Vassili
Her asshole is puckered and tight. I’ve fit four of my fingers into that tiny little hole before, and loved how her pussy came on my cock. That’s what I’ll do now. My cock moves back down from her ass. I bang inside of her wetness again and again. Zariah works her ass back against me, slamming my cock till it sinks deeper and deeper into her pussy. My balls clap against her sweetness. Jaw ridged, I fight not to explode inside of her miracle pussy.
I lean back on my calves. Cock at attention. Zariah turns her head just as I slam the belt down on her hip.
“Fuck, Vassili!” She glares.
Again, the belt swats along the same spot. Her eyes spark with fire, this is a pain she just has to take. Once more, the pinnacle of my manhood brushes against the tight entrance of her ass. It’s so fucking beautiful, my cream-colored cock, nestled between her dark chocolate globes. I can see cum squirting from her pussy and down her legs. Damn, I want to lap it up like a dog. But, now is not the time. I lean against my calves once more. Causing the head of my dick to slither across her swollen clit.
“Shit!” Zariah screams. “Fuck me, baby. You can screw me. You can fuck my ass,” she growls. “Just fuck me.”
My lips spread into a smile. Her excitement is contagious. Zariah wriggles her ass back against me.
“Hold still.” I grab a bottle of lubrication from the table that she hadn’t noticed me pull from my pocket, earlier, while sucking on the vodka bottle. Like hell am I going in my wife’s ass without any extra protection. She isn’t one of the bitches that I used to fuck with, and despite her eagerness, there’s an art to stretching her tight hole.
“Vassili,” she whimpers.
While opening the bottle, I give her pussy another jolt. My thumb’s loving the tightness of her asshole now. I work against the firmness of the inside ring of her ass, my cock is a piston in her ultra-wet valley. She bucks like the most gorgeous Arabian horse and rides out another orgasm. An ocean of her sweetness rushes along my cock as Zariah comes harder. My toes tuck underneath and clench, the tension abets me in my desire not to explode inside of her because tonight I’m headed into her ass.
She moans and groans and sags something fierce against the marble counter.
Damn, my dick is sloshing inside of her cunt now, and my fingers continue to widen her out while she recovers from that hard orgasm.
“Baby, I want it…” she feigns as my thumb and index finger tweak and stretch her hole.
My cock slides in and out of her channel as I entice her with this response, “Yeah, I know you want this cock in your ass, beautiful. I’ll give you that now.” I slip my cock from her pussy, picking up the lube again. I coat my already soaking piece.
My slick cum-coated cock lodges at the puckering of her butt.
Hands skimming over the side of her hip and up her tiny waist. Now she’s silent, no more begging, but this gorgeous body of hers speaks volumes. She’s ready. She trusts that I’ll fuck her good in the ass and that I’ll do my best to love her without hurting her. The crude mushroom shaped head of my cock kisses ever so softly against her asshole. I slowly push my way in.
“Mmmm, Vassili.”
“Don’t tense up, Zariah. I promise you’ll love this. Just breathe, my beautiful wife.”
The whimpering transforms into a heavy sigh as my cock inches inside and past her tight entrance, for a heavenly fit. I make leeway and then give her time to breath.
“Mmmm, Vassili, I love you…” she breathes the words.
“I love you, more.”
For every inch I take inside of her ass, I caress ever so softly at her lower back. I listen to her body. About three inches of my cock is in her now. She’s too beautiful to force it. I reach beneath her hip to rub softly against that tiny, little bulb if hers. The action of me working her clit, sends her pussy lips to shiver.
I pull out of her ass, this was enough for now, and slide into her pussy. This time, I fuck Zariah until she bucks back, and I cum deep inside her…
***
Monday morning, I stand in the bathroom, after a fresh shower, and grab the waves of my hair. “Time to get rid of you my old friend,” I give a cocky grin, determining to be the image of a pristine ‘white’ boy.
Fuck, this is for Zariah. Nobody in this world can force me to change my image. But for her, I’ll play the part tomorrow. She was worried about me being locked up. I grab the clippers and plug it in, ready to look like a brand-new man… Well new enough.
Come tomorrow, I’ll have a freshly shaven face and a suit covering my tats.
