Mefody is a champion gymnast who gets to enjoy a most unusual reward. It’s seven minutes in heaven with a massively muscular brute, a vor with the Bratva who want to congratulate Mefody on his victory!
Can Mefody get the most out of his Russian mafia alpha male gift?!
Read it now as an ebook!
Mefody refused all media requests in the immediate aftermath of his gold medal win at the Olympics. He wanted to bask in his own glory, and to ponder his success on behalf of Mother Russia and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. He had won the world championship in gymnastics. A lot of people would say it didn’t really count — the United States and sixty-four other countries boycotted this year’s games, but Mefody didn’t feel any less victorious. He was still the world champion in men’s gymnastics, and no one could take that away from him.
The only people he called were his parents. Mefody had his own phone in his room at the hotel in Moscow, so he could call them directly and in private. They had paid for his career as a gymnast, and they had supported him the whole way, so he felt he needed to tell them thanks. He thought he’d know what to say, but in the end, he just cried into the phone.
When tournament officials started knocking on his door, Mefody sent them away. They pushed though and kept returning until Mefody had no choice but to speak to them. They insisted he give interviews to the world press in which he extolled the virtues of the USSR and the communist regime. That took all evening and promised to consume the next couple days as well.
But it was in the “fine print”, as the yankees do say. Mefody spoke English well. That was another reason they wanted him doing interviews. He spoke to the press from fifteen countries, mostly the socialist paradises around the globe: Cuba, North Korea, Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia, etc. Then he also met with Americans, British, Japanese, French and even the Indian press.
There came a knock in the early night, when the last round of the day’s competitions were finishing up — Mefody watched the women’s gymnastics on the closed-circuit TV. This knock was different than all the knocks Mefody had heard earlier. It was not the uncertain, hesitant knock of a man who hoped Mefody would answer. It was the commanding knock of a man who was used to being obeyed. It was not a request to open the door, it was a statement that he was here and the door, therefore, was to be opened.
Mefody opened the door. The man standing in the threshold was short, broad-shouldered and terrifically ugly. He had a nasty scar across his face, which looked to have been craggy and harsh even before the scar. His nose was crooked, his upper lip askew, multiple teeth missing.
But he wore a fine suit like an Italian, Mefody thought, it was perfectly tailored and it looked expensive. He was flanked by a trio of men in similar suits. These were tall muscle-bound meatheads, and they were handsome, unlike the ugly man who appeared to be their boss. Their muscles rippled beneath their suits as they glowered at Mefody.
These men, Mefody strongly suspected, were vory.
That meant they were thugs in one of the clans of the Russian mafia, the Sons of Vasilisa, if rumors could be believed. They controlled this tournament — they had built the venue; they had sourced the athletes; they claimed the actual competition was fair, and no one had asked Mefody to cheat, but Mefody assumed it was not as fair as it appeared. The Russian mafia — or Bratva, meaning brotherhood — would not have put on a tournament like this if they weren’t going to fix the results and make money off the gambling.
A flash of fear hit him as Mefody wondered if he was supposed to throw the match and didn’t. Maybe there was a miscommunication, and the vory thought he was told to lose even though he wasn’t. Maybe they’d think he was being disobedient. Or maybe, he thought hopefully, they had forced the other gymnasts to lose deliberately — maybe Mefody was the chosen winner. They’d have no reason to tell him, and if he had known, it might have even made him perform worse because there was no pressure.
“Mefody Bragin? Congratulations on your victory,” the ugly man said. His voice was gravelly and rough, like a heavy smoker. He was the same height as Mefody, but he seemed short in comparison to the tall goons standing behind him.
“Thank you, sir,” Mefody said, too nervous to think of anything else to say. “Glory belongs to the socialist revolution. I have won this honor for the workers of the Soviet state-“
“Yes, indeed. I have come to offer you a gift, from my clan to you, in recognition of your success. You have brought pride to our entire country,” the man said. He spoke like he didn’t often talk in this manner: articulate, non-threatening, prepared. His muscles twitched beneath his suit. “You will come with me to a hotel that I manage. It is nearby, and it is full of… entertainment you are sure to enjoy. We have a stable of girls for you to choose from. You may have an entire night with any one of them. What kind of girls do you like?”
