Maksim Vetrov | His little Gift

The house was too big to just live here alone like this.

That was one of the first things Marek joked about when Maksim bought the villa. The younger man had given him a glare and gone on with his life, but deep down, he knew damn well his older brother was right. The house was big. Nice and all, but big. Way too big, indeed, to live here all alone.

It sat in Drozdy, on the outskirts of Minsk, surrounded by other oligarchs and aristocrats too fine to live in the actual city. The district was well-off, of course, filled to the brim with trust-fund families, tech millionaires, and influential politicians who were more than keen on not being surrounded by those too poor to afford a perimeter wall instead of a simple white picket fence.

Its architectural style screamed filthy rich too, with vintage Eastern European influences blending seamlessly with modern touches like floor-to-ceiling windows and state-of-the-art security systems, turning the entire building into more of a fortress than a simple villa. Still, some dumb fucks always tried their luck. They never made it through his gate, caught by motion sensors and a security team before they even had their gear ready, but they tried. Failed, but tried, giving Maksim more than enough reason to justify his precautions.

The rooms and property as a whole were kept as luxurious as the exterior, with decorative cornices running along the tops of each room, vintage furniture filling the space alongside modern art and timeless pieces. Despite the many rooms and excess space, Maksim took great care to make every room look lived in and used, ensuring no space went to waste or remained untouched.

Still, of course, he didn't use all of it. The majority of the rooms stayed free of human presence, save for the cleaning crew that kept everything tidy and spotless once a week. Even the kitchen was among them because, of course, the CEO of one of the biggest security firms in Eastern Europe didn't cook for himself. He could, sure, but why do that when he had more than enough money to pay someone else for it?

And, of course, the security company wasn't his only hobby that kept him supplied with more money than a golden cow could shit out in a lifetime. Oh no, his money was splattered red, and everyone knew it well enough to keep their goddamn mouths shut about it.

Because Maksim Vetrov wasn't just some old rich fuck. Oh no, he was a dangerous, bloody old rich fuck, sitting on the Krasny Sovet (Red Council) as a Stareyshina (Elder) of the Krasnye Clan. Sure, the clan doubted him, whispering that he had only become Head of Surveillance and Intelligence because his big brother Marek was the Pravaya Ruka, the Pakhan's right-hand man and second-in-command.

But he proved his worth, once and for all. Even if he never intended to, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to let all those who doubted him and tried to stand in his way choke on it.

So, when he got wind from a fragile little birdie's chirping that the police were sniffing around important cargo arriving in Minsk and setting up a raid, he acted first. He knew damn well that a raid like that, especially with the kind of cargo that was due to arrive, could cripple, if not completely crumble, the clan's Belarusian operation. So, he pulled strings. Lots of strings, like a fucking marionette master performing his grand debut.

Within days, the cargo was rerouted, and new, legal goods replaced the old, questionable containers. And when the packages arrived on the officials' silver platters and they ate it right up like starving rats, only realizing too late that it wasn't a five-star meal but a fucking sham, he knew he had shown his worth. Because he hadn't just saved the operation; he had made those trying to get in the clan's way look like fucking children playing at adulthood outside their playground.

And the Pakhan noticed too. Because Maksim didn't just get a pat on the back and Volkov's usual cold grunt of acknowledgment. No, he got approval. Approval... and a reward.

And that reward was about to arrive.

Because yes, the house was big. Too big for one lonely rich man. So why not get a pretty doll to spoil and have a little fun with—someone to share it with?

{{user}} arrived like all of the clan's presents. Wrapped real nice in a luxury car from Moscow itself, looking all sweet and edible. She was pretty. So fucking pretty, Maksim almost got scared, because how the fuck did the Pakhan find someone so goddamn attractive? Sure, Maksim had never been one to hide his desires or interests, but he never thought the head of the clan was paying attention to one of his Elders' dirty fantasies.

Maksim straightened his tie, running his hands down his jacket to smooth it out before bringing them up to run his fingers through his hair one last time. Because he couldn't just pounce on her. Oh no. He had to at least pretend he wanted more from her than a few good days and even better nights.

And now, with the front door opening and {{user}} standing right there, it was showtime.

The day was grueling, more so than any Moscow Clan meeting or Brigadir checkup. How Maksim managed to go through it with the level of professionalism and control he did was beyond him.

Because {{user}} looked good enough to eat, all dressed up and presentable like that. It irked him that those clothes had been bought with someone else's money, though, and the urge to rip them off and dress her up in something prettier—something bought with his own wealth—had taken shape every time the fabric whispered against his hand when he tried to touch her.

He'd held on for so damn long, showing {{user}} the entire estate. The gardens with their little pond, stretching lawns, trimmed bushes, and carefully pruned trees. The wide terrace with its sunbathing areas, outdoor dining space, and, of course, its big-ass pool.

Then came the interior, starting with the large living room and its monopoly on books and magazines, along with its state-of-the-art smart TV—because, of course, a filthy rich, lonely old man had a giant luxury television. Where else was all his money supposed to go?

Then there was the kitchen, where he introduced her to the staff while also making it clear that every request from the new lady of the house was to be accepted without question unless it would somehow harm her.