On the 30-inch flat screen TV across from the sink, MMA Sportscaster Alex Brown mentions my name. “The Anaconda Alvarez has decided to pull out of the contract binding himself and Vassili Killer Karo Resnov.”
What the fuck? How did Alvarez pull out of a contract that I had yet to sign? We never did take a trip to the convention center in Atlanta, like I told Zariah we would in order to consider the retail value of fighting him for pennies. I grab the remote and turn up the television.
“This news has come in the midst of Karo’s recent assault of an unarmed man,” Alex says, his face sneered into a judgmental frown. “Karo, if you’re watching, call in. I’m confident your fans are interested as to why you’d beat up an innocent man.”
He begins to bash my name. “Yeah, well fuck you.” I flip the bird to the TV screen, grab the hair at the front of my head and buzz it off. I recall the last time I was interviewed by Alex, that bitch was riding my cock, raving about my latest fight. And I promised him that Juggernaut would fall in less than—what, 8 seconds? I think it was eight seconds. The crowd used to be my bitch. Now to hear from him that neither Alvarez nor Karsoff want to fight me due to my current legal matters? He can suck a diseased cunt!
“Boy are you in there grumbling and griping?” Zariah calls out from bed.
Fuck, I realize I am mumbling.
“Go back to bed, Zar.”
“Humph, I’m glad you are aware that I still have an hour before I need to dress to go into the office. Thanks for turning up the television as well.”
“Then go back to bed.” I buzz off another piece, my brown waves fall into the sink. With a frown, I nod at myself. Wait, need to get rid of the frown as well. Samuel, Zariah and I finished the discussion about how to get myself and Yuri out of the heat. He came through saying he’d have both of our cases seen by a judge who sympathized with domestic violence. The clean look will just solidify that. Yuri isn’t much for tattoos, so basically, it’s just me needing to cover up and fly straight.
“Baby,” Zariah calls out once again, this time her voice seems preoccupied.
“Dah?” I take a warm towel and rub it over my buzzed head.
“C’mere, now,” she orders.
When I enter the bedroom, Zariah is laying there with her cellphone in a horizontal position, listening to some dude whose cussing likens me to a saint instead of a sinner.
“Girl, what are you listening to?” I ask just as I hear my name.
“There’s this short clip of you from the other day...” She smiles as her eyes land on me. “Oh, lawd, what is going on? What happened to my thug?”
I rub a hand over my head, again. “I knew you secretly wanted a square.”
“You aren’t even capable of sounding like one.” Her eyes are full of life as she gestures for me to come closer. I climb into bed on top of her, and Zariah speaks in a tone filled with mock fear. “Can I-can I touch it?”
“You sound scared,” I say just as she laughs, again.
Her lips softly plant onto mine. Her tongue comes out, and she licks before nibbling on my lip. At the sound of more cussing and joking, my eyebrow rises.
“Oops, I had it on repeat. Rodney is funny as hell. When I’m at work and need to de-stress, I’ll click on his Facebook page.” Zariah digs around for the discarded cell phone and I cuddle next to her. “He has this habit of assessing the craziness going on in his world. You made the cut.”
She clicks onto a YouTube video. A black man comes onto a split screen. On the right side of the screen, Rodney is sitting in a chair, and must be streaming from a laptop camera. On the opposite side of the screen is a fuzzy video from the night I beat down Matthew. Whoever took the footage didn’t catch me in the backseat, but the camera starts rolling with Matthew honking his horn.
The honking slams and fades from the screen with extra sound effects. Rodney speaks up, “Man, I mean, really? Does this dude think that some buff personal trainer is going to come out of the gym to save him? I mean, look at his face.” There’s a still-frame close up on Matthew. Rodney can hardly speak for laughing. “His forehead is lodged wayyyy into the back his throat. I don’t know if he was able to drive away, but I’d be damned if I’m going to create a scene after somebody punches the motherfucking breaks off me! Just wait a minute though!”
Rodney laughs so hard that all is visible on his side of the screen is teeth for a second. “Look, really close, somebody tell me if this dude was born with a brick to his face. Man, he’s so ugly I would say my face hurts, but it can’t hurt anywhere near as much as his does. He’s gonna need a lifetime supply of Tylenol for that bullshit.”
The comedian glances at the right side of the screen and says, “Just wait. Y’all, just wait.”
