Chapter 6: A New Routine: Love and Lies
The morning bled into a lazy, tangled hour. Sleep was impossible, not with Sascha’s seed still leaking from his used cunt, not with the memory of that crushing fullness lighting up every nerve. Bjorn shifted, wincing at the pleasant soreness between his legs, and found Sascha already awake, watching him with dark, unreadable eyes.
“Again,” Bjorn whispered, his voice hoarse.
It wasn’t a question. Sascha rolled over him, his mouth finding Bjorn’s with a hunger that hadn’t been sated, only stoked. This time was less gentle, more desperate. Sascha pushed his thighs apart with a rough hand, his cock, already hard again, nudging against Bjorn’s swollen entrance. He pushed in with one long, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Bjorn cried out, his back arching, his oversensitive cunt stretching to accommodate him. “Fuck, yes, just like that,” Sascha grunted, setting a punishing pace immediately. The bed slammed against the wall. Bjorn clawed at his back, every thrust a lightning strike of pleasure-pain, filling the empty, aching space inside him that only Sascha seemed to fit.
He came quickly, a sobbing, shattered mess, his pussy fluttering wildly around Sascha’s shaft. Sascha followed with a guttural roar, pumping another hot, thick load deep into Bjorn’s womb. He collapsed, but only for a moment. After catching his breath, he rolled Bjorn onto his stomach, lifted his hips, and fucked him a third time from behind, one hand fisted in his long hair, the other squeezing the soft flesh of his ass. “Such a good girl,” Sascha rasped, pounding into him. “Taking my cock so well. Gonna keep you full, princess. Always full.”
Bjorn had no idea his body could feel like this. It was as if Sascha had rewired him, unlocking a need that overshadowed everything—the murder, the lies, the precarious empire. This was living. This raw, screaming, sweating reality was the only thing that mattered.
When Sascha finally spilled inside him for the third time, Bjorn was boneless, a puddle of blissed-out sensation. He felt Sascha gently press a folded silk handkerchief against his leaking entrance, plugging him, keeping the immense warmth of his cum trapped inside. Bjorn’s belly, when he glanced down, was softly, visibly rounded. He laid a hand on it, a wonder spreading through his chest.
Sascha trailed kisses over his shoulder, his neck, the shell of his ear. “We have to get up, sladkaya,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “The world does not stop.”
Bjorn whined, a high, pathetic sound, and tugged at Sascha’s arm. “Five more minutes. Stay.”
Sascha chuckled, the vibration soothing against Bjorn’s back, but he allowed himself to be pulled down. They shifted until they were face-to-face, limbs entwined. Sascha kissed his forehead, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth. “My beautiful girl,” he whispered.
The words unlocked something. Lying there, stuffed with him, physically branded, Bjorn felt a truth click into place. “You were my first,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on Sascha’s stubbled jaw. “Today. I was… I’d never done that. Any of it.”
Sascha went utterly still. The warm tenderness in his eyes flickered, replaced by a dawning, horrified understanding. He pulled back slightly to search Bjorn’s face. “A virgin?” The word sounded foreign in his rough voice. “Bozhe moi. Bjorn… I… a criminal. A thug. I took your virginity in a filthy bed after a day of lies.” He looked genuinely sick. “I am so sorry.”
The apology was so absurd, so utterly Sascha, that a laugh bubbled out of Bjorn. He shrugged, a slight movement that made the cum inside him shift. “I’m a criminal too, dorogoy. A murderer and a shitty father who blackmails daycare owners.” He reached up, tracing the worry line between Sascha’s brows. “Looks like it worked out.”
The tension broke. A slow, relieved smile spread across Sascha’s face. He kissed Bjorn, deep and sweet. “Durachok,” he sighed against his lips. My little fool.
“Your little fool,” Bjorn agreed, kissing him back.
With great reluctance, Sascha disentangled himself. “Up. Shower. Now.” He slapped Bjorn’s bare ass lightly.
Bjorn protested with squeaks and giggles as Sascha manhandled him out of the damp sheets, his legs shaky. The silk handkerchief stayed snugly in place. Sascha half-carried him to the bathroom, peeling off the remnants of the pink nightgown.
The shower was a slow, worshipful counterpoint to the earlier frenzy. Under the hot spray, Sascha washed him with meticulous care, his big hands slick with soap gliding over every curve, kneading the soreness from his muscles. He turned Bjorn to face the tiles, and entered him again from behind, this time with a slow, deep rhythm that felt like claiming rather than taking. Bjorn braced his hands on the wall, mewling as Sascha’s cock slid in and out of his slick, stretched channel, pushing the cum deeper, making his belly protrude even more under the water’s stream. This was love-making, a slow, possessive reaffirmation. When Sascha came, it was with a quiet groan, his teeth gently scraping the nape of Bjorn’s neck. “Mine,” he breathed into the steam.
After, Sascha toweled him dry with the same reverence. Then he led Bjorn, naked and pliant, to the wardrobe. “Today, I dress you,” he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument.
From the back, Sascha pulled out the items Bjorn had secretly acquired but never dared to wear: a soft, lavender wrap dress made of thin jersey. It whispered over Bjorn’s skin as Sascha helped him into it. The fabric clung to his breasts, flowed over the gentle round of his cum-filled belly, and tapered at his hips. There were no masculine lines, no hiding. It was undeniably, definitively feminine. Sascha zipped it up slowly, his knuckles brushing Bjorn’s spine.
