Chapter 7: Vlad
The stale scent of sex and weed still clung to the air when Josh cracked his eyes open. Wednesday morning, the light, harsh and uncompromising, sliced through a gap in the blackout curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing above the wreckage of his bed. The damp patch beneath his hip was cold now, a sticky reminder of Marco’s enthusiastic deposit and his own explosive surrender. He took a long, deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating mix of bodily scents. Bliss. He stretched, a low groan escaping him as muscles protested – a satisfying ache radiating from his well-used ass, a pleasant stiffness in his shoulders from yesterday's weights. He grinned into the pillow. Marco had performed admirably. The gaping feeling, the deep internal throb was perfection.
He swung his legs out of bed, the cool laminate floor a shock against his bare feet. Naked, he padded towards the kitchen, his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors catching his eye. He paused, admiring. Blonde chest hair dusted solid pecs, trailing down a defined abdomen to the thick thatch surrounding his semi-hard cock. Powerful quads, sculpted calves. Good. The sight never failed to centre him. Discipline. Self care. Self love. Those were the bedrock.
The blender roared to life on the counter, pulverizing kale, spinach, a banana, chia seeds, a hefty scoop of psyllium husk, and water into a thick, murky green sludge. His 'ass-cleaner' smoothie. He downed it in three long gulps, the fibrous grit coating his throat. His daily prep always started here. He rinsed the glass, refilling it with water and slowly finished that as well, already feeling the familiar internal shift, the preparation underway.
No music. Just the rhythmic thud of his own feet on the mat as he launched into his twenty-minute warm-up: jumping jacks, high knees, dynamic stretches that pulled at his hamstrings and groin, loosening the deep muscles Marco had pounded into submission. Sweat beaded on his temples. Next came yoga. Thirty minutes of deliberate, controlled poses. Downward Dog, his hamstrings screaming, the stretch pulling deliciously at his sore hole. Pigeon pose, a deeper burn in his glutes, a reminder of the brutal stretch from Marco's thick cock. He breathed into the discomfort, mastering it. Warrior poses, holding strong, feeling the power coiled in his legs, core tight. Clearing his mind, focusing the energy.
Then, capoeira. The shift was immediate, explosive. The ginga, the constant, fluid motion, a deceptive dance hiding lethal potential. Kicks sliced the air – meia-lua de frente, armada. Spins, ducks, evasions. Thirty minutes of controlled fury, sweat now streaming down his back, dripping off his nose, his chest hair plastered dark to his skin. He ended in a low negativa, breathing hard, the world sharp and clear. Ready.
Breakfast was fuel, not pleasure. Three eggs scrambled dry. Two slices of wholewheat toast, unbuttered. Half an avocado mashed with lemon and black pepper. Efficient. Nutritious. As he ate, he portioned out his supplements from the array of bottles beside the toaster: a multivitamin, fish oil, zinc, magnesium, vitamin D, and the special stack – L-arginine, maca root, pygeum bark extract – for relentless erections and rivers of cum. He swallowed them with another large glass of water, finishing with black coffee. The bitter tang grounded him.
The shower was a ritual. Scalding water sluiced away the sweat, the lingering scent of sex, the memory of the piss Marco had been so delighted to release for him stirring his cock. He soaped himself thoroughly, fingers probing gently between his ass cheeks. Still tender. Still deliciously loose. He lingered there for a moment, a ghost of sensation sparking. Later. He rinsed, stepped out, towelled off roughly and moisturized head to toe. He sat naked on his towel, pre-rolling joints for his stash, using the last of his weekly supply, as his skin absorbed the nourishment. He dressed in simple grey sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt that showcased his chest and arms. Ready for business.
The stale tang of yesterday’s sweat and sex still clung faintly to Josh’s apartment as he locked the heavy deadbolt, but his actual paid cleaner would deal with that. Mrs Henderson, one of his clients, was a wonder. Free cleaner for free hypnotherapy was a deal they both enjoyed. And his clients would always keep his secrets. He hit the street, the city air a cool slap after the controlled environment he’d crafted. His purposeful stride ate up the pavement towards Vlad’s territory, muscles moving with the efficient grace of a predator. Three years ago, Vlad had been a vicious, low-level thug with a nasty streak – miserable, perpetually angry, radiating unhealthy tension. He’d come to Josh desperate, a last resort after everything else failed. “Make me the man,” Vlad had rasped, his Slavic accent thick with frustration, his massive frame vibrating with suppressed violence.
