Victor swept Alia off the bed and lifted her into his arms, her body draped over his powerful frame like a wilted vine. He began to speak not in common Russian, but in Old Imperial Russian (Old Church Slavonic)
the ancient language of the Czars and Emperors. Every word felt heavy with centuries of dominance.
He whispered ancient vows of union and possession into her ear.
"Ty moya po pravu krovi..." (By the right of blood and the law of strength, you are mine. Now and forever, your body belongs to my throne...)
The ancient, guttural resonance of the language sent shivers down Alia's spine. Carrying her toward the grand mirror, Victor made it clear: tonight was not just about a physical act; it was an ancient ritual of claiming her soul. Alia, completely overwhelmed by his imperial aura, clung to his neck as if drowning in a sea of dark history.Victor's obsession now took the form of a royal and diabolical art. Carrying Alia in his arms, he retrieved a velvet box from his massive vault. Inside lay ancient and priceless ornaments from the era of the Russian Czars, passed down through generations.
Victor sat Alia on the bed and knelt before her, a strange sense of satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. First, he took out a heavy and incredibly expensive diamond locket. He fastened the intricately crafted piece around Alia's neck with utmost care. As the cold diamonds touched her heated skin, a shiver ran through her entire frame.
But Victor did not stop there. He gently laid her back and moved the thin silk fabric away from her midriff. He produced a unique piece of jewelry a navel ring connected to a slender gold chain. At the center of the chain sat a glowing, blood-red ruby.
With surgical precision, Victor adorned Alia's stomach and navel with the ornament. One end of the chain hooked into her navel while the rest wrapped around her waist. That red stone glowed like a trapped fire right against her skin.
Victor: (Whispering in ancient Russian) "From now on, every beat of your body will be under my command, just like this stone."
Once the jewelry was set, Victor could no longer keep his distance. He leaned down and pressed a deep, searing kiss upon her stomach and the red stone on her navel. Alia's body jolted, arching like a bow. The friction of the gold chain combined with the heat of Victor's lips pushed her toward a peak of overwhelming sensation.
Victor had not just conquered Alia; he had transformed her into a 'living possession,' adorned in his own jewels. Every move Victor made was now calculated and charged with extreme tension. He played his final card to subjugate Alia, not just physically but mentally.
When Victor kissed the red ruby on Alia's navel, he performed a strange, ritualistic act. Following an ancient, shadowy mafia tradition, he applied a rare massage oil and perfume across her body that generated an intense heat the moment it touched her skin.
Within moments, Alia turned deep crimson (Blushed Red) with both shame and arousal. Their skin became scorching to the touch—her cheeks, throat, and torso burning like fire. This method of Victor's was extremely dangerous, as it stimulated the nerves to such an extent that one would lose all self-control.
Victor leaned into Alia's ear, whispering in that grave, imperial voice that left her even more disoriented. Her breathing was now so jagged and heavy that she lost the strength to speak. Victor knew that this "crimson glow" was the ultimate signal for their final union.
Victor: (With a demonic smirk) "Look, Alia... your body isn't rebelling anymore; it's inviting me. This red isn't from your shame—it's the mark of your addiction to me."
Victor pulled her into a crushing, intimate embrace. Amidst the friction of the navel ring and the diamond locket, a sharp, agonizingly sweet pleasure surged through every cell of Alia's body. It was the beginning of a terrifying moment of union, a point of no return.Victor's patience finally snapped. The crimson glow of Alia's skin and the brilliance of the blood-red ruby on her navel drove him into a state of pure, unadulterated madness. He realized that under the influence of the dangerous "Cinnabar-infused" oil, Alia had reached a level where her logic had ceased to function—only her primal instincts remained.
Victor grabbed Alia's chin firmly, forcing her to look into his dark, piercing eyes. Her eyes were glazed, half-closed in a drug-like trance. Victor whispered again in that ancient, haunting Imperial Russian:
Victor: (In a deep, gravelly tone) "Smotri na menya... Segodnya ty umirayesh' kak vrag i rozhdayesh'sya kak moya koroleva."
(Translation: Look at me... Today you die as an enemy and are reborn as my Queen.)
The moment the words left his lips, Victor claimed her with total dominance. The heat radiating from their bodies caused the room's temperature to soar. Alia couldn't tell if she was in pain or in ecstasy; she could only feel the crushing weight of the Dark Lord's power.