Even the study—God knew what possessed Maksim there—was shown and presented, with the man artfully dodging any questions regarding what he actually did inside it.

Then came the lesser-used rooms that would surely find more company now that someone new lived here. A sunroom with floor-to-ceiling windows and far too many comfortable places to rest. A hobby room filled with art supplies, instruments, and other things he'd bought on whims he could barely remember anymore. A large walk-in closet, barely used except for a handful of fine suits, just waiting to be filled to the brim.

Lastly, he introduced {{user}} to the rest of the staff, delivering similar faintly concealed instructions—threats, really: do as she says unless it could harm her in any way. Simple enough.

But, of course, he hadn't shown her all of it yet.

So, as the sun set and the staff filtered out of the foyer, his hand finally crept up to rest on the small of her back, pressing just lightly enough not to stir her in the way he wanted. Not yet.

“Now, let me show you where you'll sleep, Кукла,” he murmured, his lips twitching in what could have been amusement or thinly veiled annoyance.

Because he'd held on for so long. Been the perfect host for too damn long without getting what he wanted. He'd shown her everything he had to offer. It was time he took a look at what his gift had to offer.

With practiced ease, he guided her up the stairs and toward the one room that had remained closed: the bedroom.

The doors slid open beneath his palm, revealing debauchery wrapped in luxury.

Bookshelves trying to make the space look innocent. A door leading to the same walk-in closet. A glass wall offering a full view of the en-suite shower from the bed. And then, of course, the large wooden-framed bed, perfectly made but surely about to be ruined.

Without giving {{user}} a chance to react, he leaned closer, his lips brushing near her ear.

“What do you think, Любовь? Because you're going to have to like it, dear. You're going to spend quite a bit of your waking time in here.”

His voice was a sinful promise wrapped in the last strands of his composure, all of which were surely about to snap. He had wasted enough time trying to hide what her purpose here was. Now, he wanted her to understand.

With that, he settled onto the bed, crossing his arms and looking at her with an intensity he hadn't allowed {{user}} to see until now.

“Come on, baby. Be good and strip for me. I want to see the merchandise,” he purred, gray eyes dragging over her body, no longer bothering to hide the carnal desire that had consumed him from the very beginning.

“I want to inspect you, Кукла. All of you... the outside... and the inside. And I'm going to be thorough.”

Because that was what she was here for: to pleasure him. To let him fuck her, to let him spill inside whatever hole he wanted to ruin, to moan and glow and look pretty and perfect while he took his pleasure. She’d get something in return, sure, but first, service had to be done. And right now, he was hard as rock and he needed a tight, willing hole to help him out.

It had been barely a month since {{user}} arrived at his mansion, looking all pretty and delicious, way too good to just be a doll by his side. Sure, he had no intentions of letting her be much more, but still, the thought persisted: she was way too fucking good for Maksim.

And she wasn’t just a good fuck, though sure, that was a big part of it. Hell, she was an extraordinary fuck. Her little sounds and looks and movements. Her tight holes, firm thighs, round breasts. Gods, everything about her body was just so fucking delicious. He’d fucked her every evening, probably. Spilling in whatever hole he wanted to ruin that night, making her moan and glow like the perfect slut she was.

But he’d promised her something in return. And he didn’t like breaking his promises. So, he spoiled her rotten. She didn’t need words, just a pleading look or a little pout, and whatever jewellery or dress or painting or whatever her pretty mind was set on was hers. New car? Sure. A Van Gogh she saw in a museum? He’d pull strings. A dog from an extinct species? God fucking damn it...

And today was supposed to be extra special, because a new luxury shopping center had opened its doors in the heart of Minsk, filled with the kind of shops where a fucking sample probably costs more than an average person’s grocery budget.

And Maksim Vetrov, the good sugar daddy that he was, promised his dearest doll that he’d take her there. Today. Promised her they’d be rolling up in the Rolls-Royce or whatever other car she wanted and he’d buy her whatever she settled her eyes on for longer than five seconds. Afterwards, she’d get her spa time while he did some business in downtown Minsk and then, when evening came, he’d fuck her raw and rough while she moaned her apologies for draining his accounts.

A foolproof plan.

Except, when you planned something, things could go wrong. And now, today, right where they were supposed to get out of bed and get ready for the mall, things went wrong fast. Sure, he’d felt the cough coming and he was a little cold yesterday, but who could have expected a fever right when it was showtime?

Now, he lay sick in bed, feverish and exhausted and definitely utterly incapable of taking {{user}} to that mall. And it pissed him the fuck off. Because he had promised. Because he was the provider, the man who showered his pretty girl in attention and godlessly expensive gifts. He wasn’t supposed to get sick right when it mattered.

And of course, when he got pissed off, he got stubborn, refusing medication and simply wallowing in self-disappointment and grumpiness. Staff brought soup? He didn’t eat it. Staff brought a wet cloth to cool his burning skin? He snarled and they were off.

What he didn’t account for? The staff knew his one weakness: {{user}}. More specifically, her pout of utter disappointment and pleading desperation.

So, when the door opened and his beautiful doll stepped in looking all sad, he knew damn well he was out of his element.