Josh had peeled back those layers of rage and despair, probing deep with his unique skills. Beneath the intimidating frame, the bald head, the prison tattoos snaking down thick forearms, he’d found a core revelation: Vlad was a desperate, aching sub slut. The transformation wasn't overnight. Year one was breaking down the walls, silencing the internal screams of toxic masculinity, feeding his darkest desires to him. Year two he began integration protocols – merging that hidden, hungry self with the sharp, strategic mind Vlad used for his criminal enterprises. "Merged" meant no more duality; Vlad's outer life now seamlessly incorporated his deepest, most surrendered needs. Year three saw results: Vlad’s operation ran smoother, his crew fiercely loyal to this strangely calmer, kinder leader. Success followed.
Josh rounded the corner into a quieter block, the brownstone buildings older, slightly worn. He spotted the nondescript stoop. Vlad’s camouflage was deliberate – Josh’s design. Forget the garish tracksuit thug. Vlad now dressed like a retired pensioner: faded grey cardigan over a washed-out plaid shirt, baggy corduroys, scuffed loafers. Utterly forgettable. Unless you knew where to look. The thick neck, the prison ink peeking from his collar, the stillness in his eyes that screamed 'inmate'. That body below the drab clothes, Josh knew intimately, craved the brutal stretch he’d given Marco last night. Vlad loved being ploughed exactly like that.
Josh knocked – a specific rhythm. The door opened instantly. One of Vlad's goons, or "nephews" as he called them, filled the frame, his bulk momentarily blocking the dim hallway light. This was Andrei, one of Josh's favourites. He had played with Josh and Vlad multiple times, his cock big enough, and full of enough cum, to satisfy them both. Andrei's eyes crinkled warmly at the sight of Josh. "Uncle!" he bellowed, joy radiating from him. "Always so good to see you," he enthused, pulling Josh into a hug. Josh allowed himself to be crushed by the man, feeling every muscle and bulge pressed against his still-sore body. Josh's body couldn't help but respond, his hands drifting to Andrei's cock. Andrei's lips came down to crush against Josh's, his tongue swirling in Josh's mouth. "So delight," he sighed, "but not today. Boss needy." His face had a mock-sadness about it. They both grinned. "Soon, Andrei?" "Soon," he growled back and led Josh upstairs.
The worn wooden stairs creaked under Andrei’s heavy tread and Josh’s lighter, purposeful steps. Upstairs, the hallway was dim, smelling faintly of dust, old paper, and something vaguely medicinal. Andrei stopped before a solid oak door, knocked twice, paused, then knocked once more. A muffled voice granted entry. Andrei opened the door, gestured Josh inside with a respectful nod, and pulled it shut behind him, leaving Josh alone with Vlad.
Vlad’s office was a deliberate study in unassuming comfort bordering on shabby. Sunlight filtered weakly through dusty venetian blinds, illuminating threadbare patches on a faded Persian rug. A massive, scarred oak desk dominated one wall, piled high with ledgers and invoices. Opposite it sat a worn leather armchair, its stuffing threatening to escape at the seams, flanked by overflowing bookshelves crammed with cheap paperbacks and obscure-looking volumes. The air hung thick with the scent of stale tobacco and old man – wool, faint sweat, and liniment. Pure, unadulterated 'old man core'.
Vlad rose from behind the desk, his bulky frame unfolding from the creaking chair. His face, usually etched with a wary vigilance, broke into a wide, genuine grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Joshua!" he boomed, his Slavic accent warm and thick. He rounded the desk, arms outstretched. "My boy! Family! You hear?" he called out, seemingly to the empty room, his voice echoing slightly. "Josh is family!" He clasped Josh in a bear hug, surprisingly strong despite the cardigan, the scent of cheap soap and underlying musk enveloping him. Josh returned the embrace firmly, feeling the solid muscle beneath the soft fabric.
"Good to see you, Vlad," Josh murmured, his voice low and calm against Vlad’s shoulder. He pulled back slightly, meeting Vlad’s bright, eager eyes. "Just us today, yeah? Nice and quiet." He kept his tone reassuring, a gentle command disguised as a request. Vlad’s grin widened impossibly further, pure delight radiating from him. "Quiet," he repeated, nodding vigorously. "Yes, yes. Just us. Perfect." He patted Josh’s arm, his touch lingering possessively. "Come."
Vlad shuffled towards a section of the overloaded bookshelf. With surprising dexterity for such large hands, he pressed a specific spot on the spine of a thick, faux-leather-bound encyclopedia. A soft click echoed. Vlad pulled, and a section of the bookshelf swung inward silently, revealing a dark passageway beyond. He gestured Josh forward, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Our place," Vlad whispered, pride evident in his voice.
