braginsky?” The doctor opens the door. “Mrs. Braginskaya will see you now.”

Ivan chuckles. As if he would need to seek permission to gaze upon his lovely wife. His boots click on the floor as he slowly enters the room, his flaccid cock growing steadily at the sight of his wife.

Fresh out of surgery, Amelia cuts the image of a weak, submissive wife. Just as he wishes. Weak, small, at his mercy. When she sees him, she whimpers, fresh tears falling down her beautiful face.

Ivan clicks his tongue. “None of that,” he admonishes. “You should always be happy when you see me. I am your husband!”

Amelia is not happy to see him. Oh well, she will learn to eventually. Either that, or he will have to beat the happiness and love into her, and he does not wish for that.

Women are delicate little things. Just looking at his poor Amelia is proof enough of that. Gentleness is of the utmost importance when handling a young wife. Second is beatings, and only after the first option has been exhausted to its fullest extent should beatings occur. Seeing Amelia hurt and broken does not arouse him; her fear and submission do.

But he is sated for now, because her A cups turned into D, and the unsightly hair on her cunt was removed completely, along with the hair on her arms, legs, and armpits. God bless laser hair removal surgery! The doctor also did an excellent job of hiding the scars and stitches, now he can barely see them underneath her ample tits. A wife should always look pretty for her husband, after all.

“How long until she is ready for bedding?”

The doctor startles. “I…” he hesitates, eyes darting to Amelia. “I would not…bed Mrs. Braginskaya for a month at the very least, Mr. Braginsky.”

This does not please Ivan. Amelia looks comforted by the knowledge. That alone is enough to punish the insolent doctor, and later his wife.

“The…the surgeries,” he continued to stammer, “they…Mrs. Braginskaya needs rest. The labiaplasty alone is enough to warrant at least a month's respite!”

The chatter of the doctor is too much. Too much! Too much! Too much! He stammers and acts like a sniveling brat after he’s been paid handsomely for transforming his wife into a beautiful woman! This doctor has done the bare minimum, and dares to command Ivan!

“Near three billion Rubles I’ve given you!” Ivan let out. “Three billion and you think I will settle for a month?”

His voice carried in the room, and he cared not if he scared Amelia with his power. Let his spoiled wife see her husband at his worst. Let this be ingrained in her memory, so she knows to never behave like this doctor has. Amelia cries once more, and he groans. No, this is all wrong! He is protecting her! He is giving her a life! A purpose! Those stupid Bonnefoy-Kirklands raised her to be a whore!

Quickly, his gun leaves its holster, and its barrel is aimed at the doctor. Ivan’s finger toys with the trigger.

“Please Mr. Braginsky,” the doctor cried. “I already did as you asked. You’ve already kidnapped her and made me inject a fucking microchip inside her! Her body cannot take any more! It’s too weak!”

“I decide what she can take!” Ivan raged. “You are not her husband! She is not yours to command!”

Ivan’s rage drowned out every thought. Only he and the doctor remained, the room narrowing until the smug doctor’s face was all he could see. Blood rushed to his ears, and he thought of shooting the man right then. Wouldn’t that be a sight—one for both he and Amelia? She has been so ungrateful, sobbing and acting like a brat after all Ivan’s done for her. Perhaps a bullet to the head will teach her to behave.

Amelia’s weeping reached his ears, and he turned to her in annoyance. Why can’t she understand?

The paralyzers wore off quite some time ago, and her hand weakly reached out for him, despite the bindings. It shook like a frail leaf, and behind the muzzle, she made soft noises.

Were the noises for him?

“Amaliya,” Ivan melted. He rushed to her side, stroking her hair and kneading her new breasts. How large they were! Now she was a true Russian bride, fit to sit at his feet and worship him.

Amelia learned quickly, it seemed, because she tried her best to ignore his rough fingers, only wincing and squeezing her eyes shut tightly. No matter, she’ll learn to love his touch soon enough. As his affection for his wife grew with her newfound obedience, she pawed at the gun resting in his other hand.

“No, no,” he chided, like he would to a child. “You don’t need this. This is too dangerous for you, and you would only hurt yourself.”

Shaking her head the best she could (though she bounced around like a ragdoll), she whined. Her shaky finger pointed at the doctor, who trembled and made a mess with his own urine.

Ivan cocked his head, wrinkling his nose at the stench. Is she disgusted by the doctor and wants him dead? He did not think Amelia was so callous and cruel. Is this something he must train out of her? It is one thing for Ivan to kill the man, another for Amelia to wish it done. His wife needs to be gentle and squeamish.

“I know, I know,” he replied, as she continued to paw at his gun. “The man is scaring you. I will kill him and we can leave. The doctors must have frightened you in the surgery room, my wife. Perhaps they would like Sibera better, hm?”

Amelia’s eyes widened, and she hastily shook her head. “Nuh!”

Nuh? “No?”

“Huh!” she brightened, then reached for the gun. “Nuh shah!”

Nuh…shah? The muzzle is an obstacle in the way, it seems. Ivan so wished to hear his lovely wife speak, but she had not gained permission to speak yet. He is tired of reminding himself that she does not know the rules yet, but how can he cruelly punish her without just cause?

Toying with the gun, his head swivels back to the doctor. The pathetic man stays rooted in his spot, half blind with terror and stinking up the room with his excretion. Perhaps it helps that Ivan’s guards are stationed outside the hospital and within, granting the doctor no escape should Ivan wish to end his life.

His wife continues her unintelligible noises, trying her best to thrash on the bed and take the gun. She hasn’t the strength to escape the hospital, nor the stamina to outrun his armed men. Yet she fights. It is not her American spirit, he thinks. Does it have to do with the doctor, then?

Ivan’s head swivels between the two, trying to decipher why Amelia is so determined to snatch his gun. Not to kill Ivan, he hopes. She will fail, and he will break her fingers.

Aren’t Americans supposed to be trigger-happy? Ivan is confused. However, Amelia whines once more, using her pointer finger to move back and forth, pointing at the gun and then at the doctor.

Oh! Ivan is very stupid.

Nuh shah…Amelia seems to have a tender heart after all. Ivan is ashamed he ever doubted his beloved wife and thought her a cruel woman. At least he will not have to break her fingers!

No shoot.

Amelia will be spared the sight of the doctor's brains splattered on the walls. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already on the path to becoming a submissive Russian wife. Her begging of the man to be spared is proof of that. A good Russian wife wouldn’t go against her husband’s commands in public but would act like a caged lion in private.

Ivan pulls his phone from his pocket. Dialing a number, he reaches his most trusted corpse dispenser.

“Yes, sir?”

“Tolys, come to Amaliya’s room. Dr. Brock is to be relocated.”

“Siberia, sir?”

“Nyet, off the earth.”

“…understood.”

Finally! Now he can rest and train his wife up into a dutiful little thing.

Ivan’s hand circles around her nipple. The gun goes back into its holster.

He twists the nipple, a happy smile playing across his cheeks when Amelia yelps. Oh, it will never get old to watch her squirm at his touch!

“Silly, silly, silly. Too much lenience, America has given you. Do not worry, Amaliya, your husband will teach you of your place. Now we leave and go home. You will like our home, I hope. I prepared a nice Room for you in big, big house. More like mansion! Many rooms, many beds, many toys. Even better, I prepared a Room for you to settle into! No windows, sadly. Small bed, tight chains. Once you are obedient, we can consider a nicer room. For now, we must make do with the blessing we have.”

Amelia sobs.

Ivan sighs.

The Room he spoke of is beneath the soil where the Braginsky estate stands.

It was used for many purposes over the centuries. First as a shelter from invaders, then as a bomb shelter during the wars, and finally, as the place where Braginsky men hold and train their wives.

The longest wife lasted just seven weeks before breaking. That was Ivan’s babushka, Anastasia. The sweetest woman in the world, so kind, so traditional.

The Room holds memories. Fond ones for the Braginsky husbands, bad for the Braginskaya wives. Babushka grew quiet when Dedushka spoke of The Room. Mama would grow pale and weep pitifully whenever Papa brought up the room.

Ivan does not like upsetting his Mama.

When Papa died Ivan had no one to help guide him. Mama would offer if he asked, but Ivan is not so cruel.

Mama deserves to live peacefully. That is why he gave Mama permission to go to her home and see her family again. Because Papa was cruel and never allowed it and Mama spoke so wistfully of the lands of Ukraine.

Maybe if Amelia is good he will allow her to visit her old family. With his supervision of course, and only for a short time. Amelia is not Mama. Mama knew her place, she deserved to see her family again as she grew older.

Amelia needs to learn hers first.

From what Ivan’s heard from Tolys, Matthew Bonnefoy-Kirkland recently reached out to his estranged second father, Francis, in desperation. Amelia isn’t one to run away, he and Arthur tell Francis. Well, they are right, but only partially. Amelia’s heart will run away from the Bonnefoy-Kirkland’s and join with Braginsky soon enough.

The walls of The Room are painted in deep purple, the air not too cold nor too hot (though Ivan could change that if he wished. Sometimes Braginskayas can be stubborn bitches). The floor was redone into dark oak planks, and the paintings on the wall were of women in various sexual positions.

The door leading to the elevator was built into the sides of the wall and a keypad was embedded into the door. His fingerprint and unique code are the only ways to unlock the door, and it locks from the outside.

A small bathroom was built to the left side, and a little bookshelf on the right. He’s put in nice stories from Russian writers, of children’s books because his wife has not learned Russian yet. They must start small, after all.

In the middle of The Room, a twin-sized bed sits pitifully. Amelia has not earned sheets, bedding, or pillows yet. Soon, he hopes, for his heart breaks for her (not really). The bed is rather unremarkable, really, but he takes pride in it because she is to sleep in it for many days. Hopefully not too many, though, or he might join her in weeping.

The crowning jewel of The Room are the chains—long grey metal chains bolted to the floor. At the ends, cuffs with little padding were reworked to fit Amelia’s wrists and ankles. Years and years of Braginskayas have slept in these chains. Even if most of the room was redone to fit Amelia’s delicate American senses, the chains were kept.

She cannot be Amaliya Braginskaya without the chains.

“Ivan.”

He turns, observing Yao leaning against the wall, arms crossed. A slight smile cuts across Yao’s face, a knowing one.

“You picked a real looker.”

“She is the prettiest,” he agrees, playing with his scarf nervously. “I am ashamed she needed bigger breasts. I wish I could be satisfied with the little ones she had, but I wanted more to touch.”

Yao puts his hands up, still leaning. “No shame in it. Not everyone had assets like your sister did.”

If Yao were anyone else, his innards would already be painted across the walls of The Room. Such insolence from inferiors! Perhaps if he were angry Gilbert or high-strung Ludwig, he would have. Yet it was Yao who said such things, so he cannot be mad. Yao is always truthful and was a faithful companion for many years.