On the opposite side of the screen the freeze frame has ended, and I’m returning to the car. “Karo, seriously? You beat the man into next week. Why come back and serve him with another beat down? And I mean, some-motherfucking-body call Triple A, he beat the breaks of this man. The guy’s name is Overstreet, but I swear he needs to change his name to just Street! Had him blending in with the pavement. Wait, wait, look—”
Rodney pauses as I pick up Matthew from the ground. Somehow the comedian has added sound effects to the fight. Every hit seems to SPLAT, POP or CRUNCH.
I squeeze my arms around Zariah’s midriff. “You listen to this bullshit?”
She stifles another bout of laughter. “It’s funny. Matthew Overstreet deserved it. Wish I was there.”
“Like you’d have been good with me trying to knock his head off?”
“Humph, you did knock his head off! Under the circumstances, I might have run up, kicked him, and ducked out of the way.”
“No need to run, I got you anytime you need to let off steam.”
“Oh, so we should just hit the streets, knocking people’s block off whenever we’re stressed?” She can hardly kiss me for grinning now.
***
Judge Styles is supposed to be a softy, at least Sam told me she would be when he received favor by switching her out with Judge McKinley.
But when I take my seat next to him and Zariah, looking fit for a fucking J. Crew suit listing, she starts harping about how I have a higher level of accountability as a fighter.
My voice is tapered, “In my defense—”
“Don’t’ speak,” Samuel says under his breath.
Imaginary horns pop out from her blond hair. Ironically, she’s sitting in front of the great seal of Georgia. Wisdom. Justice. Moderation. My ass.
Styles jumps on me with, “This is my courtroom, Mr. Resnov. It’s my time to shine not yours. I saw the video of you wiping the streets with Mr. Overstreet, and the DA is ready to lock you under the cell for using such tactical strategies on him.”
Fuck, this could be pure comedy. She has that mudak, Rodney, beat with her reference to street. But she continued to carve me a new one. “Mr. Resnov, you are a weapon. Your hands, your feet, your body! Now, Mr. Resnov, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Shit, I would say that I didn’t kick the motherfucker, but do I get to speak. Zariah nudges me in the side.
“Oh,” I begin, fixated on my thick Russian accent. “I would like to say that Mr. Overstreet deserved every single hit—there was no kicking involved, your honor. I didn’t use a takedown, none of that, I just used my hands.” Fuck, this isn’t helping.
“Your Honor,” Zariah speaks up, “may I be allowed to approach the bench?”
“Humph, would that be a waste of my time?” Styles inquires, ice blue gaze still glaring through me. Then she turns her attention to my lawyers. “Billingsley, Washington, I respect you, but I’m baffled at how can you convince me that Mr. Resnov is not a threat to society?”
I try not to grit my teeth as the judge just called Zariah the wrong last name, and if it were my turn to speak, I’d let her ass know that, too!
“Yes, your honor,” Zariah holds up photos. “I believe these photos are relevant to the case.”
Judge Styles gestures toward her bailiff, the beefy fucker eyes me, my ‘good’ boy persona slips for a second as I frown at him. He takes the photos from Zariah and heads to the judge, who gasps at the sight of what she sees. “Ms. Washington, these are some very despicable photos? Please state the name of the person in these photos for the record.”
“They’re photos of Zamora Haskins Washington, my mother.” Zariah’s voice breaks. “My mother is—was dating Mr. Overstreet, Your Honor. As you can see, there are many bruises inflicted on her person, which were all at the hands of Mr. Overstreet. Each photo is time stamped below.”
A moment passes before the judge’s pursed lips loosen, she glances at me, and then at Zariah. “And where is your mother, Ms. Washington?”
Zariah turns. “She is here, your honor.”
“This court will take a temporary recess.” The judge slams her gavel down, the sound rings out throughout the cherry wood walls of the courtroom. Styles gestures toward the District Attorney and then to us. Samuel and Zariah start to rise when I do, but they tell me to sit down. Now, I’m twiddling my thumbs like a useless idiot for half an hour. When court is resumed, Samuel beckons for Yuri, whose case was being called separately from mine, due to his resisting arrest.
Zariah sits next to me. I reach over, caress a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Girl,” I whisper to her. “Tell me something.”