Josh stepped through the hidden doorway into near darkness. Vlad followed, pulling the bookcase shut behind them with a soft thud. A click sounded, and soft, warm light bloomed from recessed fixtures overhead, illuminating the hidden lounge. Plush, deep crimson carpet swallowed their footsteps. Low, comfortable-looking couches upholstered in dark velvet formed a U-shape around a low table. Mirrors lined one wall, reflecting the intimate space. The air here was different – warmer, subtly scented with sandalwood and clean linen, a stark contrast to the office’s staleness. It felt insulated, private, a sanctuary.
Vlad stood beside Josh, his breathing already slightly quicker, his posture subtly shifting. The genial uncle persona melted away, replaced by a palpable anticipation, a readiness. Josh felt the familiar shift within himself too. The playful, receptive slut who’d taken Marco’s cock and loads yesterday receded. A colder, sharper dominance surged forward, settling into his bones. He loved this transformation in Vlad, loved that the hypnosis had woven the submissive so deeply into his core that no trance was needed anymore. Vlad simply was his deviant sub now, waiting only for the signal. Josh turned to face him, his expression hardening, his gaze turning assessing, commanding.
"Strip," Josh ordered, his voice devoid of its usual warmth, flat and hard. Vlad didn’t hesitate. His thick fingers fumbled slightly with the buttons of his cardigan, then the plaid shirt beneath. He peeled them off, revealing a surprisingly defined torso covered in dark hair and intricate prison ink. His corduroys and boxers followed, pooling around his ankles. He kicked them aside, standing naked before Josh, his thick cock already half-hard against his thigh. His breathing was audible now, shallow and expectant. He kept his eyes lowered, a faint flush creeping up his neck.
Josh circled him slowly, a predator assessing prey. He ran a hand over Vlad’s broad shoulders, down the hard planes of his back, feeling the raised scars, the powerful muscles tensing under his touch. He stopped behind him, pressing his clothed body against Vlad’s naked back. He gripped Vlad’s thick hips, pulling him backwards firmly, grinding his own hardening cock against Vlad’s ass. Vlad gasped, a sharp intake of breath, his head dropping forward. "Fuck," he breathed out, almost a whimper.
"Hands on the wall," Josh commanded, his voice low against Vlad’s ear. Vlad obeyed instantly, planting his large palms flat against the mirrored surface, his reflection showing wide, dark eyes and parted lips. Josh stepped back, stripping efficiently out of his sweatpants and t-shirt. His cock sprang free, thick and already fully erect. He retrieved a small bottle of lube from a discreet shelf recessed into the wall. The slick sound as he coated his fingers was loud in the quiet room.
He moved behind Vlad again, pressing close. One hand snaked around Vlad’s waist, gripping his heavy cock firmly, feeling it pulse and thicken further in his grasp. The other hand, slick with lube, slid down the cleft of Vlad’s ass. Vlad tensed, a low groan escaping him as Josh’s middle finger found his tight hole and pressed insistently. "Relax," Josh growled, twisting his wrist slightly. "Open up for me." He pushed his finger past the resisting ring of muscle, burying it knuckle-deep inside Vlad’s heat. Vlad cried out, his head thumping against the cool mirror, his hips pushing back instinctively onto Josh’s finger. "Yes! Fuck, yes!"
Josh worked him open ruthlessly, adding a second finger quickly, scissoring and stretching the tight passage. Vlad panted, his cock leaking pre-come onto Josh’s fist, his body trembling. "Please," Vlad gasped, his voice ragged. "Please, Sir... need it." Josh withdrew his fingers, leaving Vlad clenching around emptiness. He poured more lube directly onto his own cock, slicking it thoroughly, the cool gel making him hiss. He gripped Vlad’s hips hard, positioning himself.
The thick, blunt head of Josh’s cock pressed against Vlad’s loosened hole. Josh pushed forward slowly, relentlessly, watching in the mirror as Vlad’s face contorted – a mixture of intense pleasure and the shock of invasion. Vlad’s mouth opened in a silent scream as Josh breached him, inch by thick inch, stretching him wide. "Fuck! Oh god, fuck!" Vlad choked out, his knuckles white against the mirror. Josh kept pushing, burying himself to the hilt in Vlad’s tight, gripping heat, feeling the older man’s body shudder violently around him. He paused, fully sheathed, letting Vlad adjust, feeling the incredible pressure, the heat. "Take it all, slut," Josh ground out, his own breath coming fast. "Take my cock deep."
He pulled back almost all the way, then slammed forward hard, setting a brutal, deep rhythm immediately. No gentle warm-up. Vlad cried out with each powerful thrust, his body jolting forward against the mirror. The sound of flesh slapping flesh filled the lounge, punctuated by Vlad’s ragged gasps and guttural moans. Josh fucked him with relentless, piston-like drives, angling his hips to grind deep on every inward stroke, hitting that spot inside Vlad that made him see stars. Vlad’s cock bounced heavily, dripping pre-come onto the carpet. "Harder! Fuck me harder, Sir! Please!" Vlad begged, his voice cracking.