Next, an oversized charcoal grey cashmere sweater, shrugged over the dress. “For decency,” Sascha said, his eyes dancing. “Around the children.” It softened the silhouette but couldn’t hide the dress beneath.
Then, the heels. Simple black pumps with a modest heel, bought on a whim months ago during a lonely, confusing afternoon. Sascha knelt, lifting one of Bjorn’s feet, and slid the shoe on with the gravity of a knight pledging fealty. He repeated the motion with the other. The change in posture, in how Bjorn stood, was immediate. He felt taller, lighter, seen.
Finally, Sascha produced a slim, blush-pink leather collar. It was simple, elegant. He fastened it around Bjorn’s throat, his fingers lingering on the clasp. The cool leather was a shock, then a comfort. A seal.
Sascha stood back, looking him over. His gaze was hot, proud, utterly possessive. “My princess,” he said, the words a vow.
They kissed, there in the bedroom that smelled of sex and them, and then walked downstairs, hand in hand.
The daycare on the ground floor was a cacophony of bright colors and high-pitched laughter. They were lucky, Bjorn thought, not for the first time, that his particular brand of blackmail had been so effective. The previous owners had been surprisingly understanding about handing over the deed once presented with photographic evidence of their tax fraud and their daughter’s boyfriend’s heroin operation.
They moved through the main playroom, a united front. Sascha’s hand never left the small of Bjorn’s back. “Morning, Lena,” Bjorn said to one of the caregivers, his voice unusually light.
“Good morning, Herr Bjorn! You look… nice,” she replied, her eyes flicking to the dress peeking from under his sweater, to the heels, to the collar, then quickly away, a faint blush on her cheeks.
Before Bjorn could formulate a response, the front door chimed. Detective Nicole stood in the entrance, her sharp eyes taking in the scene: Bjorn’s flushed, well-fucked glow, the feminine clothing, Sascha’s protective, intimate stance.
“Detective,” Bjorn said, a smile spreading across his face. He leaned subtly into Sascha’s touch.
“Another visit so soon?” Sascha asked, his voice a low rumble. His thumb stroked Bjorn’s back through the sweater.
“Just following up,” Nicole said, her notebook already out. Her gaze was like a scalpel. “You two seem… very close today.”
“We had a beautiful morning,” Bjorn sighed, the picture of contented romance. He looked up at Sascha, letting every bit of his adoration show. “My Sascha knows how to make a girl feel special.”
The words hung in the air. A girl.
Sascha didn’t miss a beat. He looked down at Bjorn, his expression softening into something so genuinely tender it made Bjorn’s heart clench. “Only for you, printsessa,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a private timbre. “My girl was feeling a little tired, so I insisted on helping her get ready. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
Bjorn basked in it. The use of the feminine noun, the pet names, spoken so naturally in front of the detective, felt like a coronation. He nodded, nuzzling against Sascha’s shoulder for a moment. “He’s too good to me.”
Nicole watched the exchange, her pen poised. The story held. The details aligned. The obvious, tangible intimacy between them was a shield no interrogation could penetrate. She asked a few more perfunctory questions about timelines and alibis, but the heat was gone from her inquiry. They were just a lovesick couple, incongruously running a daycare.
When she finally left, the door clicking shut behind her, the playful tension snapped. Sascha steered Bjorn away from the main room, down a short hall, and into a dim storage closet smelling of crayons and disinfectant. He pushed him inside, kicked the door shut with his heel, and pinned him against a shelf of construction paper.
His mouth crashed down on Bjorn’s, his hands gripping his hips. “You,” Sascha growled against his lips, fumbling with the belt of his own trousers, then hiking up the lavender dress. “Hearing you say that. Seeing you in this… Bozhe.” He tore the silk handkerchief free and shoved his cock into Bjorn’s waiting, still-slick heat in one fierce motion.
Bjorn gasped, his head knocking back against a box of glue sticks. It was quick, hard, and desperate. Sascha fucked him with short, deep thrusts, his body a solid wall of heat against Bjorn’s back. “My girl,” he rasped, his breath hot on Bjorn’s ear. “My perfect princess. Taking my cock in a closet like a dirty secret. You love it, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Bjorn choked out, the shelf rattling with their rhythm. “God, yes, Sascha.”
He came with a bitten-off cry, his cunt clenching violently around Sascha’s pounding length. Sascha followed, pumping another fierce, hot release into Bjorn’s depths, groaning his name like a prayer. They stayed like that for a long moment, panting in the dark, Sascha still sheathed inside him, adding to the immense, leaking warmth that made Bjorn’s belly swell against the shelf.
Slowly, gently, Sascha pulled out. He righted Bjorn’s dress, smoothed the sweater, re-fastened the pink collar with trembling fingers. He kissed him, slow and deep. “We have a business to run,” he whispered, regret and pride mixing in his voice.
Bjorn nodded, straightening his heels. He felt raw, owned, elated. They fixed their clothes and stepped out of the closet, back into the bright, noisy world of their dual lives, the evidence of their truth sealed tight within him.