Vassily gave a grunt of satisfaction as, with another whimper, my mouth enclosed his enormous girth. His right hand, the hand that I felt certain had left a vivid red print on my cheek, came down on the top of my head, the fingers curling toward the back of my skull as Ivan let go so that his friend could control my mouth as he chose.
He chose, as I expected, to hold my face still and drive his hips forward. I cried out in alarm around his hardness as he filled my mouth much too full and held himself there. Behind me, instinct made me try to bring my hands forward to steady myself, but I only felt the restraint of the metal cuffs. It took all my training to keep myself breathing through my nose as Vassily enjoyed himself, my nose in his wiry black pubic hair and his cock balls deep between my lips.
Papa Georg still had his hand on my shoulder. His fingers had loosened their hold again, and as Vassily began to thrust in and out of my mouth they started to rub in very small—almost certainly invisible—movements. That tiny pressure, telling me that my papa was watching me pleasure another man, that he wanted me to do a good job and make Vassily’s penis feel good despite the way he had treated me, made it much easier. My daddies had trained me well; I had become a good little whore… the kind of bad girl whose face a brutal man likes to fuck.
One of the other guards spoke, his tone seeming to convey a warning. It took a moment, as the huge bulk of Vassily’s erection began to move more quickly between my lips, but I thought I understood: Don’t blow your load now, asshole. Wait for the gangbang.
Ivan spoke, and I made out the first word—Da—as well as the slight impatience in his voice, as if he had had enough of this little scene and wanted to get me to his boss for the promised viewing of the bad girl in her wet diaper.
For a moment Vassily’s fingers tightened their grip. He drove his cock even deeper than he had yet, so that I sobbed around it as he found the soft back of my throat with the tip. Papa Georg’s fingers gave another little rub and the overwhelming combination of sensation brought a wave of shameful heat between my thighs. My sob became a moan, and my hips jerked in the diaper at the utter degradation my papa wanted me to endure for him.
Then Vassily pulled my head off his lap with a forced laugh, as if to prove he could take or leave the pleasures to be found in the body of a slut like me. Ivan got me to my feet again and turned me toward the end of the corridor.
I saw double doors there, and through them a large, well-lit room. A common room, or a mess, maybe. As we got closer, Ivan propelling me with his hand on my elbow so that I felt the strain from my bound hands in my shoulders, I saw through the doors that tables had been moved to the side and a wooden bench placed in the center of the room.
Papa Nicolai stood waiting on the other side of the bench, looking at his handheld. When Ivan pushed me through the doors, the warlord looked up with a broad smile.
“Look at this little whore,” he said, in his fairly good English. “Does she need her diaper changed?”