“Shhh,” is all she will say, while squeezing my hand beneath the table.
I sit back, bite my tongue and twiddle my fucking fingers like a lapdog, with no orders as the Judge drones on and on about how I must be held to a higher standard.
It’s either I tap it out or go off. Not that I expected special treatment, but Zamora Haskins didn’t have to add herself into the equation. I fucking did this, poured out her life of abuse for Zariah to see, Sammy to see, the whole damn courtroom to see. Regardless, any person, man or woman, should want to retaliate. You don’t go around smacking people—unless you’re me, of course, and in a cage. If I tune into Judge Styles, I’m liable to tell her something she doesn’t want to hear.
“Vassili, baby, respond,” Zariah murmurs.
My eyebrows knead together as Yuri nods, “Yes, ma’am—uh your honor, of course.”
“This is the good old state of Georgia, Mr. Resnov, and Mr. Resnov. We don’t have vigilantes around here, so I suggest the two of you return to California post haste.”
What? So, I am free? I nod my thanks, standing up as Zariah, Sam, and Yuri do. I whisper to my wife, “What the fuck just happened here? She’s been riding me hard.”
“You are too easy to ready, Vassili. All that ‘I’ll handle it myself.’ Boy, bye! You really pissed of Styles, but we fixed it.” Zariah hugs me tightly. “We are a team, Vassili. Next, time keep me in the loop, so we don’t have to wait until the last possible second to team up.”
Damn, so Zariah held off before garnering sympathy from the judge. Her look tells me, it served me right.
I growl in her ear, “You’re in trouble when we get home.”
“Better be the kinda trouble I like.”
***
We all head out of the courtroom and down the corridor to the exit. I hold Zariah’s hand and fall back a few paces to align myself with her mother, who hasn’t said a word this entire time.
“Thank you,” I tell Ms. Haskins, placing my arm around her shoulder and giving her a hug. She’s just as humble as my own mother had been in the past, offering a soft smile before waving off my show of gratitude.
“You’re my son now, Vassili, and I love you.”
“Aw mom,” Zariah is teary eyed.
Yuri is opening the door, and I hardly get a chance to tell the woman who birthed the love of my life, that I love her as well, before a microphone is shoved into my face. Yuri is at my left, and Zariah is to my right.
There’s a mass of reporters, some are held at bay by a few police officers in an attempt to keep the peace. And even more have caught up with me, asking their own questions all at the same time. I tune into the closest one.
The reporter says, “…. Alvarez, Karsoff, The Jedi…they’re all ready to give you a shot in the ring, Karo. Your fans around the nation are elated that you’ve sought after justice for your mother-in-law.”
That’s right, mudak! I want to call out sports commentator, Alex Brown. That bitch tried to drag me through the ringer, but none of my fans had anything negative to say. A few of them tweeted that Overstreet had to deserve it.
Jaw held high, I respond, “I’m thankful for the fans who stuck with me even though they saw me placed into a negative light. I want everyone to know I don’t condone bullying. Never have, never will, so yeah, like you just said, maybe I’ll handle it another way in the future, but this situation hit closer to home than I anticipated.”
“Who will you fight next?”
“Killer Karo is going after the best,” Yuri says.
“Karsoff.” I respond, my face doesn’t even spread into a smile. But inside, I’m elated like a kid at New Years, the most popular holiday in my homeland. Alvarez is beneath him, Jedi is a bottom feeder, and neither one of those mudaks would win in the cage with me, but as Yuri bitched, I have to work my way up. I’ll start from the middle because my belt will be within my grasps sooner rather than later.
“Mrs. Resnov,” the reporter, “we’re also told you were of assistance during the court proceedings, acting as both Mr. Resnov’s attorneys. Is that true?”
“Yes, I and attorney Samuel Billingsley were available, although due to the special circumstances of the case, the guys pretty much pulled through without us.”
“Will Matthew Overstreet be charged, and what will those charges be?”
“Sorry, I cannot communicate about an open investigation.” Zariah grinned, providing the reporter enough ammunition to know that Overstreet isn’t getting off scot-free.
“Thank you, the two of you are a winning team.” He nods.
Zariah squeezes my hand again. “See, baby, keep me in the loop and you’ll never go wrong…”