The Russian Bride – an erotic tale


Natasha, a Russian-born woman living in London, catches the eye of Viktor, a middle-aged Russian gangster. He wants her as his wife, the mother of his son, and his submissive partner in the kinky sex he enjoys at his isolated home near Saint Petersburg. But he doesn’t ask her to accompany him – he just takes what he wants.

Surprisingly, Natasha begins to accept her new life. Is she really a natural submissive, or has Viktor brainwashed her? Viktor is adamant that he will not have sex with her until they are married, but he shows her just how kinky he likes it by taking her to orgies held by his friend, and tells her that this is the type of life she can expect as his wife.

Everything turns sour, however, and on a visit to London, Natasha has to flee for her life – where businessman, James Miller, comes to her aid. Over the course of the next few days, Natasha tells James her story, and as horrified as he is, he cannot deny his attraction to the beautiful young woman. He vows to help her.

Neither of them realize quite how much danger they will be in for defying Viktor, but James is willing to risk everything to rescue her from this man. Can he do it? And does Natasha return his feelings?

Publisher’s Note: This fast-paced tale contains explicit themes including power exchange, capture, multiple sexual partners and discipline. If such material offends, please do not purchase.

Buy Links: 

Amazon US 

Amazon UK

Amazon Canada

Amazon Australia

Excerpt 1: 

James Miller saw the girl in the corner of the car park as his headlights picked up the pale features of her face. It was late, after eleven p.m., and he was on his way home after a business dinner with some potential investors. He was tired after a gruelling day, but the girl caught his attention and he slowed the car. She made no move away but stood quite still, her long brown hair looking matted and dirty, and she was wearing a short black dress that was muddy and dishevelled. Despite the coolness of the evening she was not wearing either a sweater or a coat.

His immediate impression was that she was a drug addict, probably looking for a fix. He doubted that she was a prostitute, for they didn’t usually look as unkempt, and were more likely to be seen on the street looking for their clients, rather than skulking in the corner of a car park.

He drew alongside her and lowered the window. It was probably a stupid move, but the girl looked so forlorn, and she was obviously not carrying a weapon, for there would have been nowhere to conceal it on her body. As he beckoned her to the car she took a hesitant step towards him, stopping a couple of feet away. She seemed reluctant to look him in the eye; instead her eyes were on her feet, which were encased in rather down-at-heel black pumps. She was slim; in fact, a little on the thin side, as though she wasn’t eating regularly. Her arms were bare and there were no obvious track marks that would have revealed her addiction, if she had one.

“It’s getting cold out here. Are you okay? Do you need any help?” he asked.

He could just imagine the expressions on his friends’ faces if they heard him say that. Don’t be a fool, James, they would likely tell him; she spells trouble. Leave her be. But there was something about her that had drawn him towards her and now kept him there. He wanted to find out more about her.

She lifted her eyes for a few seconds and then, as though scared to look him in the face, dropped them again and shuffled a little. James repeated his question, this time making his voice a little firmer as though he was demanding she reply. The resolve in his tone worked and the girl began to talk, in a quiet voice.

“I-I would greatly appreciate a little money for some food, sir.”

Her words and her polite little request surprised him. It was quite a cultured voice—the voice of someone he would not have expected to be in such a situation—but with a slightly foreign accent. But then that was rather patronising of him, he considered. There was no reason why a girl from a good background could not fall on hard times as easily as one from a poor home.

“What are you doing here in the car park?”
“I-I’m sleeping here, sir, over there.”
She pointed to a corner of the car park where a couple of cardboard boxes lay. She was obviously sleeping rough. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Natasha, sir.”

“You are a very polite young lady. Do you always address men who stop to talk to you as ‘sir’?”

The question seemed to confuse her. He wondered if she was selling her body for food, or just relying on the goodwill of the men who stopped their cars. He was tempted to give her twenty pounds and be on his way, but there was something about her that got to him.

“How about we go and get you something to eat? There’s a café at the end of the block that will still be open.”

She looked at his face, clearly weighing up whether she could be getting into the car of a mad axe murderer, but her hunger obviously overruled everything and she nodded and moved around the car. He leaned over and opened the door and she climbed gratefully into the warm, plush interior.

He didn’t speak until they reached the café and parked on the street in front.

“I could just drop you here with some money for food, but I want to find out more about you. I’ll come in, too.”

She didn’t respond, but didn’t look unhappy about that idea, and he followed her into the café, which was nearly empty, with just a couple of men sitting in one corner.

They sat down in a booth near the door and James passed her the menu card.
“Order what you like, as much as you want. I’ll just have coffee.”
She asked for ham and eggs, with a portion of fries, and James passed on the order to the middle-aged woman who was serving. He turned his attention back to Natasha.
“So, do you want to tell me why you are sleeping rough? No one does it unless they are at rock bottom, surely.”
“I-I’d rather not, sir, if you don’t mind.”
“Very well. It’s none of my business, of course, but it looks as though you could do with some help. But I’ll respect your privacy.”

Excerpt 2

“So, as you can see, I didn’t have a conventional honeymoon.”

James gave a sardonic smile. “No, I can see you didn’t. But tell me something, Natasha, what were your feelings towards Viktor when you married him? Did you consider yourself a prisoner, a victim perhaps? You don’t speak about him with malice. Tell me what you thought of the man who took you by force, by drugging you and taking you to Russia.”

She sat forward on the chair and bent her head to rest her chin in her hands, giving the matter a few moments’ thought.

“It’s so difficult to make sense of all that happened to me. At first I hated him for taking me away from my home and my mother. But I guess my feelings changed over that first year or so. He is such a complex man. Sometimes he could be kind and gentle, talking to me lovingly. But then, in just a second, he could completely change, and I would just feel as though I was a prostitute, like Lara and Ekaterina. He could be harsh and rough with me, but the strange thing is that he didn’t make me cry. I was confused, because I found that I liked some of the things he did. Perhaps he just drew out parts of my character that were always there. Perhaps he saw things in me that I didn’t see myself. I began to like the things he did, the sex in public, the sharing of me with other men, the spanking and whipping he sometimes gave me. Does that make me a bad person?”

James reached out and stroked her shoulder. “No, of course it doesn’t. Some of us…” He stopped; then began again. “Some people are just made that way.” He didn’t want to bring himself into the conversation just yet. It was all about her for the moment. He continued talking.

“People develop different sexual needs as they grow up; just as we develop our tastes in all sorts of ways. Maybe, even if you hadn’t met Viktor, you might have begun to like such things. You may never know, because Viktor robbed you of choice. He took you by force and shaped you into the woman he wanted to have. He didn’t allow you to choose that life for yourself. You were young and impressionable, and he took advantage of that. That is what’s wrong with what happened to you. There’s nothing in your life in Russia that should make you feel in any way ashamed or guilty. You did nothing wrong, Natasha. You need to remember that.”

He sat back in the chair, feeling distinctly uncomfortable himself, both physically and emotionally. Natasha’s story of her wedding reception had given him a fantastic hard-on. Yet he felt guilty that it should have affected him in that way. How could he feel angry about the way she’d been manipulated by the Russian, yet still feel an urge to fuck her stupid? He wouldn’t act on it, of course. But clearly his cock and his conscience didn’t speak the same language.

Grigory_s special parties involved far more than champagne and canapés.


Link to Ask David Book Page: Viktor took her to a dark and frightening place. It was the love of James that saved her. The Russian Bride A tale of love, lust and power.


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