“Big sister would have liked Amaliya, I know it,” Ivan whispers.

Yao raised an eyebrow. “You know?”

“I know. Big sister loved Mama and Babushka. She could have loved Amaliya.”

Shrugging, Yao sighs. “I can’t believe you went through with this,” he mutters. “I don't think the American girl is the one. Europeans are different than Americans, remember.”

Ivan knits his brows together. “Why do you not hold faith in me? We are friends for almost three decades, now.”

“Most of the room was redone, Ivan,” Yao points out. “The only remnant is the chains and even then, you added pads for her. Where’s the whipping horse? The bucket? And you gave her a bed! Hell, why don’t you give her outside privileges and let her walk all over you already!”

Ivan’s jaw clenched, as did his fists. “Amaliya is my wife, Yao. Not yours. Why does it concern you so that my wife receives comfort?”

“I’m trying to help you, Ivan. Amaliya will learn you are lenient to her, and then the next thing you know, she’s topping you and making you the inferior.”

“That will not happen.” Ivan scowls. “You are making me angry.”

“I know.”

Yao is so annoying.

Why did Papa have to send him to Swiss boarding school? Then he wouldn’t have to deal with Yao and his incessant goody-goody act. As if he wasn’t eyeing Amelia and twitching his fingers for a touch of her creamy flesh! Poor, poor Amelia, so vulnerable, so helpless, so—

Tolys’ ringtone blared. Barbie girl. He answered hastily.

“She is ready?”

“Yes, sir. Mrs. Braginskaya is entering the elevator now.”

Yao rubs his temples. “I’ll leave you two alone,” he mutters, walking off.

Ivan ignores him and waits patiently, tapping his foot on the wood floor and eyeing the clock on his phone every second. Patience was never his strong suit.

After many hours (more like five minutes), Amelia is wheeled in via wheelchair by Tolys, then he leaves. Dried tears streaked down her face, her head lolled to the side. Her chest rose and fell sporadically, giving him a nice showing of her new large tits, and the ugly muzzle was replaced with a pretty pink ball gag.

Luckily, it seemed like the scars and stitches from the breast surgery healed quite nicely. Ivan hated the thought of his wife growing ugly, how cruel she would be to him! Hopefully, the labiaplasty went well too and her cunt looked just as pink and perfect as it was when he examined her on the plane from America to Russia.

“Amaliya, I missed you,” Ivan coos. Kneeling down, he strokes his wife’s cheek, smiling brightly when she doesn’t pull away. “Good girl.”

His satisfaction grows further when she doesn’t squirm as his fingers reach to examine her cunt. The sitting position is awkward for Amelia, but Ivan is just so eager.

Two large fingers probe to gently explore the new pussy, slow and torturous movements met with soft noises of protest by his wife. Her hands weakly try to pull his fingers away, but she is weak and out of breath after only a few attempts. The stretching is good for her anyway, so he carries on, occasionally leaving her hole to taste the sweet juices she has leaked from his touch. The sweetest of all!

He ran two fingers across her folds, the wetness from his fingering made his fingers slip easily. How kind she is! No lube needed to enter her. How considerate of his lovely wife!

Spreading her lips, the bud of her pussy peeks out and beckons him forward. Happily and eagerly, Ivan’s tongue darts out to taste the source of her sweetness.

“Nuh!” she cries out, weakly hitting his back. “Nuh! Nuh!”

“Bad wife,” he admonishes, slapping her inner thigh. “Be quiet. I’m tasting you.”

His head dips again, tongue eager for more as he delves in, lapping up the juices. Each flick of his tongue sees Amelia’s back arched as his tongue hits her bud over and over.

“Uh! Uh!”

Ivan chuckles. Now she’s learning. Her words don’t matter, just her sounds of pleasure. It’s not like she can speak anyway. Women don’t need to speak often.

Or is Amelia a girl? She is eighteen, but still in her senior year…

Oh well.

Amelia squirms more, rutting against his face like a bitch in heat. It does not take long for her to finish and he laps her orgasmic juices up eagerly.

Ivan himself is ready to take his cock out and enter her already. She is already wet enough, surely they can begin immediately? A good wife should repay her husband for the orgasm. It will be a while before she is allowed another one.

Only, Amelia cries and cries, and Ivan gets annoyed when she cries too much. At first, it was cute, but now it is tiring. Why does she cry when she is pleasured? Ivan wishes to cry, too. His wife is being mean to him.

The surgeries did a number on her, especially the labiaplasty, but her cunt looks gorgeous now, especially dripping with come! The folds gave him such a nice view of her beautiful body and affirmed his right to easy access.

Amelia was at least submissive enough to stay still as he drank from her.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so hasty and ordered the doctor killed. Now he’ll have to find a new surgeon for when he wants to change his wife’s looks. And if he is correct, his wife will be even more unruly and difficult going forward.

Amelia sniffles pitifully and her hands tug at the gag. Silly girl! It can’t be opened without a fingerprint, just like the door! He is so smart, he giggles to himself. How did his father and his father’s father train their wives without modern technology?

Ivan plucks her from the chair, carrying her bridal style towards her new bed. Her hands hang on as tight as possible around his neck, and he delivers chaste pecks to her forehead and light bites to her neck. French kisses can come later. For now, Amelia must learn the rules.

He places her down gently, humming. She is so weak she doesn’t need the chains yet, but once she falls asleep she will.

“Now, Amaliya, you have come home! We can finally begin our lives together! This is our honeymoon, after all.” Ivan can barely contain himself. His hands wish to wander her body more, but first, he must teach her to ache for him. “I have some rules you must follow, do you understand? They are important to you. If you break them I will break your legs.”

Amelia’s big blue eyes stare up at him in fear. Her frame trembles slightly and the dried tear stains make him want to kiss her. Oh, how adorable she is!

Sitting down next to her, even when she tries to scoot away from him, she doesn’t make it far. He pulls her onto his lap and presses her back against his chest. Amelia fits him so wonderfully, just like a matryoshka! Though he believes her to be even prettier than those dolls.

Fondling her tits and circling his fingers around her cunt, she squeals like a pig and whimpers like a puppy. The pitiful sounds harden his cock a little, and once more she tries to bounce out of his grip.

“Amaliya,” he groans, “if you keep moving I will fuck you into the mattress. I want to ease you onto my cock, but I will acquaint you with it if you continue to be a spoiled little bitch.”

His wife stills. Good, he wants to go over the rules now.

“Listen, now. My most important rule for you is to obey me. My words are law. Nod your head for me if you understand.”

Amelia does not move. He tries again, hoping he does not have to be the strict, mean husband just yet. She still does not move, glaring up at him. Anger blooms in his core, and his eyes narrow.

Ivan’s hand ceases from her body, turning her to face him. His hand moves up to stroke her face. His wife stays still, and, oh, how he hates to hurt her so early into their marriage! Yet Amelia provoked him, so he cannot be lenient with her. Americans do their women a disservice with those silly beliefs about equality and freedom.

Slap!

A rough hand connects with her unblemished face, and Amelia shrieks, holding her face tenderly. The sting of flesh hitting flesh barely fazes him and he sighs. How he didn’t want to do this!

“My word is law,” Ivan repeated. “Law, law, law. You try to behave like spoiled bitch so I treat you like spoiled bitch. I touch you nicely and you disobey me instead!”

Fresh tears fall down Amelia’s face, eyes glistening like clear, crystalline water. She makes more ugly sounds and annoyance claws at Ivan’s heart. Why is his wife like this? He took her to a better place! Sure, The Room can be frightening at first, but he is sure she can settle in soon enough.

Amelia paws at the gag again, and Ivan gets a good look at the red handprint blooming across her face. Good, let her remember her disobedience.

“No,” he says firmly, wrenching her wrist away. “Gag stays on. You speak when I want you to.”

Amelia shakes her head, persistent. Ivan knows he shouldn’t give in, it’s not good to teach the wife that he is lenient to her demands. Yet he is annoyed and annoyance can quickly turn to rage with Braginsky men. So, he sighs, telling himself that this is the one and only time he will allow her to take off the gag without his leave. Then it will go right back on.

His hand comes up and Amelia flinches from it. He pays that no mind and reaches behind her head, unlocking the gag.

“Well, what do you want to tell me?”

Amelia’s mouth stretches, her face taut in discomfort as she relaxes her jaw. Her lower lip trembles and she licks her lips.

“I can’t understand you!” she cried out, in English. “I don’t know what you’re saying! Can’t you speak English? You could when they cut into me!”

Oh.

Ivan is very stupid.

He forgot to translate his sentences from Russian to English.

Now he knows why Amelia was so stubborn and bratty.

“I am sorry,” he said mournfully, in English this time. Damn, that was why the sentences were so easy to say. “You understand now?”

Amelia nods, newfound courage rising in her. “Who are you? Why am I here?”

“You’re my wife! You live in Room now. I am Ivan, your husband. We are in Russia, very far away from men who want to hurt my beloved. I know who you are. You are Amaliya Braginskaya!”

“No, I’m not! My name is Amelia Bonnefoy-Kirkland!”

Ivan scowls. “Not anymore,” he insists. Now he knows why Papa gagged Mama so much. Women speak far too much, with too much passion and false authority. “I take you from America, bring you to Russia. I take care of you now. No worries for money, taxes, job, or food. All will be taken care of.”

Amelia tries to leave the bed and makes a beeline for the door, her steps sluggish and tired. Her swaying is slightly endearing and reminds him how silly she is.

Silly, stupid, wife. The door won’t open for a Braginskaya! Only for Braginsky! Ivan will need to teach her manners. How rude she is to run away during their conversation!

Ivan stands nonchalantly, amusement evident in his quirked lips. He crosses his arms while sighing loudly.

“I will slap you again,” he warns. It’s in English, so he knows she can understand him.

Amelia ignores him and begins to fiddle with the keypad, though he can tell tiredness is taking hold of her. Her creamy flesh and gorgeous cunt are on display for him, so he lets her make a fool of herself for a while. After he gets bored, he slowly creeps behind her and slaps her ass harshly. The flesh jiggles beautifully, and Ivan is satisfied.

“Ow!”

Amelia rounds on him, red-faced with her cheeks puffed up in anger. So adorable! Ivan thinks she must be the cutest girl in all of America!

“Next time your bones will get slapped. They will break.”

“I don’t believe you,” she slurred haughtily, acting like a spoiled brat. “I think you’re full of hot shit.”

Ivan’s nostrils flare. His wife acted so cute before but now she is acting like a bitch. Oh, how he forgets! American women think of themselves so highly and now he must deal with the consequences of choosing an American girl to become a Russian bride.