The red ruby on her navel and the diamond locket around her neck clinked together, creating a rhythmic, metallic sound against the silence. Victor began leaving deep, thirsty marks across her neck and shoulders each kiss as intense as a bite, marking her as his forever.
Outside, the first light of dawn began to break over Moscow. The snowy sky turned a deep, bruised orange mirroring the crimson flush on Alia's body. Victor knew that by the time the sun fully rose, Alia would no longer be the rebellious daughter of a rival mafia house; she would be Dark Lord Victor's personal slave and sovereign.
The silence of the penthouse was broken only by their ragged breathing and the haunting jingle of priceless jewels.Every gesture Victor made was now reaching a state of demonic perfection. As Alia gazed at him with half-closed eyes, lost in that burning trance, Victor slowly moved toward the foot of the bed.
Victor gripped both of Alia's legs firmly. In his powerful grasp, her legs felt like they were trapped in iron shackles. Alia made a faint attempt to move, but she remained pinned under the pressure of Victor's muscular hands.
Victor noticed that Alia was already wearing a pair of incredibly expensive Golden Diamond Anklets. The diamonds embedded in the gold flashed with a magical glimmer in the dim light of the Moscow dawn. Looking at those anklets, Victor let out a sinister laugh. He pressed his hot lips against her feet and around the jewelry.
Victor: (In ancient Russian) "These diamonds do not merely enhance your beauty; they remind me that every step you take from now on will move only by my will."
He pulled at the anklets so that their delicate jingling sent a strange shiver through the room. Victor planted a deep kiss on the soles of her feet, forcing Alia to curl up in a mix of shame and intense sensation. The effect of the 'dangerous' oil on Alia's body was at its peak; she could neither scream nor break herself free.
Those golden anklets were no longer just ornaments; to Victor, they were like chains or shackles on her feet. Victor dragged her toward him by her legs, as if he were ready to indulge in the final game with his 'living doll.' Victor no longer held back. The mysterious, glowing red oil named "The Devil's Crimson" had spread like wildfire across Alia's skin. This ancient Russian mafia concoction was designed to paralyze the victim's will and replace it with a searing, uncontrollable desire.
As Victor moved toward the final union, the atmosphere in the room froze in a primal frenzy. Due to the effects of the oil, Alia's nerves were screaming with a heightened sensitivity. Every movement felt like a bolt of lightning.Victor: (Whispering while looking directly into Alia's eyes just before the moment of union) "Today, every molecule of this oil will dissolve into your blood and engrave my name upon you, Alia."
Victor claimed her with the dominance of an emperor ferocious and royal. The "Devil's Crimson" scent filled the penthouse, a toxic yet enchanting aroma of obsession. In that freezing Moscow dawn, the Dark Lord didn't just touch Russia's most precious diamond; he engraved himself into her very soul.After that peak of absolute intensity, even a man of iron like Victor was collapsing from exhaustion. His powerful chest heaved like a bellows, rising and falling in the wake of that primal struggle of desire.
Victor didn't move away entirely; instead, he remained draped over her, panting heavily. Sweat dripped from his forehead, mingling with Alia's feverish skin. He was so drained that he couldn't form complete sentences. Leaning into the curve of her ear, he began to whisper in a slurred, husky voice, uttering fragmented, indistinct words.
Victor: (In a thick, raspy voice, punctuated by heavy breaths) "Alia... Moya... Moya Koroleva (My Queen)... Forever... only mine..."
Every word felt like an echo of profound satisfaction. Meanwhile, Alia's condition was even more fragile. Under the lingering influence of the "Devil's Crimson" oil and Victor's absolute dominance, she remained trapped in a deep trance. Her fair face was still flushed a soft, radiant red. Her lips were slightly parted to catch her breath, and her eyes remained half-closed, lost in the haze.
That crimson glow wasn't just on her cheeks; it seemed to have seeped into her very soul. Victor reached out with a weakened hand, tracing the warmth of that flush on her skin. For the first time, his eyes held no demonic malice instead, they reflected a raw sense of possessiveness and the lingering intoxication of the night.
The slow, rhythmic rotation of the penthouse ceiling fan blended with the sound of their heavy breathing, creating a strange, heavy silence. Outside, the sky was brightening with the arrival of morning, but inside this room, time seemed to have come to a complete standstill.