“Oh, uh… thanks, but, uh… I’m not… I would rather not spend the night with any girls,” Mefody said. He blushed. If he wasn’t so scared of the vory, he would have come up with a better excuse.
The man flared his nostrils, and he looked Mefody up and down. “You are… not interested in girls.”
“No,” Mefody said.
The man turned around and looked at his three bodyguards, who stared straight ahead. Their square jaws and tightly-pursed lips betrayed no hint of emotion. The man cleared his throat. “You like these lunkheads?”
“Uh…”
“Just pick one. I can’t give you the whole night with him, we have further business to attend to this evening. You may have one of them for just a few minutes. Let’s say seven. You can have seven minutes in heaven with any one of them.”
“Him.” Mefody said it without a second thought. The tallest one, with a deeply dimpled face, high cheekbones, a good Russian boy, Mefody thought, though the man was well out of boyhood. He was far more than six feet tall, so big that Mefody couldn’t even hazard a guess, but he was probably closer to seven feet than six feet. He was built like a barrel-chested bear complete with a dense mat of black fur on his chest — Mefody couldn’t see it beneath his suit, but he could sense it in the way the fabric shifted over his broad chest as he walked into the room.
“He is Ivan,” the man said. “Ivan, you do whatever he wants for seven minutes. We will not tease you for it afterwards, I swear. It will not count. This you do for Mother Russia, and we will think no less of you for it.” He shut the door and called out, “I’ll give you one minute to take your clothes off, then start the seven minute timer.”
“Ah, damn, this is happening so fast,” Mefody said as he quickly stripped. He blushed intensely. Ivan did not seem unwilling, but he was clearly not thrilled that Mefody had chosen him. Mefody whispered, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I want to show you I appreciate the honor you have brought to our country,” Ivan said. His deep voice resonated in the small room. “I wish to please you, comrade.” He sighed as he stripped off his shirt, revealing that thick hairy chest towering above Mefody’s thin, hairless body.
Mefody couldn’t resist plowing his face between Ivan’s massive pectoral muscles and sucking on the thick nest of hairs there. Ivan’s entire upper body rippled, and for the first time, serious emotion flickered on his face — a mixture of awkward embarrassment and intense arousal, with a souciant of shock like he hadn’t known where this was going. He smiled, but only for a moment before he wiped the grin away and resumed his stony-faced stare.
Your seven minutes starts now, comrade!
A surge of adrenaline made Mefody hurry into action. He undid Ivan’s belt, letting his pants fall to the ground and then pulled down his underwear to reveal a fat cock that dangled between his legs. It was charmingly limp, and it smelled sweetly of manhood, like engine grease and tractors and concrete. Mefody wanted desperately to swallow it, but he saw no reason to do that — if he was going to be feted as a champion, he might as well push his luck and see where Ivan’s personal boundaries were. He would not likely have a similar opportunity ever again.
“Get on your knees, Ivan.” Mefody said. He tried not to sound weak and girlish, but he didn’t think he was successful. That was simply the way Mefody was. He was tiny in comparison to the Russian giant, whose broad body exuded heat like a beast. He smelled so intense of masculinity that Mefody could already feel an orgasm brewing within.
That was good, because he had only seven minutes to finish.
Ivan’s nostrils flared as he sunk to the ground. Mefody grabbed his dick, which was a foot long and thick as a bottle of vodka. It throbbed in his grasp, limp, but with a powerful beat that sent a frisson up Mefody’s spine. He gave Ivan’s fat meat a squeeze as he suckled on each nipple, which made Ivan’s powerful pectoral muscles ripple. His chest was hairy, dappled with both old sweat from the day’s work and a few beads of anxiety as he no doubt wondered what Mefody was going to do to him.