He pops his knuckles, lifting his head to stare down at her further. She is already much smaller than him because he towers over all, but by straightening out he becomes like a monster. Amelia seems to notice the change in his demeanor, no longer the gentle husband, and curls in on herself. The haughtiness in her baby blues recognizes that Ivan is not a pushover and she grows insecure and unsure.

Good, Ivan had no wish to beat her so early into their honeymoon.

Abruptly, he picked her up as one would a bride, laying her on the bed. Bringing his knee up to her legs, he parts her thighs and uses his weight to press her into the bed.

Ivan uses his hands to hold her wrists above her head. “I will treat you like a whore if that is what you want.”

“Please,” she begs pitifully. “Please don’t. I’m…you know I’m a virgin! Please, please, please! Please stop!”

“Wife cannot tell husband to stop,” Ivan simply said. “I choose to stop, not you.”

“Please,” Amelia weeps, trying so hard to sit up. It does not work. His weight is pressing down on her. Still, she arches her back and thrashes like a bad woman. “I will kiss you, I can suck your dick, I’ll spread my legs so your fingers can rape me. Please don’t put it in!”

“Put what in? My cock?”

Amelia thrashes “Yes, your cock! I won’t let you put it in! I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!”

“Won’t,” Ivan chuckles. “Won’t, won’t, won’t. Such a silly word coming from your lips, my lovely wife. Won’t isn’t a word you use. Rape isn’t a word you use. Husbands can’t rape their wives! I will make you feel good. Your surgeries were so long ago, now you are ready to be bedded!”

Her cunt rubs against his knee as she tries to flee. Perhaps in her fear, she’s forgotten his knee was so close to her pussy. Well, Ivan doesn’t mind. He savors the moment, disobedient as she is.

Finally, Amelia tires herself out from escape attempts and just sobs. Ivan knew she wouldn’t last long. The excitement tired her out and so did the orgasm. Now all that is left is for his seed to leak from her cunt.

“Done?” he asks.

Amelia whimpers. “Please,” she whispers.

Ivan reaches for the chain on the floor and cuffs it around her wrist. His weight lifts from her as he reaches for the rest of the chains, cuffing them to her other wrist and ankles. Now she looks like a proper Braginskaya.

“How did Matthew and Arthur touch you?”

“They didn’t!” Amelia protests weakly. Her voice has gone soft from all the fighting. “I don’t know why you think…”

Ivan scowls. How he hates lying! “They did,” he insists. “I saw. Every day, you let them molest you!”

“I’m a virgin!” she cried, tugging at the chains. “Please, I’m a virgin! I haven’t been touched. You’re the first…the first! I promise! I haven’t! I haven’t!”

Ivan does not believe her. In fact, he thinks she is lying. A lying whore! Virgin she may be, those horrid Bonnefoy-Kirklands touched her in other sinful ways! Even the Frenchman! There is only one way to reverse this.

Ivan unzips his pants.

Amelia’s eyes grow wide and her pleadings for mercy grow louder and louder, despite her weakness from surgery.

His hand raises, connecting with her tit in quick succession. She howls in pain, but her begging stops. Good, he needs to shut up for a few moments.

Ivan lifts his shirt to reveal a muscled body and pulls down his pants to reveal strong legs blessed with big bones. Amelia should know how endowed her husband is, after all.

Finally, the boxers are the last to go, and he takes pride in the way her baby blues go even wider. She saw his cock in the hospital room, but he doubts she remembers, drugged as she was.

Now, he feels a little shy at her burning gaze on his length. It has been so long since a woman looked with such surprise at his form. Ivan tried his best to shave and clean himself. He wanted no obstacles in the way when he bedded her, after all.

“I am flattered,” he giggles. “Thank you.”

Amelia’s face burns with redness. The tit slap kept her quiet which was good, but he still wanted her to plead for mercy, only in an aroused and wanton way.

For the most part, Ivan’s cock is flaccid and ready for attention. Her earlier squirming was nice, but not enough to raise him. Now, seeing her laid bare before him had a nice effect, and a few short yet firm strokes roused him nicely and enough for entrance.

The bed dips at his weight and his wife whimpers as he draws near. “If you are truly a virgin, you will scream like one,” he murmurs into her ear.

“I’m a virgin,” Amelia repeats, voice shaky. “Never, never, never!”

“Never, never, never,” Ivan mimics in a high pitch. His patience wears thin. “Now, now, now. I give you choice: I fuck you and you lay still, or you sit on top and bounce.”

Amelia’s whole form trembles. “I can’t,” she cried. “Please, I don’t want to pick!”

“Don’t want?” Ivan sneers, lip curling in disgust. Now Amelia is just being cruel.

Taking her hands into his, he pulls her up and presses her face into the crook of his neck. His hand rests on her ass and squeezes it as he lifts her to her knees.

Amelia trembles, face smushed into his neck. “Ivan…you are Ivan, right?” she asks desperately, voice muffled because he’s kept a firm hold on the back of her head. “Ivan, I can suck. I can…I can learn to be a doll. Or a maid. Or a…a slave. I can be your slave!”

“You are my wife.” He frowns. “Don’t demean yourself. No doll, maid, or slave could ever compare to you.”

“No!” she shakes her head wildly. “I can…I can! I…I’m scared.”

Oh, poor Amelia! Ivan tisks. He understands. First times can be scary. Luckily, Ivan is here. “Your husband is here. I keep you pleasured and safe.”

The light in her eyes dim. “.:.okay.”

The defeat in her voice is delicious and encourages him to continue. Now that her tantrum is over, he can finally feel her walls wrapped around him, clenching and sobbing and gorgeous.

Finally, Ivan pushes Amelia’s hips down, parting her lips, and guiding her until she sinks right into him. Fuck, she’s tight. Tighter than any other virgin.

Ivan lets out a groan, hand clenching her waist tightly. Slowly, his hips jerk up and down, fire pooling in his abdomen already. This is what becoming one feels like. They are one flesh now.

It has been so long since he spilled his seed. He wanted to deliver all he had to his beloved. Now, feeling her clench him, Ivan knows he made the right decision.

As his thighs clench to meet her, he kisses her cheek and licks the tears away with his darting tongue.

Amelia’s cries of pain and pleasure are muffled into the crook of his neck and he throws his head back as his hips thrust faster. The ceiling barely registers as her skin meets with his and creates a friction that steals his breath and stamina

“Ah!” Amelia moans, eyes half-lidded and rolled back. “Uh!”

“Just…like that,” Ivan rasps, positioning her hips and pushing them down hard. “So…so good for me.”

Surprisingly, his wife returns his thrusting and lets herself bounce a little, her delicate hands scratching against his back. The fingernails claw deep into his skin and he welcomes it greatly. Now, she is matching the ferocity on which his love thrives.

Amelia’s tits bounce too, the new assets going up and down and up and down. Waves of pleasure threw Ivan in a tizzy and his thighs clenched with each thrust.

Does his wife feel like this? Like the world is about the explode? Not in agony but in aching want? His wife was a whore, so no, he doubts she thought like that. But Ivan was so good, waiting so long to finally touch his wife.

Now she is all his. All his to fuck. All his to train. All his to love.

A thrum of electricity ripples in his limbs, the girlish squeals and whines Amelia lets out making him drunk on her sweet voice. He needs more. Her throaty moans are intoxicating, like a sweet wine to a poor drunkard.

“Mm!” Ivan grunts as the oncoming quickly arrives.

“Please!” she begged. “Iv…ah!”

Her walls clenched around him, skin slapping together and sucking all of the air out of the room. Sweat clung to Ivan’s forehead, his white-blonde hair sticking together and making him breathless.

His hand loosens its hold on the back of Amelia’s head so he can see the fruits of his labor. More tears coat her lashes, more tears fall down her face like crystalline perfection. Sweat clings to her too, but her blonde hair is gorgeous all the same. Her gaze is not all there, the bouncing thrusting her from reality and into the throes of her own pleasure.
Amelia’s eyes are rolled back, in a world of her own.

“Uh! Uh! Uh!” Is all she can say. Ivan approves.

Ivan’s head is all fuzzy and for a moment he finds himself cunt struck. He realizes Amelia is finally his. Amelia is in him. He always fantasized about this, about Amelia sobbing as she is split open on his cock.

Sometimes his dream never seemed a reality.

Now it is. Amaliya Braginskaya bounces on his cock, drunk on his cock.

Ivan thinks he must be drowning his pleasure, for time slows as he watches Amelia’s tits bounce and her tears fall.

They are tears of pleasure. Of want.

Amelia is no longer crying like a spoiled brat.

Amelia wants him.

“Ivan!” she mewled, gasping in choked intervals. “Pl…ah! Please! Wanna…wanna…”

Ivan knows Amelia is a virgin now. He is doing the bare minimum, and already, she’s sobbing and whimpering and professing her love for him. He is grateful for it, but if this is how she reacts to a light riding session, he’s in for a treat once he brings out the toys and the fucking machine.

“What do you…want?” Ivan rasps out. “You want to what?”

“Uh! Uh!” she says intelligibly.

Ivan already knows the answer and a satisfied smile comes to his face. He closes his eyes happily, allowing the pleasure to overcome him. Like a tidal wave, pleasure overtakes all the senses except the cock, fire burning through every limb as his seed finds its home in Amelia’s cunt.

Ivan stops his thrusting, panting heavily. His come leaks out of her and makes tiny whimpers leave her lips.

His pointer and thumb go to her chin to force her to look up at him.

Amelia looks back, half dazed, half fucked silly to the point of dumbness.

Just how Ivan wanted.

“You are no virgin.”

Not anymore. She is Ivan’s now.

Amaliya Braginskaya, all Ivan Braginsky’s.

Chapter Text

Amelia’s cunt endures no rest after Ivan deflowered her.

Whether it be his tongue, his fingers, or his cock, Ivan wants to make up for lost time and remind his wife of her purpose. So, her cunt is always filled and leaking with seed, just as it should be. After all, the bratty girl pleaded so hard her first time, begging for him to not rape her as if a husband can rape his wife.

Such a stupid woman, his wife is! So arrogant and spoiled!

Oh, but Ivan loves his wife the most in the world, and he wants to remind her of that. No matter how silly she is, believing herself to be raped and brutalized by him, he will continue to shower his love on her. It is the greatest love in the world, he thinks! No matter how much she whines or cries when he enters her, he knows how she truly feels, for every time he draws near to finishing, she begs for permission to come, too!

And it could be worse. If Amelia were Mama and Ivan were Papa, she would have had broken bones already. Ivan is rather lenient with her, to be honest. Much more lenient than any Braginsky before him. The most Amelia has ever been punished is through slaps on her face or her tits and he hopes it stays that way. As much as he liked to see her squeal, he promised gentleness and firmness and strictness.

Though, he’s growing rather impatient. Amelia acts so horribly, throwing his love right back at him! He wants to be gentle with her, wants to kiss her softly and hold her close, yet she is the one defying him!

