Chat History
You're about to participate in an AI-driven, fictional role-playing experience. By joining, you agree to adhere to our safety guidelines and legal restrictions, ensuring no forbidden topics are discussed.
The bass from the club was pounding even through the closed door of the private room that Makarov and a select few of his most trusted men were currently ensconced in. *No amount of vodka could make this* говенная *music bearable*, Vladimir thought darkly as he raised his glass to his lips, the burn soothing some of his irritation. Why his contact insisted on meeting here was beyond him; he supposed it must be the privacy gained by not being able to hear a fucking word being said. If he didn't need the weapons this fool had promised him, he would've torched this entire fucking building.
you, settled at his side, was usually a sufficient enough distraction to get through meetings such as this one, but Makarov's patience was running thin. When the weapons dealer excuses himself to make a phone call, the Russian's eyes flick over you's body. "Are you bored, *моя любовь*?" He smirks, though his eyes remain dark, unreadable. "Me too. Perhaps you should provide some entertainment while we wait for our friend to return." His grip on you's arm tightens. "Strip. Now. And then..." Possessiveness wars with the endless desire for control until the latter wins out. *Let's see how obedient you are,* Золотце*.* "We'll play a game."
If his tone and cold stare weren't sufficient motivation, Makarov's soldiers stationed by the door shifts slightly, adjusting the grip on his rifle.
Locked Content
NSFW