Josh obliged, gripping Vlad’s hips like vices, driving into him with punishing force. He watched their reflection – his own face set in fierce concentration, Vlad’s eyes rolled back, mouth slack, drool starting to trickle down his chin. The sight fueled Josh’s dominance. He leaned forward, biting hard on Vlad’s thick shoulder, drawing a sharp cry. "You love this, don't you?" Josh snarled against his skin, pounding into him. "Love being my filthy fuckhole?"
"Yes! God, yes!" Vlad babbled, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "Your hole! Only yours! Fuck me! Ruin me!" His body was slick with sweat, trembling violently with the force of Josh’s thrusts. Josh felt his own climax coiling tight, a familiar pressure building low in his balls. He reached around, gripping Vlad’s cock tightly, jerking it in rough time with his thrusts. Vlad screamed, a raw, animal sound, as his orgasm ripped through him. Thick ropes of cum splattered against the mirror and the carpet beneath, his body clamping down viselike on Josh’s cock.
The intense contraction triggered Josh’s own release. With a final, deep, grinding thrust, he buried himself as deep as possible and erupted. Hot jets of cum flooded Vlad’s passage, pulsing out in thick spurts. Josh groaned, low and guttural, riding the waves of pleasure, emptying himself completely into Vlad’s willing body. He held himself deep, panting, feeling Vlad’s internal muscles flutter weakly around his softening cock. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out. A gush of cum mixed with lube followed, dripping down Vlad’s trembling thighs. Vlad slumped forward, forehead pressed to the cool glass, breathing in ragged gasps, utterly spent.
Josh stepped back, looking at the mess – Vlad’s cum on the mirror and carpet, his own dripping from Vlad’s well-used hole. He felt a deep, satisfied calm settle over him. He grabbed a towel from a nearby stack, wiping himself clean first, then tossed it to Vlad. "Clean yourself up," he ordered, his voice regaining some of its normal timbre, though still edged with authority. Vlad obeyed wordlessly, movements sluggish, wiping his stomach and thighs with trembling hands.
Vlad finished wiping himself, the white towel smeared with streaks of translucent lube and Josh’s thick, pearlescent cum. He dropped it heavily onto the damp patch on the crimson carpet, his broad shoulders slumped, breathing still ragged. The musky scent of sex hung thick and heavy in the temperature-controlled lounge, mingling with the sandalwood. Josh watched him, the cold dominance still thrumming just beneath his skin, a low voltage hum after the power surge. He flexed his hand, remembering the grip on Vlad’s cock, the way the older man had screamed.
"Smoking jacket," Josh commanded, his voice flat, cutting through the humid air.
Vlad jerked his head up. A flicker of something – anticipation, relief? – crossed his weary face. "Yes, Sir," he rasped, his Slavic accent thick with exertion. He shuffled, movements stiff and awkward after the brutal fucking, towards a heavy walnut armoire Josh knew contained more than just clothes. Vlad pulled out a deep crimson velvet robe, almost the same shade as the carpet, its silk lining shimmering faintly in the recessed light. He carried it back with reverence, holding it open. Josh shrugged into it, the cool, heavy velvet settling on his shoulders. The silk felt slick against his naked skin beneath. Vlad carefully smoothed the lapels, his thick fingers surprisingly gentle, his knuckles brushing Josh's chest hair as he tied it closed.
"Sit, Sir?" Vlad asked, a tremor in his voice. It wasn’t fear. It was need. Raw, exposed need. Josh acknowledged it with a fractional nod and moved to the largest, plushest couch. He sank into the deep cushions, the velvet soft and yielding. The lower part of the robe fell open, exposing his muscular thighs and his softening cock resting against them. Vlad immediately turned and padded, still naked, back to the armoire. Josh tracked his movements, the heavy muscles in Vlad’s back shifting, the glisten of sweat still coating his skin, the red marks blooming where Josh had gripped his hips and bitten his shoulder. Vlad retrieved a slim wooden case and a chilled bottle of water. He brought them to the low table in front of Josh, setting the water down gently. He opened the case, revealing perfectly rolled joints nestled in foam. He selected one, placed it carefully on the table beside the water, then found a heavy crystal lighter.
He flicked the lighter. The flame leapt. Vlad held it steady as Josh leaned forward slightly, drawing the joint to life. The first inhale was deep, holding the acrid-sweet smoke in his lungs before exhaling a slow, grey plume that curled towards the ceiling. Vlad watched the smoke, mesmerized for a second, then his eyes snapped back to Josh’s face, waiting. "Go," Josh murmured around the joint, gesturing vaguely with it towards the room. "Stool."