That is not good. Not at all! Not at all! Ivan is the husband. The husband is the head of the house and the dominant over the wife. That’s how it goes. That’s the way of things. When the wife acts indecently, the husband must be responsible for punishing her. The wife must understand her place.

Amelia was made for Ivan, made to me his wife. When he used to watch her sleep in her old American life, the rising and falling of her chest and her pert, pretty little tits soothed him. How innocent and cute she looked, when she didn’t know her place and thought man and woman were equal! Her plump lips just begged to be kissed and sometimes, if he was lucky, she would sleep without anything on!

Such is the American way, or maybe the disgusting way her father and brother taught her to behave. No one taught his wife to be modest or chaste like a proper woman should be. All the Bonnefoy-Kirklands’ faults! That Arthur molested Amelia while the mean Matthew encouraged her whorish attitudes and now his poor wife can’t tell the difference between rape and lovemaking.

Ivan must teach her now. That is why he took her, after all, because she was learning the wrong lessons and might have been sullied by the time graduation approached.

It has been a while since Ivan has been to school so he is rather unsympathetic to Amelia’s weeping over her senior year being halted. Nonetheless, she was so upset when he told her that her senior year began two days ago. How silly! Amelia has more important things to worry about besides grades and SATs and colleges! She should be worrying about pleasing him and learning her place, but she clings to the American ways of life instead of her new Russian life.

Two decades, he thinks irritably. That’s how long it’s been since Ivan graduated from the Swiss boarding school. His last year of schooling was boring so why ever would his wife need to experience hers? None of the girls in her high school can compare to his Amelia, and none of the hormonal, prepubescent boys hold a candle to a mature, financially stable, and well-endowed Russian man. But she still weeps all the same, and he understands it must have been a very important moment he’s stolen from her. If she is trained to perfection by the time the school year ends, perhaps he will consider letting her attend the high school graduation in the stands.

Ivan is such a benevolent and merciful husband!

That won’t be for a while, though. Ivan has a lot of work to do. His wife is a stupid, stubborn brat. So used to freedom and equality, she is, that she doesn’t understand her place is beneath him! It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. How can Americans teach their women such putrid beliefs? Remaking a whore into a proper Russian wife is so tedious.

Well, anyhow, Ivan will persevere. There is a reason why he is a Braginsky, after all. He would rather hide away in shame and throw off the Braginsky name than let a girl win rather than break her in.

Amelia will break in time. Either her bones or her spirit. Maybe both.

Ivan’s footsteps echo throughout the hallway as he slowly makes his way to the heavy metal door. Behind it lies his cute, disobedient wife. The time is 0600 and quite early but he wanted to prepare the room for when she wakes.

There is much to be done today.

The code and fingerprint imputed, he quietly enters the room and smiles brightly at the sight of Amelia resting on her bed. Without any blankets or pillows or sheets, she’s forced to curl in on herself, creating the perfect image of a helpless girl without her husband to warm her. The chains make her look like a proper wife, so traditional and dutiful. They wrap around her wrists and ankles like pretty jewelry fit for a queen and her nude form delights him greatly. The pink ball gag completes her look, for now, she is like a silent doll ready to be played with.

Perhaps her lips should wrap around his cock today?

The last time Amelia tried to fight him was a week ago when she crawled as far as her chain would manage and refused to come back even when Ivan was so kind and gracious to his disobedient wife and offered no reprimand if she returned swiftly. After many attempts to give her grace, he finally got annoyed and pulled the chain hard, dragging her back into his embrace and spanking her ass twenty times for her bad behavior.

That shut up her whining and made her go still.

Ivan hums to himself as he moves, the memory lightening his mood as he works around the room. While a terrible reminder of his wife’s need for consistent training, when he tugged the chain she fell right into his arms. That made him so happy! Perhaps one day she will be so eager to be held in his embrace. A man can dream, can’t he?

Pictures need rearranging (he should buy a picture of a husband disciplining his wife. He thinks that will be more suitable than simple sexual acts). Crevices need to be checked for any silly ideas Amelia might get about escaping and the chains are checked for tightness and tautness. The grey metal shines in The Room’s light like a faux moon.

He leans over his wife and strokes her blonde hair.

“Amaliya,” Ivan croons in her ear. “Won’t you wake, now? I’m so impatient, I have not seen you since last night! I hope your cunt is not too sore, you will need lots of strength today!”

That is a lie, saying that he has not seen her since last night. Ivan checks on her periodically throughout the night, running his fingers over her folds and lapping up her sweet juices like a dehydrated man. Moreover, there are cameras installed in every corner of The Room, so he sees her through the cameras, too. He just cannot help himself! When she looks so perfect and tight and in need of ravishing it is like his cock has a mind of its own. Husbands have dominion over their stupid wives anyway, so it’s not like Amelia needs to fret over the semantics.

Amelia stirs, blinking blearily and whining as she sits up. Her hands rub her eyelids and she stretches and yawns. Ivan thinks she is finally understanding where she keeps waking up because she shows less fear than the day before.

Victory at last! Ivan is so happy he can dance!

Instead of dancing, though, Ivan pecks her forehead and murmurs, “My sleepy wife, I’ve brought you nice breakfast! Let’s eat now!”

Amelia doesn’t have a choice but he likes to pretend she does. It keeps her docile and Ivan wants a docile Russian bride. Life as a Russian wife requires the noble sacrifice of giving up her nonexistent freedom and keeping her legs open, ready, and easy to access.

Ivan reaches to take the pink gag off so she can eat. The last time Amelia spoke without permission (eight days ago, the morning after he deflowered her) she was slapped very hard and hasn’t spoken since. It seems like Amelia’s face grows redder with each handprint mark, but that is no fault of her own. All America’s fault! America taught her to act like an ungrateful brat! Training has gone well since he slapped her, though, and Ivan anticipates she’ll gain speaking privileges soon.

Oh, what a sweet girl she’s becoming! He hopes she will initiate kisses on her own soon. Oh, well, he will have to for the time being.

Sitting down on the bed, Ivan’s hand moves to hold the back of her head, and lightly clutches the blonde strands to keep her head in place. Amelia stills in his hold, whimpering quietly. She knows better than to fight. His other hand reaches to clutch her cheeks with his thumb and pointer, and how adorable she looks, with her chubby cheeks squished together! His slap from the other day shows, but he pays it no mind. It only adds to her exotic beauty.

“Greet me,” Ivan commands.

Amelia’s light breath is the only sound in the room. Fearful and trembling, the chains clink metallically as she leans forward and quickly brushes her lips against his, pulling away just as fast.

Satisfaction pools in his stomach. His wife learns well. Ivan taught her to greet him yesterday, and now she is behaving like a good wife ought to! But he wanted a kiss, not a brush! So Ivan roughly pulls the strands of her hair and Amelia yelps loudly. Her hands try to pull him away from her head, but she is too weak because she is a woman. Stupid girl! Perhaps he should teach her basic biology, too? But her transcripts showed she made an A+ in freshman biology?

Men are stronger and more intelligent than women. Ivan is stronger and more intelligent than Amelia, naturally and by the laws of biology. Maybe she forgot all she learned in biology; she is inferior and less intelligent than him, after all. She will have to learn of her weakness, then.

Ivan doesn’t love her any less for her ignorance. If anything, he loves her more for her dumbness and weakness. Men are protectors too, and Ivan is protecting his sweet and naive wife from the evils of the outside world.

Other men would not be as lenient with a disrespectful wife. Other men would not be as patient as he when she disobeys.

Filing away this revelation about her ignorance for later, he turns his attention back to her subpar kiss.

“No, no, no,” Ivan chides. “Real kiss. Use your tongue. You will use it later today, so you need to practice.”

Amelia’s eyes go wide, her breath shuddering and shaking her small frame as her pretty baby blues fill with adorable fear. She is far from innocent, despite how she acts. She must know what her cute tongue will be used for. Every day her cunt leaks with his seed! But then again, he has never given her the pleasure of a facial. Does this mean Ivan will have the privilege of teaching her about blowjobs? How fun!

Amelia opens her mouth and tries to form the English letter P, but then she closes it when her eyes flick down to the fingers still firmly clutching her cheeks.

“Good girl,” he croons.

She is learning! Ivan had no want to slap her. Her pain is not something he relishes in. Not at all!

His wife leans close to his face, hesitating for a brief moment, then attaches her lips to his. Ivan smiles into the kiss, his fingers leaving her cute cheeks so he can pull her into his lap. He maneuvers her legs around his hips and allows her no air to breathe.

Amelia pushes against his chest, but Ivan is not done yet. The real kissing has not even begun! His teeth eagerly nibble her lower lip and as she cries out, his tongue begins its assault.

As a boy, Ivan spent a lot of time with Yao in the Swiss forests near school, exploring the grass and trees for frogs and pretty leaves. After they explored the whole forest, they explored each other. The animals in the forest must be very traumatized from witnessing Ivan bent over, Yao’s cock thrusting in and out of his gaping, leaking hole.

Now Amelia has the pleasure of his touch! How lucky she is! Ivan is very skilled and very well endowed so she will never want for anything. Not money, not pleasure, not another man’s cock.

Only Ivan’s.

Ivan’s tongue glides across her teeth, groaning. His hand keeps her head in place and his tongue meets hers. As he deepens the kiss, Amelia squirms in his hold and whimpers loudly.

“Ah!” she cries. “Nuh!”

Ivan only giggles and deepens the kiss more. They will start every day like this. Amelia will greet him with a tender and passionate kiss and then breakfast will begin. She’ll sit in his lap and take each morsel with gratitude and thanks towards her husband. After, maybe they will fuck or maybe they will cuddle. It all depends on Ivan’s mood and Amelia’s obedience or disobedience.

Finally, Ivan pulls away, satisfied. A trail of saliva follows him, both he and his wife panting and eyes half-lidded. He raises his hand and smears the saliva over her lips, kneading the lower one which he nibbled on.

“Very good,” he compliments, pinching her cheek. “I am pleased. You are learning. Next time, though, do not attempt to pull away from me.”

Amelia shakes her head, hiding her face in her hands. Shaking sobs leave her and Ivan sighs in annoyance while shaking his head. It’s like she wants to be punished.

“Let’s have breakfast, now. I brought strawberries.”

Ivan failed to teach Amelia to suck his cock. She was so tired after being eaten out, that she fell asleep on his chest. An equal compromise, he supposes.

Amelia’s warm mouth is very bad at giving head.

His wife knelt before him, choking on his cock and kneading his balls quite badly. He hates insulting his wife so, but the truth is the truth. On the rare occasion that she is allowed out of her chains, her role is to kneel and suck, but it is clear to him that she needs a lot of practice.

Well, Ivan is ready to help her succeed.

Ivan’s fingers card through her blonde hair, trying his best to not pull on her hair or slap her at every scrape of her teeth and beg for air.

