Mikhail Ivanovych Artemenko, to most people, was Mischa, a carpenter who lived in Toronto with his extended family. However, in another life, Mischa had been held in a Soviet prison for ten years. His father had been a dissident in Ukraine who moved the family to America, but Mischa had found ways to piss off the KGB in several corners of the earth throughout his life. When he was in prison, he did horrible things to survive. When he was released, his own wife and daughter were strangers to him. He left them and started working for some very bad people who stole the lives of others to become immortal themselves. 

When his boss developed a cocaine problem that made Scarface look like a hobbyist, Mischa became less attached to their work together. Eventually, he betrayed his boss by showing kindness to a woman he used to despise, whom he had even attacked. She helped him reunite with his granddaughter and over time, he became close to his great-grandchildren. He no longer aged and faced an existential crisis. How could he find meaning in a life that would not end? Did he deserve to continue living?

Mischa told himself he was a good person now, but he noticed he was starting to have flashbacks. When his granddaughter told him to go to therapy, he tried it a few times and then quit, saying "What, I am to bare my soul to this scholarly woman for fifty minutes and then I go out and leave? Get a frozen yogurt?" Mischa needed a new plan.  

COLD RAINY NIGHT

Mischa was at his home in Toronto, expecting a woman who he had screened through a mutual friend. After some phone calls and preliminary agreements, they were ready to meet in person. It was a cold rainy evening when he answered the door. 

A tall woman with bleached blonde hair in a high ponytail and creamy honey skin entered without hesitation. She was wearing a black vinyl "raincoat" that he suspected she would have worn regardless of the weather. Her lips were bee-stung and glazed with a shiny fire engine red lipstick. His eyes followed her across the room. She said nothing until she sat down on the couch and set down her handbag. 

"So, Mister Mischa. You have some things you need to get off your chest?" she asked, crossing her legs and showing off her thigh-high patent leather boots.

Mischa slowly walked into his living room. He had chosen nothing special to wear: just dark, worn jeans and a loose-fitting charcoal button down shirt. On his feet, he wore only his house shoes, as was the Eastern European custom. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the mantlepiece before he joined her on the couch. 

"I'm sorry, may I?" he asked with a smirk before he lit it. Asking a woman if he could light a cigarette in his own home. Mildly ridiculous. 

"Go ahead. We haven't started yet," she told him, her own smile looking smug. "You can talk to me when I'm like this. Now, I'm just Anita. When we start, you'll call me Miss Anita or Mistress Anita and I don't negotiate anything." 

Mischa could see that she was sizing him up. He knew his 6'6" frame, biceps, and tattoos made him look formidable and he was glad to see that this didn't startle her in the slightest. 

"So, our friend may have told you," he said, flicking his lighter and drawing up the flame to his cigarette. "That I'm looking for, ah, therapy. I tried conventional therapy and I didn't like it. There are parts of my story that are sad and I can't stand when people feel bad for me. There are also parts where I have been very immoral. I hate who I used to be. So, I want to know if you can handle hearing some messed up shit."

"I don't care if it's real or made-up. I can take it," she said dismissively. "What do you want out of this?" she asked him in an aggressive yet bored tone of voice. 

"I used to be a very bad person, Anita. I made others suffer so I could feel big," he said. He hoped his Russian accent didn't make her balk, either. He knew all the bad guys in action films spoke like he did. But she had a tough kind of vibe, like that chick from the boxing movie, Girlfight. She had that husky voice. "And I am trying to be better. It's just… My family life is fine. Great. I have a good job and friends. But, I can't… Lately, I have a good… uh… when I try to— and this had never happened before—"

"Spit it out, honey. You're paying for my time, but we should get to the real stuff," she told him as she looked at her red fingernails. Mischa swallowed hard and tried not to do that irked passive-aggressive grin of his that he recently became aware of. 

"I can't get it up lately," he said. It felt horrible to say aloud. "I take a Viagra when I come home and take a shower until it kicks in. When I have a woman here."

"She never knows?"

"No."

"Why do you think it's happening?" she asked. Something about her reminded him of the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland: heavy lidded eyes and arrogant sneer. 

"I got some bad shit on my mind," he said. "And I think that getting it all out will help my performance… and also… have a real relationship. Not just sex."

"Good, honey. This is good. This is what I do," Anita answered confidently. Her demeanor instantly looked less detached. "So, you wanna start with me interrogating you? With a whip? Strap-on? What?"