That dickshaft was firming up in his hand, despite Ivan’s bristling discomfort. His face remained stoic though, even when Mefody kissed him. Mefody had never felt such a thick cock, like holding onto an extra limb, he thought. His tongue danced along Ivan’s supple pectoral muscles, then tweaked his nipples until they became erect. Either Ivan was ticklish or so nervous his muscles flexed when Mefody touched his tattooed chest.
He still remained silent though. Mefody kissed him again, and he plunged his tongue into Ivan’s mouth. He kissed him like that, like a French girl, and Ivan showed no reaction. His own tongue remained still. Mefody kissed him for what felt like hours but undoubtedly wasn’t, and by the time he pulled off Mefody’s cock had spewed out a load precum that coated Ivan’s muscular chest.
“Hmmm… Thanks,” Mefody said. Ivan stone-faced. Mefody cleared his throat.
It seemed Ivan picked up on what Mefody was about to ask for, because he stooped over before Mefody could tell him to do so. He lowered his head and swallowed Mefody’s dick in one smooth motion.
He got almost the entire cock down his throat before he let out a loud grunt, and a big ball of spit choked down Mefody’s shaft. He gagged, his whole chest writhing as he uncomfortably swallowed Mefody’s cock to the root. Mefody grunted too, with a more ladylike demeanor, as pleasure overwhelmed him. His dick spasmed and nearly came right then and there.
But Mefody held back his orgasm, so as not to cum too early. He closed his eyes and sucked in his breath. His cock lay at rest in Ivan’s throat. Mefody didn’t move to avoid triggering a cum, as waves of pleasure made his toes curl and his breathing grow jagged.
After his initial reluctance faded, Ivan started slurping like an experienced bottom, Mefody thought with a grin. He wondered if he had ever done it before. It sure seemed like he must have.
Probably in prison. All kinds of things happened in Russian prisons, or so Mefody had heard.
Mefody gripped Ivan’s head to guide his rhythm up and down on Mefody’s shaft, which made Mefody marvel at the man’s size — his head felt like a giant’s beneath Mefody’s dainty grasp, and his shoulders were so broad that Mefody’s arms couldn’t reach the breadth of them.
Precum dripped down Ivan’s throat, in a trickle at first. The vor’s eyes watered, either from the taste or from lack of oxygen or both, maybe shame, but whatever it was, it didn’t slow him down any. He nestled his nose deep in Mefody’s pubic hair, his own nostrils flaring again as he forced himself to deep-throat. Mefody kept his hand on Ivan’s head, but he didn’t force his dick down that massive gullet. He couldn’t have even if he wanted to; he simply enjoyed caressing the man’s body, from his head to his toes, and his head was the only part Mefody could easily reach right now.
But as this went on, Mefody did stretch down and rub Ivan’s shoulders, which were so broad and thickly muscled that it was like a concrete slab made of writhing snakes. His skin was tattooed with strange symbols, which Mefody knew all signified something in his Bratva clan, the Sons of Vasilisa. Mefody, of course, didn’t know and didn’t ask what they meant.
Some things it was better not to know.
“Oh god, Ivan, yeah, swallow it…” Mefody didn’t usually do dirty-talk, but he couldn’t help it today. The room seemed to be getting smaller he thought, or Ivan was bigger. He was bent over with his giant ass in the air so his head could reach Mefody’s crotch, and the entire room seemed to be filled with his throbbing, fur-covered Mother Russia-loving muscles.
Five minutes left!
“Okay, I’m going in that ass, alright?” Mefody said, breathless, wanting to pull his cock out of Ivan’s mouth to avoid cumming but unwilling to actually do so. He writhed. It felt too good to stop.
“Glory to the Soviet Union!” Ivan said when he suddenly pulled off of his own volition. He cried out as though reminding himself why he was doing this. When Mefody’s cock popped out of his mouth, it left a trail of spit and precum over Ivan’s craggy face.
He sniffled and wiped his face off. Then Ivan dropped down to all fours, and he stuck his smooth pale ass high. He had a pair of firmly muscled asscheeks atop trunkish thighs, and he had to bend his knees to get his ass low enough for Mefody to mount him from behind. Mefody’s dainty fingers massaged the meaty muscle of Ivan’s torso.