“Gentle,” he murmured, trying his best to summon patience.

Since taking his wife home, he’s learned how fragile women are. Of course, he lived with big sister and little sister and Mama and they were all women, but they were Russian women. Amelia is Russian now, but she was born American so Ivan still has to breed some pesky habits out of her.

Such are the consequences of choosing a bride from a country with little emphasis on family and tradition. Just look at how Amelia believes herself to be on equal standing with him and one can clearly see the differences!

But Ivan can see the subtleties in her demeanor after many days of training. The way she lowers her eyes in the presence of her husband, in the way she silently asks for permission to do things she knows Ivan would not approve of, in the way she’s responding to his touch more and more.

Amelia is the most perfect girl in the world! She just needed a few adjustments, that is all.

Amelia whines, her blue eyes meeting his in desperation. The mouthful of his cock is nice, so perfect, but he’s barely semi-erect from her pitiful attempts at cock sucking. Ivan knows this is his fault, maybe he should have prepared her first, but like all his actions since taking her home, he’s just been so eager!

Choking and slurps are the only sounds in The Room, moans and grunts barely escaping Ivan. That is how terrible she is at cock sucking.

Fed up, he pulls Amelia’s head away by her hair, the nice trail of saliva wonderful and arousing. “You will improve with time. Practice makes perfect, that’s how the saying goes, right?”

Ivan’s first time sucking a cock he made Yao come, but then again, his wife is feeble-hearted and pure.

Amelia pants, her pink tongue wagging. Ivan thinks she would look even better with come oozing from her mouth. His come. But first, he must be sympathetic to his wife’s plight. She is trying so hard for him, the sweet girl! It’s not her fault.

Ivan’s hand caresses her jaw, wiping away the remaining saliva.

“Again.”

Amelia whimpers, rubbing her eyes and letting out a small cry of protest. The cries have become less and less, but they still show up occasionally. What a spoiled little thing! Luckily, her spoiled and bratty behavior seems to be lessening, just like her cries. A boon for him, because sobbing is so annoying.

Inhaling shakily, Amelia’s hands weakly stroke the veins of his cock and the mushroom head. Her hands are tiny compared to his size, so two were necessary. It makes her look so funny, practically engulfed by him! Her thumb glides over the tip and Ivan groans softly. Her tongue darts out to caress his length, her hands lowering to knead the balls with care.

The motions are calming, sweet, and slightly satisfying. While she is far from a natural or a professional, Ivan can still feel the blood running to his flaccid cock and raising it so it stands at attention. The warm cavern of her mouth offers a nice heat that helps with the unskillful sucking, and he grunts.

This time Ivan allows her breaths of air and closes his eyes to only focus on feeling. Maybe that will help. A slight buzz makes its way to his mind, clouding his thoughts. He is slightly lightheaded from the sucking. This is Amelia’s fourth attempt and each time, the thought of his wife choking on his cock is what kept him aroused, rather than her actual attempts.

Ivan is not disappointed, not at all! It is not Amelia’s fault she is inexperienced. If anything, he’s more satisfied with the knowledge that his cock is the only one that will ever be in her mouth than by the blowjob itself. Once Amelia knows the outcome is his come on her face, she’ll be incentivized to suck him better, anyway.

Amelia is just trying her best. She’s doing what any good wife ought to! That in itself deserves reward, he thinks. What can he give her? Hm…

Ivan’s hand goes back to her hair, bunching it up into a ponytail. Electricity runs up his spine down to his feet at the constant slurping and choking. He pushes her head down deeper, chuckling to himself when he hears her gag.

Oh, sweet girl! Why did he ever believe her to be anything but a virgin?

“Suck well,” he commands. “If you make me come, I will allow you respite for the rest of today and tomorrow.”

Perking up, Amelia makes a squealing sound like she is happy. Her head bobs up and down more than before and Ivan lets out a real moan from her tongue swirling around him.

Amelia’s tongue finds every crevice and vein, tracing his cock with newfound fervor. She is still quite bad at cock sucking, but he can tell she is trying. Her pink mouth fixates on his tip, her tongue trying its hardest to find come in his slit.

Ivan’s hips thrust as his hand pushes Amelia’s head down. The continuous rutting gags her and offers no breath. Heat pools in his lower stomach and he lets out a half-satisfied, half-surprised moan.

Amelia whines loudly, slurping his length and coming up for breath.

Ivan opens his eyes, the reprieve of her mouth a disappointment. Yet he allowed her time to breathe, so he had no choice but to make good on his promise. What husband would go back on his word and show his wife he is not to be trusted?

More panting and out-of-breath gasps make Amelia look like a wrecked mess. Ivan enjoys seeing her disheveled state. It makes him even more wound up and ready for more. But his wife is tired, her jaw aching and her gaze far away.

“Next time, maybe,” he sighs and Amelia lets out protesting noises. “You’ve just started learning. I won’t punish you for this.”

Ivan’s hand goes up and down up and down as he finishes himself off. The wetness from his wife’s saliva and the memory of her tongue bring him over the edge, and he lets out a primal moan.

The come leaks onto Amelia’s face so beautifully.

Three weeks later, Ivan has just finished fucking his wife and spreading his come all over her exhausted body.

Amelia lays still, panting loudly, tongue out like a dumb bitch without any thoughts in her head. Thankfully, she ceased pleading for Ivan to stop three days ago. Now, she bounces on his cock and moans so loud he believes all of Russia can hear her. Maybe even Americans can hear his whore wife, too?

It is only a matter of time until she stops denying the truth to herself. Ivan cannot wait!

Her face is covered in his seed, her tits and thighs the same and trembling. The sticky white liquid stands out against her tan skin and though her skin is paler from lack of sunlight, she still is the most beautiful woman in the world. She blankly stares up at him, occasionally letting out soft moaning noises.

“Thank you for making love to be,” she mumbles, wincing when he pulls her on top of him. “I don’t deserve you.”

It is one of the statements she’s allowed to say. She’s acted very ungrateful in the past, and having her thank her husband will ingrain a sense of gratitude and respect in her. Full permission to speak is still forbidden, but once he’d heard her voice, he became addicted to the sweetness of it and needed more. Ivan had forgotten what a pretty voice she had. Now she is allowed small increments of speech but the gag will go right back on if she speaks out of turn.

“You’ve been very good lately,” he said, stroking her hair. “I think you deserve a reward for your good behavior. Do you know of anything you want?”

Amelia does not respond, not even a nod of the head. Normally, he would have slapped her for the disrespect, but he gives the little lenience of a few seconds for times when he fucks her. Ivan knows how exhausting yet fulfilling it can be.

He grows weary of her disobedience, though, and lifts her head so their eyes can meet. Apprehension shines in her blue eyes and he tries to discern whether Amelia is being a brat or not. Stubbornness and bitchiness are all she seems to show him nowadays.

Oh, maybe Ivan has forgotten to give her permission to speak? Silly him!

“You may speak.”

Amelia hesitates, biting her lip. “Maybe…” she whispers, inhaling deeply. “Does…does Russia have McDonald’s? I miss Happy Meals.”

Huh.

Of all the things his lovely wife could ask him, Ivan did not expect this. He thought maybe she would be bratty and ask to go home or for a chance to see her old family, but instead, she asks for McDonald’s? And Ivan thought his wife could not be any more adorable!

“Tomorrow you will wake with a Happy Meal,” he promises. “Russia has McDonald’s. America’s influences are everywhere, horrible as it is to admit. Tell me your order and I will bring home the meal.”

Amelia smiles for the first time since he brought her home. “I like ten pieces,” she responded quietly, meekly, eagerly, “and barbecue sauce. I like large sprites with large fries and apple slices. The toy…I like playing with the toy.”

All this makes Ivan pleased. His wife is opening up to him, being docile and responsive! Admittedly, he was getting rather angry with her for the blatant disrespect shown to him. At points, he contemplated throwing her into the snow and ignoring her pleas for a few hours just so she would crawl into his arms and beg for forgiveness.

The excited way her eyes light up, the way she presses closer ever so slightly, the shy look she gives him, it all puts Ivan in the best mood. If he’d known simply buying her McDonald’s would break her, he would have bought the entire company and delivered a million Happy Meals to his beloved.

Oh, what a bad husband he has been! He’s spent so much time lamenting how bad and spoiled his wife is that he could not see the log in his own eye and realize how bad he himself was! What kind of husband does not spoil his wife, even while knowing how spoiled she already is?

Of course, he watched Amelia drive to McDonald’s every day after school, but he never thought to factor in that breaking her through sweet treats was an option! How infuriating that is! All the fussing and heartache could have been avoided!

Ivan twirls a piece of her hair absentmindedly, basking in the feeling of her nice tits pressed against his chest. Processed foods are disgusting, but for his bratty and spoiled wife, he does not mind. Amelia’s arms wrap around his neck and his come still coats her face. The drowsy way her eyes blink, the way the fear has left her eyes, Ivan wants to feel this again. The feeling of her love is all he wants.

It is warm and nice and pure, her love. Maybe the way he’s touched her isn’t, but he wishes to love Amelia. That’s why he took her, that’s why he touches her. Because all he wants is for his wife to be loved forever and ever. No one has loved her before Ivan. Now, all Amelia knows is love, whether she believes that or not.

“I love you,” Ivan suddenly said. “I love you. I haven’t told you that yet.”

Amelia does not respond. He does not expect her to. He hasn’t given her permission to speak. Her head rests on his chest and she yawns.

“I loved you from the moment I saw you,” he continues, his hand caressing the curve of her ass. His finger circles her cunt and she tenses. He doesn’t really have the urge to finger her, but he likes to simply caress every part of her. “It was your freshman year and you represented Russia in your model UN debate club. You were the worst at Russian and your political skills got my country nuked by your brother Matthew who represented America. But you were so excited to debate and I thought you could be a wonderful Russian bride.”

“…but,” her voice trembled, for she knew she was speaking out of turn, “why did you take me? I miss my dad and brother. I want to go home! I don’t like sex, or blowjobs, or fingers in me!”

“You will learn to like it,” Ivan immediately said. He decided to let go of her speaking without permission. If he only ever punishes her, she will only ever fear him. “I took you because I knew you needed training. I could not wait until you graduated from high school. You could have been made a ruined woman by then!”

Amelia whimpered, her hold on him loosening. Ivan wishes he could love her when she isn’t obedient, but he just can’t. He must make her into a good wife. He cannot let her womanly ways, no matter how adorable they are, make him soft. Men and women have different roles. Amelia has been taught so horribly, now she acts like a brat.

“You are my wife. My woman. Do you understand what that means?”

She shakes her head, not daring to meet his eyes. He lifts her chin. His wife is not allowed to defy him or hide from him.

“Women have small minds and small cunts. As your husband, I am the head of our house. I know you went to church with your father, Amelia.” Ivan pulls her into a kiss. No tongue, but she doesn’t try to fight him. “Your brother and father were mean, horrible, rapists. They did bad things to you. Now I protect you like a good husband ought to.”

“That’s not true!” his spoiled wife whines. “Dad and Mattie never touched me! You’re the rapist! You—!”

Ivan grabbed her jaw, the roughness leaving imprints of his fingers. “You will learn to like it,” he snarled again. “You are my wife. Husband cannot rape wife!”

Amelia shook her head wildly, desperately trying to escape his hold. “I’m not your wife! I’m your prisoner! I’m eighteen! I’m supposed to go to college next year, not be raped every day by a middle-aged communist!”

Ivan said gentleness would be first. He wanted to be gentle. Beatings would only come second if they were necessary.

They were necessary.

Amelia floats and floats and floats.

Stinging and biting and pain and wetness are all she can feel. Maybe all she knows, nowadays.

When Amelia was a little girl, Papa and Dad would read bedtime stories about handsome princes and gallant knights. She lapped the stories up eagerly, dreaming of the day when a handsome man would sweep her off her feet and proclaim her as his queen.

Matthew always said she was still waiting for that handsome man, even in middle school and high school.

Maybe Amelia was. Maybe she dreamt of the most handsome, tall, strong man in the world and thought he would be gentle and kind to her.

But dreams are not reality, and all her dreaming was for naught.

A handsome man did arrive one day, but he was cruel and rough and raped her every day. No matter how much she begged, how still she was, how obedient she was, the handsome man turned out to be the evil villain in disguise, not the prince. The handsome man’s penis was always waiting, always ready to go in and out of her vagina even when she pleaded for help, pleaded for it to stop, please stop, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

The handsome man is Ivan. She can’t pronounce his last name because it is Russian. He’s a raging misogynist, too. Every day when she wakes up, Ivan has her kiss him and thank him for all he does for her before she’s allowed breakfast. She has to show gratitude for the man that rapes her. She has to pretend she believes that she is inferior and dumb and weak.

Breakfast is always on his lap. Sometimes, she can feel his penis through his sweatpants. It’s a cruel reminder of how the day always plays out.

“Thank you for marrying me,” she has to say. “I am a useless woman without you. I am stupid and weak. My name is Amaliya Braginskaya. Thank you. I love you.”

If she refuses, he slaps her, and then she gets no breakfast and instead, a penis goes in her mouth. There are rules, so many rules. So many she can’t keep track of them all. So many she wishes she had never rolled her eyes at the rules she always broke in school.

Always obey your husband.

Always spread your legs.

Always remember you are below your husband.

Always show gratitude for your husband.

Always, always, always.

“So many children would love to go to school,” Dad would admonish. “Not everyone has the means to go to school!”

Amelia wishes she could go back in time. She wishes she could tell her fathers how sorry she was, that she would never ever skip school and would appreciate everything they’ve done for her.

Some little girls don’t have the privilege of going to school. Some little girls have to lie on beds and delude themselves into believing their crying is moaning instead.

If Amelia could go back in time she would never join the debate club. She only joined because it looked good on her college resume. Russia was the country she represented in Model UN because she chose the name out of a hat, for crying out loud! But somehow it caught Ivan’s attention, and now she spends her days chained up on a bed and waiting for the next rape of the day.

Sometimes it’s more than once. Sometimes his fingers rape her, then her mouth gets raped, then he rapes her with her penis, all in one day, all in one hour. It’s torture. It’s a slow death. Maybe he’ll kill her one day, once he gets bored of playing house with her. No, never mind, Ivan would never let her die. He would follow her to Heaven or Hell and rape her there too.

Amelia doesn’t know where she is. Everything is a haze. It’s not the bed she’s slept on for…however long she’s been kidnapped for…but it’s not the surgical bed where she was cut into either.

She would never admit to this, but she likes her new boobs. If Ivan never kidnapped her, she definitely would have never gotten breast implants, but she can’t deny how pretty they make her look. If only these boobs weren’t being fondled by a psychotic Russian man every day. Maybe then she would admit it.

Maybe if Ivan were normal and never kidnapped her she would have noticed him. He’s the most handsome man she’s ever seen and the cruelest.

Opening her mouth weak, straining breaths come from her. Amelia tries to sit, but she’s chained to whatever she’s lying on. It’s not hard, or soft. These chains aren’t like the ones on her bed though. There’s no padding so they’re definitely digging into her and it hurts.

Then, she realizes the blindfold covering her eyes and the earmuffs on her head. The cold air of the room breezes against her nipples. It’s so cold and quiet and she’s scared.

“Ivan?” she whispers, but she can’t hear her own voice. Only the vibrations moving in her throat.

No one answers. Or maybe they did, and she couldn’t hear.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, her throat burning as each word tumbles from her lips. “Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say those things. I just got too excited. Please, I’m just a woman. Women are dumb and thoughtless and in need of discipline and…and…”

No one is listening.

Amelia is already speaking out of turn. This would have been a slap to her face already. Ivan isn’t in the room, is he? Ivan always loved to punish her whenever she disobeyed him.

Ivan loves it when she begs for forgiveness. He loves making her beg for his penis, his cock, too.

She falls silent, sobs wracking her frame and tiring her out. Maybe he’ll pity her. He loves when she acts like a woman and he can swoop in and touch her like only a man can.

No one comes for a long time. Or any time, really. She must have really made him angry this time.

Minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries. Time has no meaning. Time does not exist. Amelia doesn’t know how long she’s been wherever she is.

That’s the scariest part to her. What if Ivan forgets about her? Or worse, what if he wants to leave her down here to die slowly? She thought he would never leave her to die, obsessive as he was, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe he found another, more obedient woman who actually wanted to be chained to a bed for the rest of her life.

Hunger gnaws at her belly, growling and rumbling echoing throughout the room. At least she thinks it does. Amelia cannot hear it, she can only feel the grumbling. The earmuffs never come off. The hunger gets louder and louder and her weeping moves to food instead of for Ivan’s forgiveness. Food or water or anything. Just a crumb, just a crumb.

No one comes.

Not Papa. Not Dad. Not Mattie. Not Ivan.

I am going to die down here.

At first, she thought Ivan would kill her. Then she thought his penis would kill her. Now she thinks both will.

Excretion reaches her at some point. By that point, she stops caring.

Amelia doesn’t miss Ivan. Why wouldn’t she be a little thrilled that she isn’t raped every second of the day? But she misses comfort, for she is never allowed to leave the position she’s chained up in. The bed or whatever she is lying on is uncomfortable, unlike the soft bed in The Room. At least in The Room, she had a little leeway on her chains.

She is hungry and tired and thirsty and sore. Ivan fed her good food and let her drink from him.

Maybe if she begs he’ll let her have a drop.

Was Ivan humiliating her? Was he so angry he wanted her dead? Was it both? Amelia will beg if he wants. She’ll spread her legs and lips and moan and whine however he wants.

Hungry, hungry, hungry.

Thirsty, thirsty, thirsty.

Ivan, Ivan, Ivan.

Was this his plan? Did he want her alone and scared? Amelia doesn’t know. Amelia can’t think. Amelia wants to go home.

Home is with Dad and Mattie. Papa left years ago, but he is still home. She wants to see the sun again and wants to lay in a bed without fear of being raped. She misses clothes. Hell, part of her even misses homework. Home is the smell of Dad’s awful cooking. Home is the smell of Mattie’s disgusting sweat after a long hockey game. Home is Papa’s cologne and paint sets.

Home is safety. Home is a place where she’s not raped every day.

Amelia wants her handsome and gallant prince to slay this evil villain…

A slight change in the air brings goosebumps to her skin.

“Ivan?” she rasps. She has not spoken in days, she thinks. That’s why it hurts so much to speak. “Ivan?”

If it is Ivan, he doesn’t answer. Something cold and wet comes in contact with his skin and she gasps. It is rough and wool-like. Oh! A towel! Ivan was cleaning her!

The towel glides all across her body, from her legs to her butt to her vagina. She tries to lean into the towel, she wants to show Ivan she is sorry. After a while, the towel goes away and she whimpers at the loss.

“I’m sorry, Ivan,” Amelia cries, but it is all muffled because of the earmuffs and she probably sounds like a dumb whore. “Please forgive me! I won’t call you names or forget my place ever again!”

Ivan still doesn’t respond. His hands don’t even fondle her boobs like they normally do. Did he leave the room again? She waits on bated breath for another change in the air, and she thinks he left again. No! Ivan hates her! Why? Why? Amelia sobs and sobs, and she doesn’t stop.

After a while, her sobs die down to sniffles, and the earmuffs come off. Oh, that’s right. Ivan hates it when she sobs. Weeping is okay, but sobbing gets her slapped. Her mind can barely register the voice speaking…

It’s Ivan! He’s speaking! It’s in Russian, and she can’t understand, but he’s speaking to her!

“Ivan! You came!”

Ivan chuckles, caressing her cheek gently. She leans into his hand, whining softly. Please don’t leave again, she wants to say. Please, please, please. She’s hungry and tried and sorry.

But her voice is hoarse and cracks every other word. As she begs for forgiveness, the words burn her throat and it is a struggle to speak.

His hand moves down her body, twisting her nipples and circling her entrance. Amelia lays still, obedient, crying out the sounds she knows he likes. She welcomes the touches gratefully, grateful for any interaction after she spent so much time alone in the dark. Ivan removes his hand and his footsteps fade away.

“Wait! Please, don’t go! I’m sorry! Please, please, please! Come back! Please, come back!”

Ivan leaves her.

Amelia doesn’t even know what he said.

Amelia exists in a hazy, nonexistent state.

Sometimes Ivan doesn’t come to her at all. He leaves her alone and she waits for him to return.

Other times, she smells delicious foods. McDonald’s, Texas Roadhouse, bread, burgers, all the greedy fast foods she loves. The food is pressed to her lips and she munches eagerly, thanking him for each morsel and crumb.

Hunger was a terrible beast. Amelia thought she knew hunger. She thought she knew the burning, biting, nauseating sensation of hunger when Ivan only came to The Room with strawberries or kasha or bananas. But she didn’t know, she was so ignorant and naive. Ivan taught her that. He taught her true hunger.

Ivan touches her boobs and vagina and face, his penis entering her as often as it did before she upset him. It feels better now, somehow. The thrusting used to be painful, especially when he didn’t rape her with his fingers first, but now she wishes he would do it all the time. Her body is sore and aching after every session, but if she moans just right he speaks to her.

Always in Russian, never in English, but he still talks.

Sometimes, he’ll let her have a drink, too. His penis comes to her lips and she opens wide for his come. Ivan’s finger holds her mouth firmly closed so she can swallow, then he gently opens her mouth and swirls his finger around to check that she swallowed.