His dick was already nicely lubed with fluids, so Mefody went straight in. He just rubbed the hairy hole of Ivan’s ass for a few seconds, then pried the tip of his cock into that tight opening. Mefody’s heart raced as he wondered what would happen if he didn’t cum in time — would Ivan just leave and blueball him? Mefody didn’t intend to find out.
Ivan threw his head back and let out a wordless howl, glancing towards the door — it was clear he didn’t want his comrades outside the room to realize what he was doing in here. He bit his lip and lowered his head. “Glory to Mother Russia and the Soviet Union. Long live the Communist Party!” he said again, this time with a pained waver to his voice.
With their vast disparity in size, the positioning was rather awkward. Ivan ended up laying on his belly on the ground, his massive arms outstretched — on all fours, Mefody would have had to climb atop his body to get into his ass. He was willing to do that, but it seemed Ivan preferred to lay on his velly.
Ivan buried his face in his own meaty forearm as Mefody worked his dick in bit by bit. His asshole was so tight it gripped at Mefody’s meat, sending waves of intense pleasure through Mefody’s tiny body. It felt like every single scrap of muscle on Ivan’s entire frame clenched down on Mefody’s dick.
The sensation was so overwhelming that Mefody didn’t even notice when he finally got his entire cock into Ivan’s ass. He had to use both hands to stretch open those broad, fleshy cheeks, which were slick with smooth hairs — there was so much tight and toned flesh that Mefody just about got lost in it, like his entire body was going to fall into Ivan.
But instead he just pistoned his hips, driving his dick into Ivan’s ass as his face nestled in the rippling muscles of his back. He licked and teased the flesh there, grunting with every thrust of his cock into Ivan’s sensitive ass. His hands kneaded the muscle of Ivan’s shoulders, which Mefody had to stretch above his head to reach.
“Ah, damn…” Ivan said, wincing. As he went on though, his grunts of pain turned, slowly but surely, into grinding groans of bliss. “Ooooooh!” Ivan’s voice reached a special crescendo.
Eventually, Mefody knew he had reached that special secret spot inside each man’s ass, the spot whose every touch caused an unimaginable sensation in his mind. Sure enough, as Mefody’s cock danced along that sensitive spot, Ivan’s entire body twisted and writhed. Sweat covered his muscles and precum dripped out of his own cock, smearing over the ground which he instinctively humped.
Finally Ivan could stand it no longer. He stood — Mefody thought he was going to shake like a wet dog and throw Mefody off, but he didn’t — he lifted Mefody with his back and bent over the table, sticking his ass in the air and his head down on the surface.
“Oh shit, quit moving!” Mefody exclaimed. He held on to the meaty muscle of Ivan’s back, riding him as he got into a more comfortable position bent over the table.
But Ivan was simply much too tall for Mefody to ram him in any normal way like this. It didn’t slow Mefody down any — he just held onto Ivan’s back and humped his hips up and down. It was somewhat awkward but that didn’t make it feel any less incredible in Mefody’s body. It might have actually made the sensation even more intense, and it certainly prolonged Mefody’s orgasm.
He wanted to reach around Ivan and stroke him as he plowed, but Mefody couldn’t do that without letting go and falling to the ground, and he didn’t think he could reach Ivan’s cock from here anyway. Ivan just jacked himself off instead. He let out a blood-curdling moan, which he bit back to avoid making too much noise. Mefody could feel it in the rumble of his chest as much as in the sound coming from his throat.
He must have been near orgasm from the moment he touched his cock, because Ivan busted his nut just a minute or so later. The smell of cum filled the air as Ivan covered his hand with his creamy seed. A fat long jet of it arced across the room, accompanied by another slow rumbling moan of pleasure from Ivan’s lungs.
He groaned and grunted, this time so loud it made the other bodyguards in the hallway snicker, which in turn caused Ivan to blush. Mefody would have laughed as well but he was in the throes of his own climax.