He never speaks in English. Only in Russian. That’s okay. At least he’s speaking to her. That was more than before.

It was so lonely down here, especially with the earmuffs.

No hands ever slap her. Even when she speaks out of turn. She was so afraid Ivan would get angry when she spoke without permission, but she couldn’t help herself.

It is not the worst in the world. Amelia will never love her rapist, but maybe she can pretend she does. Maybe if she pretends long enough, her mind will believe her. She thinks she read an article about the phenomenon once. If you tell the brain something over and over, even if you don’t necessarily believe it, the brain will eventually take it as fact.

“I missed you,” she would say desperately. For her own sake or for his, she doesn’t know. “I love you.”

Ivan responds in Russian, sometimes repeating phrases. She learns the positive ones, trying her best to learn the language and understand him. When she says I love you, she likes to believe he says I love you, too.

Did Ivan repeat that phrase to himself long enough to believe Amelia and he were married and in love?

Their routine continues for a long time. Ivan comes to her most days, caressing her cheek or body and giving her feather-light kisses on her neck. Amelia stays perfectly still and tells him about how much she loves him, of how sorry she is, of how much she wants to go back to The Room with him.

Amelia counts the number of times Ivan comes down to see her. At first, it was one, then five, then seven, then twenty. That doesn’t account for the days before he came back for her, nor the days he did not come at all.

The blindfold always stays on, but that’s okay. She doesn’t need to see Ivan to know how handsome he is.

One day, as she perks up when his footsteps grow louder, he speaks to her in English.

“Good morning, Amaliya.”

Stunned, she hardly registers Ivan’s voice. Is he speaking English? Is she hallucinating? Deciding not to press her luck, she keeps her mouth tightly shut. When Ivan wants her to speak, he’ll make it known.

“I thought I would teach you Russian today,” he continues, tracing around her belly button. “I planned to teach you before you were a disrespectful little bitch to me, but then I could not find the correct time to teach you after your punishment.”

After? Amelia is still being punished!

“So now, I will teach you,” Ivan happily declared.

His hand trailed up her arm, humming as he unlocked the chain. The clank echoed and bounced back into Amelia’s ears. Then another clank came as Ivan unlocked the other wrist chain, and then the next ankle chain, and then the other.

Amelia stayed still, even without the chains holding her down. Ivan might still be upset with her. She forgot how different the world was without chains halting her every movement.

The blindfold stayed on.

Ivan pulled her into his lap. They sat down somewhere, on something hard. It wasn’t his penis, it was an actual hard surface. Where was she? Ivan had not gone far at all! Nonetheless, she eagerly pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump.

It’s been so lonely down here, wherever here is.

Amelia still hates the daily rape sessions, but she doesn’t cry as much as she used to. If the crying keeps Ivan from coming to her, she’ll stifle her sobs of pain and moan instead.

Before she was chained down here, she stopped crying from the rape anyway. She learned Ivan would never stop no matter what begging or show she put on. Giving up never was an option for Amelia Bonnefoy-Kirkland, but for Amaliya Braginskaya it is the most affordable option.

The crying started in this room because she forgot what rape felt like. At least in The Room, she could move her arms to a certain degree. When Ivan’s penis first entered her in this place, she cried out and cried for hours. No sobbing, though. The chains kept her in place and she couldn’t move at all.

Ivan will never care enough. Amelia knows this, but she stops crying anyway. Crying just exhausts her, and she needs strength for the next session.

Quietly, a part of her thinks she enjoys the rape. How could such a violating, hateful act feel so good otherwise? No, no, no, her body couldn’t react the way it did unless she wanted it. Ivan knows she wanted it, no matter how much she said she hated it.

“I brought a book from my childhood,” Ivan murmured in English. “When you insulted me, you pointed out that I am much older than you are, so I hope my books aren’t too old for a young brat like you.”

Stifling a whimper, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I won’t ever insult you again.”

“I know you won’t.” He traced the curve of her jaw. “The next time you decide to fight with me I will leave you in the snow and really hurt you.”

Amelia doesn’t know what to say to that. Ivan’s heart still beats like a rhythm. Thump, thump, thump.

Ivan begins to read in Russian and Amelia can’t understand a word of it. Instead, she focuses on the cadence of his voice. The vibrations of his chest are soothing and contribute to the steady beat of his heart. His voice is deep and honey-like and soft. Occasionally, he’ll lean down to kiss the top of her head. In turn, she stretches to kiss his lips.

As she begins to doze, Ivan says something in Russian that she practically knows by heart.

Her head shoots up. She knows this word! Ivan repeated it often enough to know that it is a positive word, said when he rapes her. The word is on her tongue, a quiet mumble as she no doubt butchers the pronunciation.

“Amaliya?” Ivan asks, his voice somehow changed. The pitch changed from deeper to lighter. He does not sound angry, but she can never tell. “What did you say?”

Amelia shrinks in on herself. Oh, how stupid she is! She desperately shakes her head, pressing her cheek to his chest, and focuses on his heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Has his heart grown louder, somehow faster?

“Nothing, nothing,” she stammers. “I said nothing.”

“Amaliya.”

Oh, she’s upset him! Ivans's voice changed to stern as he called out her name!

Amelia’s breath quickens and blood rushes to her ears. Punishment is near! Think, think, think, you stupid girl! Perhaps it is best to just repeat the phrase and hope it isn’t bad? It couldn’t have been, he always said it when he raped her! Oh, maybe that was the problem. Maybe she said something horrible, something only a cruel rapist like Ivan can say with a smile.

What if Ivan leaves her again, and this time he doesn’t come back?

Opening her mouth, she tries to repeat the phrase Ivan repeated so often.

Ivan doesn’t answer.

For a while, he doesn’t answer.

Amelia wrings her hands nervously, hesitantly hanging her head. Now the chains will go back on. Now the rape will get worse. Now she will be hungry and thirsty and sore forever.

Now Ivan will leave her.

More moments pass.

More and more and more.

Ivan shifts his hold on her and sighs. “I am not angry,” he whispered, lovingly caressing her cheek. “I am surprised.” He said the term she mumbled. “You said you love me.”

“Oh.”

What can Amelia say to that? She says I love you every day in hopes that one day, both she and Ivan will believe it and she will be allowed to go back to The Room. Was it because she said the words in Russian?

Ivan is very proud of his Russian heritage…

“Say it again,” he demands, his fingers held tightly on her cheeks. It hurts a little. “Say that you love me.”

Amelia slowly repeats the Russian version of I love you. Then again, and again, and again.

Each time, Ivan corrects her pronunciation.

Each time, Amelia says it with more confidence.

After she said I love you to Ivan, he’s grown warmer and warmer each time he visits her. The rape lessens and gentles. Sometimes his tongue rapes her instead of his penis. Those times, she writhes and writhes, not in pain, but in want.

She’s allowed to be uncuffed for longer periods of time. Most of the time, Ivan reads to her. All the stories end the same, with the same phrase.

I love you.

Slowly, her Russian vocabulary grows and her pronunciation grows stronger too. At some points, she and Ivan can hold small conversations.

It’s a…it’s not a good life. It’s painful, horrible, rough, sad, uneventful, and assaulting. It’s a monotonous life, the events of the day the same each and every time. Rape is inevitable, even if it is gentler. Yet Amelia waits patiently, a warmth blooming in her chest whenever Ivan gently touches her or speaks to her softly.

Russian has its quirks and difficulties and one day, she tells Ivan. “I miss English,” she said in Russian. “You speak well in English.”

“In English?” Ivan asks in Russian. “You think my English is good?”

“It is better than my Russian and…” Amelia is never allowed to remove the blindfold, but heat warms her cheeks, so she must be blushing. “…you sound sexy in English.”

“Sexy.” Amusement laces Ivan’s voice. He switches to English, “This is what turns you on? My English?”

Amelia laughs. “A little,” she admits. “Your voice is deeper in English. It is so deep in Russian too, but the way your accent colors your voice is so pretty!”

“Pretty.” Ivan’s fingers knead her lips. They part her lips easily and explore her mouth. Amelia’s lips latch onto two fingers and her face is guided to suck back and forth. Almost like when she sucks his penis. “I think your accent in Russian is even prettier.”

Wow, the way Ivan says pretty is attractive. Like a cheesy villain out of a trashy superhero movie, but even better. There’s a sudden lift in his voice, a change in pitch that hints at his mother tongue. It’s surprisingly nice.

Does Amelia sound like that in Russian?

This time, Ivan rapes her with his cock (he told her that she must call it that, not a penis), but she’s allowed to drink from him after instead of having the come spread all over her face, body, and inside her cunt (also what Ivan has her call it).

Amelia thinks that she’ll be allowed back in The Room soon.

Ivan visits more and more frequently, excited and happy. Before he had an air of sadness around him, like he was so disappointed in her that he couldn’t be around her. Now, with his mood cheery and he’s let her back into his heart, she anticipates she’ll be sleeping in a nice bed with longer chains.

Maybe Ivan will even let her have blankets…or pajamas…

Humming a cheery tune, she mentally lists all the things she wants to do today. One, tell Ivan that she loves him, in Russian of course. Two, ask him how he would like to rape her today (she doesn’t say rape. He gets angry when she says rape. She says touch instead). Three, eat breakfast on his lap and read a Russian book. Four, get raped Five, cuddle and fall asleep.

Footsteps approach, but Amelia tenses.

Ivan’s footsteps are loud and heavy. He’s a tall man, after all. These footsteps are lighter, quieter, and swifter. As they approach her, she whimpers. She’s in a place where no one will ever find her. How could anyone but Ivan find her down here?

“Amelia?” said the unfamiliar male voice. It was in accented English, but it wasn’t the attractive accented English that Ivan spoke. “Amelia Bonnefoy-Kirkland?”

“My name is Amaliya Braginskaya,” she stammers in Russian. The blindfold keeps her safe. She doesn’t want to see the unfamiliar man. “Who are you? Did Ivan send you?”

“No, I sent myself,” the unfamiliar man answered. “Ivan doesn’t know I’m here. Do you want to escape?”

“Escape?” Amelia yelped. That is not a good word! That’s a bad word! Worse than rapist, or communist, or hate! Escape gets her immediately slapped and the next day, her rape is rough and it hurts.

“I can take you home. You live in Texas, in Austin with your British father and French-Canadian brother. Your other father, the French one, I could take you to Paris too, if you want that instead.”

“No! No! No! Go away! I’ll get in trouble if I even speak to you! You’re not supposed to be here! Ivan will be angry…he’ll be angry…he’ll be angry…”

Amelia doesn’t like angry Ivan. Angry Ivan means Amelia will get hurt. Amelia doesn’t like to get hurt. Not after she’s stayed so long in this room and has been so good. The Room is within reach. She wants to sleep in a comfortable bed and see Ivan again.

This man is going to get her punished.

Amelia screeches as loud as possible, hoping Ivan will hear her. She attempts to thrash and squirm and do anything that will get his attention. “Go away! Go away! My husband will kill you! He’ll hurt you and make you bleed and punish you! He’ll shoot you and I won’t save you like the doctor! Go away!”

“Oh, fuck,” the man mutters, but she doesn’t hear, she screeches too loud to hear. “Why did he want to do this? She’s as fucking insane as you are. Good job, Vanya.”

The man’s hand is on her face, near her blindfold. Amelia stills. Oh, what if he wants to rape her! It’s not going to be gentle or nice rape like Ivan does. Only Ivan is allowed to rape her! That’s what he said! Thrashing in his hold, she lets out more ear-bleeding screams until the man’s hand is on her mouth, silencing her.

The blindfold comes off.

Light overloads her senses and Amelia whimpers. It’s been so long with the blindfold that the light is like the sun. She’ll get blinded if she stares too long! Her hands can’t move to shield her, so she squeezes her eyes tightly shut.

“Open your eyes,” the man demands.

Amelia shakes her head. “Only my husband can command me,” she whispers.

The man groans and taps his foot impatiently.

After a while the man is still in the room and Amelia slowly opens her eyes. Maybe if she does he'll leave as fast as he came and Ivan won’t be too angry.

The world is blurry and takes time to adjust. Though she’s laid down, she can partly see the room she is in under the dim light. The walls are bare and ugly, unlike The Room. Her body is laid on one of the long tables like at the doctors' offices, but it’s in the middle of the room. There’s another long bed next to her, that must be where Ivan was sitting. A bucket sits in one of the corners, and a strange wooden triangular object shaped like a horse sits in another corner.

The man is Asian and has a bored look on his face. His arms are crossed and his foot continues to tap expectantly.

“I’ll help you escape,” he repeated. His voice is kind of mechanical like he’s reading off of a script. “I’ll unlock your chains and take you to America or France. Just say the word.”

“No!” she cried. Ivan will be so angry. She’ll get in trouble. She’ll get punished. “Please, he’ll hurt you. I’m already hurt. I won’t leave.”

The Asian man is silent for a while. His head is tilted in contemplation, brows furrowed as he scrutinizes her. She hopes he isn’t staring at her tits or cunt. Those are Ivan’s.

“Even if it means seeing your family again?”

“I have a family. Ivan is my husband. I’m his wife. We’re a family. God put the husband as the head of the house. I’m below my husband. I’m his inferior. I’m weak and dumb and spoiled like all women are. I’m—“

“Fuck.” The Asian man groaned, rubbing his temples. He raised his head, his gaze going over Amelia’s head. “Okay, I get it. Your Ivan Braginsky’s wife, blah, blah, blah, I’m leaving now.”

The Asian man leaves. What a strange man. Amelia hopes he doesn’t get caught. Even if he scared her, Ivan won’t like this and Ivan can be cruel when he is angry.

The blindfold lies on the floor, abandoned. She desperately wishes it were back on. This room i scarier now that she can see everything in it. It’s not pretty like The Room.

Ivan comes down later that day, at least she thinks, and she immediately tries to tell him about the strange Asian man and how he tried to put stupid, ungrateful thoughts in her head.

When Amelia takes a closer look at Ivan, she doesn’t know what to think. Time without seeing him made her heart grow fonder and all she wished for was to see him again. Ivan came down the hallway, practically skipping. He was so excited he gave her a million pecks on her lips, cunt, and thighs.

Dark bags set under Ivan’s eyes and he grew thinner than the last time she saw him. A hollowness existed in his cheeks where there used to be a sharp, happy jawline. Had Ivan lamented of her absence? Did he miss her that much?

“I know of the Asian man,” he said happily. “I know. Do not worry. He didn’t mean to come down and scare you. He’s an old friend.”

Amelia stays quiet and goes through the routine, starting with I love you and going on to the second matter of the day. How would Ivan like to rape,touch, her today?

“Not today.” Ivan shook his head excitedly. “I am taking you back to The Room.”

Amelia’s trip back to The Room was scary and she spent most of it with her face tucked into the crook of his neck. All she saw was doors leading into rooms with men in suits and ties, sometimes empty rooms with X’s or objects shaped like a cock.

Ivan held her in his arms, bridal style, back to The Room. Amelia thinks the other room should be called The Scary Room.

As Ivan enters The Room, he heads to the bathroom and draws a warm bath for her. A full-length mirror greets her, and her appearance is not pretty. Dried tear stains mar her cheeks and angry red crying rims around her eyes. Her cheeks are gaunt like Ivan’s and she looks so ugly. Not fitting the image of a Russian bride at all!

Fading bruises on her eye, ribs, and throat are almost gone. She wonders where those came from. They look a little like handprint marks from a large man.

The bath is warm and soothing and Ivan joins her. She sits on his cock as his hands travel over her body, rubbing soap over her pert nipples and kissing her lips tenderly.

After the bath, she’s dried and taken back to her bed. Amelia presents her wrists for the chains and Ivan practically glows with happiness. The chains are so much more comfortable compared to the ones in The Scary Room and she professes her thanks happily.

The Scary Room taught her that Ivan could be scarier. He was a cruel, handsome man, not the prince from her bedtime stories. Ivan was the villain, raping her day after day. But Amelia has said I love you so many times she knows it’s true. Her husband only raises his hand when she’s a bitch. If she never called him names, she wouldn’t have gone to The Scary Room in the first place.

“Ivan?” she whispered. “I’m sorry I was so ungrateful.”

Ivan melted, kissing her gently. “No need for apologies. You were still in training. You still are in training. It’s normal for a new wife to have stupid thoughts about freedom and equality.” A satisfied look overcomes him. “But you know your place now, don’t you?”

Amelia nods eagerly. “Uhuh! I’m your wife, I’m a Braginskaya!”

Ivan makes love to her on the bed. Again, and again, and again.

The routine changes. Amelia still says I love you, but instead of being raped, she’s made a woman on her husband's cock or tongue or fingers. Each spasm, each clench, each moan, they remind her that she isn’t being raped. You can’t love being raped.

A husband can’t rape his wife.

They still have the Russian stories, and Ivan still speaks to her in his nice accented English. Only now, she knows that Russian is the better language. Why would a Russian husband and a Russian wife need to speak English to one another?

One day, Amelia’s chains are uncuffed. Confused, she clings to Ivan and refuses to let go. The chains are on her wrists for a reason.

“The Room is only temporary,” Ivan explains. “It was a training room, you could say. You will sleep in my bed now, and it will become ours.”

Amelia likes the sound of that.

Ivan’s hand holds hers, and he’s so much bigger than her! The heavy metal door swings open and she looks wide-eyed around the hallway. He takes her to an elevator and presses on the top floor.

Once there, dark oak wood, high arching stone, and stained glass windows meet her. The Braginsky estate is beautiful and perfect for newlyweds! Amelia drinks in the sight of her home, occasionally having to be tugged forward with Ivan’s prompting. He doesn’t seem to mind, his lips quirked in an amused smile.

Ivan’s room is large and barren. It’s his room, now both theirs, but she wouldn’t have guessed anyone lived in it. The bed is undone with pristine white sheets and the bathroom is sterile and clean. The TV still has its wrapping on, and she wonders if her husband ever used it.

Amelia settles in, relishing in the feel of blankets over her body. Ivan shows off all the clothes he bought her: frilly lingerie, short dresses they can barely be called such, and skimpy outfits. She takes it all in eagerly. Clothes are a luxury.

The Room and The Scary Room are distant memories. All that matters is that she is Amaliya Braginskaya, and she is Ivan Braginsky’s wife.

“I love you,” she whispers to him, cuddled in his strong embrace.

“I love you too,” Ivan whispers back. “My Amaliya. You know how much I wished you could have settled in peacefully, don’t you?”

Amelia nods, ashamed. “I was an ungrateful, stubborn, stupid little brat.”

“Not anymore. Now you are a good girl.”

Snow falls on the ground, perfect and untouched.

Ivan finds his wife sitting on the steps outside, watching the snowfall. There are five suspicious footprint-like indents in the snow. The trail abruptly stops and the footprints circle back to the stairs.

Amelia is not allowed outside by herself. Even good girls get stupid ideas of escaping and freedom when faced with the evils of the outside world.

Anytime Amelia goes outside, Ivan is right beside her, tugging on a long metal chain. The chain wraps around her pretty neck and connects to a leather strip held by his hand. There is a hefty amount of leeway on the chain, but just enough that if his wife turns into a brat he can tug on it and remind her of her place.

Permission to go outside is far and few. As much as he loves watching his wife frolic in the flowers, Russian weather is not fit for a foreign bride made into a Russian woman.

At least that is what Ivan says to her. In reality, he just doesn’t want her outside. The Braginsky estate may be surrounded by one hundred acres of land, solid fifteen-meter stone walls all around, and barbed wire at the top, but Amelia was always a willful and hotheaded girl before he broke her in.

American ideals still reside in his wife, even if she speaks in Russian, cooks Russian foods, and dances to Russian music.

McDonald’s stinks up their house along with pictures of eagles and buffalo. Bruce Springsteen bleeds Ivan’s ears daily, but he endures.

His wife is the most beautiful, perfect woman in the world, after all!

“Why are you out here?”

Amelia turns, her baby blue eyes lighting up. “Ivan! The snow is falling, look!”

Yes, the snow is falling. This must be exciting for his wife. She lived in Texas after all. She must be used to warm winters.

Not Ivan, he’s so used to snow he gets sick of it.

“You need permission to be out here, my love. Why don’t you come inside? I can have Tolys stoke the fire.”

Amelia pouts. “I wanna make a snowman!” she whines. “There’s too much snow to not make one!”

Ivan chuckles, kneeling down to her level. His finger lifts her chin to meet his eyes. “Next time, you must ask for my permission first, Amaliya. I am lenient now, but I will not let you back inside the next time you do something like this.”

Her eyes widen, and rather than fear clouding them, excitement does. Oh, he’s created a monster! She knows what buttons to push, and what lines she can cross before true punishment awaits her.

Ivan loves her all the same for her greediness. He loves her the most in the world!

He’s so glad her training was completed.

“I have important news to share. The French artist is willing to come here, to paint our picture. Now you can shop for the wedding dress you always wanted.”

Amelia squeals, throwing her arms around his neck. Ivan picks her up easily, carrying her back inside, to the warmth of their estate. They can share warmth too, wrapped in each other's embrace and his cock buried in her cunt.

Francis Bonnefoy travels to Russia to paint Ivan Braginsky and Amaliya Braginskaya’s wedding portrait for near four billion Rubles.

Ivan can’t wait to finally meet one of his father-in-laws.