His orgasm exploded within him as Ivan’s asshole clenched from his own aftershocks, Ivan now panting and mewling quietly to himself. Mefody moaned like he had never moaned before, and the feeling was so uncontrollable that Mefody gnawed weakly on Ivan’s strapping back muscles. He spasmed like an epileptic atop Ivan’s body.
Cum flowed into Ivan’s ass, a great creamy load that spread and seeped into every nook and cranny of his body. It was hot and thick, dripping, flowing from his cock. Ivan was a big man, but somehow Mefody thought he shot enough to fill him up.
It was a bigger load than Mefody had ever shot before. Maybe that was from the eroticism of the situation or maybe it was his swelling pride at winning the championship, but Mefody came for eons, it felt like, pouring pump after creamy pump of cum up Ivan’s now frothy guts. With each thrust of Mefody’s hips, his cock slammed in to the root and ejected another burst of jizz, while turning the previous fluids into a cummy soup that ran from the small of Ivan’s back to his taint and even around to his balls on the other side.
At last it was all over. Mefody sighed as he slid down, his cock audibly plopping out. A great big ball of cum came with it, dripping into Ivan’s dense mat of black leg hair. Some of it made it all the way to the ground where it landed and spread into a puddle, soon joined by a smattering of droplets making their way out of Ivan’s great ass.
Thirty seconds left!
Mefody was shocked he had any time left, but he didn’t want to waste it. He darted around to the front of Ivan’s body, where his limp dick dangled, cum dripping beneath it. Mefody dived right in and licked it from tip to root.
It must have been exquisitely sensitive because Ivan squealed like a piggie. He collapsed, his weakened body landing on his ass on the ground. He spread his legs wide to give Mefody easy access to his cock. He gripped Mefody’s head and held it in place, as he pumped his sensitive post-nut cock all the way down Mefody’s throat.
Mefody suckled and guzzled it down, snarfing every drop of cum he could find. Then he moved down from the shaft to Ivan’s low-hanging balls. Mefody sucked the sweat there, savoring the spicy flavor of fresh sweat.
Another knock on the door. Okay, time is up. You can stop, Ivan. Put your clothes on.
A blush spread over Ivan’s face. He paused and smiled at Mefody, then the smile turned into a stony frown. He stood and hurriedly grabbed for his clothes. He raced to get dresset against the insistent knocking and tapping of his feet of his boss, the ugly man — Anatoly Troganovich — who waited outside the room with Ivan’s two compatriots.
Ivan winced when he stretched his legs, and he rubbed his sore ass.
But in seconds he had his pants on and he breathed a sigh of relief. The door opened moments later. The suited man and the two remaining bodyguards looked on with baited breath, as though they had no idea what they might see. They were visibly relieved that both Mefody and Ivan were clothed — Ivan’s massive, bearlike chest was still bare, but there was no signs of sex. Ivan’s ass must still be soaking wet. It might be visible through his pants. Hopefully that underwear would soak it up.
It must have smelled like cum in the room though, Mefody thought as he saw all three of them wrinkle their noses.
“Congratulations again on your victory,” the suited man, Anatoly Troganovich, said. He held out his hand to shake Mefody’s, then withdrew it. “Sorry,” he said with a blush — it looked like he was a man who rarely blushed and wasn’t sure how to deal with it. “I’d rather not shake your hand. I do not know what kind of fluids are on it.” He cleared his throat and laughed a low grumbling laugh. “Well… I do know what kind of fluids are on it.”
Mefody shrugged and put his hands on his hips. “Okay. Thank you, sir. I am glad to have brought glory to Mother Russia.” He smiled flirtatiously at Ivan, who sighed and avoided making eye contact. He buttoned his shirt up quickly.
After peeping a subtle wink from Ivan, Mefody closed the door, and the last thing he heard was the suited man with the ugly face say, “I meant what I said: no making fun of Ivan for this. If either of you ever bring it up, I’ll make you do the same thing again. You’ll keep that gymnast so satisfied he never goes out again!”
“Yes, sir,” they all said.