"No strap-on," he quickly replied. He took another drag of his cigarette. "I don't want to be penetrated, but I would enjoy being yelled at. Berated, horribly. Whipping, choking, spitting. Maybe you could tie me up. Do some edging. Just do me a favor and stay away from my ass, yes?"

"I got you, baby. Shall we get started?" she asked, abruptly standing up and removing her long coat. Beneath it, she wore a cinched vinyl corset. He could tell that there were at least two parts so that she could reveal her tits when she wanted. For now, they were barely caged in the black straps of vinyl. She also had on black nylons with her sky-high heeled boots and a tiny G-string. 

"You don't want to know more about what I like?" he asked skeptically. He put out his cigarette in the ashtray. 

"Huh-NEE," she said emphatically while she unzipped her bag. "I'll be able to tell what you like. Your safe word is 'dishwasher.' You ready?" she asked, turning around with a long bullwhip in her hand. 

"Yes, Miss Anita. Let's put that right around my neck," he said. He noticed his heart rate was already faster than usual, but not from being excited or turned on. Outwardly, he was trying to appear like he was, but he was actually nervous. He knelt in front of her. Her huge tits looked like they were going to swell and burst out of that black corset. 

"There's a good boy," she said approvingly. She wrapped the whip around his neck twice and pulled on it, like he was wearing a necktie. "So, you're scared of women?" she asked him, already disarmingly direct. Absolutely no one talked to him like that. But he was ready to do this. 

"I don't want them to know what I really am," he said, making fierce, determined eye contact with her. "I don't deserve them."

"I bet you don't," she sneered. She squatted down in front of him, pulling the whip tight. "What. Did. You. Do?" she asked, tugging it tighter each time. 

"I was a good man before prison," he burst out in his own defense. 

"Lie down," she commanded as she blinked her big fake eyelashes. Mischa laid down on his back and put his hands over his head as if they were bound. "You tell me, baby. What kind of prison'd you go to?" she asked in a more soothing voice. She squatted over him, letting him see close-up the tiny G-string that was barely covering her shaved pussy. 

"Fuck, they starved us. Freezing cold, work all day. Everyone dying. I was hardly human when I got out," he said in a choked voice. 

"So, what did you do to those ladies when you got out?" she asked, nearly tearing his shirt off as she unbuttoned it and pulled it off. He admired her intuitiveness. "Don't you smile at me! What the fuck did you do?" she demanded, slapping him across the face. Her gaze slithered down his body, followed by her fingernails scraping his chest and belly. She didn't react to the tattoo of a giant skull with a snake coming out of its mouth or any of the others. 

​​"I was terrible to them… they were desperate," he agreed, panting now. "The first one offered me a blowjob in exchange for some drugs and a few favors. I was weak."

"You fucking pig. Trying to stuff your cock wherever you want," she mocked him and stood up to slash the whip across his chest. He winced but didn't cry out. Mischa knew that, as a vampire, he would heal instantly. But their mutual friend had assured them both that Anita was familiar with immortal vampires and she was trustworthy. 

"I am a fucking pig." He exhaled tensely. Anita whipped him several more times until finally he cried out in pain. She forced him to describe some of the depraved things he had enjoyed sexually back in the day, when he still worked for evil men. 

"Mister Bad Man," Anita said, dropping the whip on the couch. "I don't think you've told me the worst thing you did. What was it?"

Mischa immediately knew which memory he had felt the worst about. He blinked and tried to act like he was choosing one and hadn't settled yet. 

"Don't you fucking dare," she snarled contemptuously. She pulled off his leather belt. "Take it off. Take off your pants and shoes." Mischa complied. He clamped his mouth shut and breathed loudly out of his nose, maintaining eye contact the whole time. 

Anita daintily sat down and looked at him on the floor appraisingly. She unzipped her boots. Her feet were covered in beautiful black nylon. She rose again and took off part of her top. Now, she only had the cinched corset. Her tits were buoyant and aggressive. Mischa liked her large, puffy nipples but he did not like where she was starting to place her foot. At least she took off those boots first. 

"Okay, Mister Bad Man. I saw in your eyes that you knew right away what you did. You're gonna tell me all about that. And if you don't lie to me, and you behave yourself, you're gonna get a treat, okay?" she said, talking to him like he was a toddler. The red lipstick was making her look like such a bitch. He loved it. "It's time to confess."

"There was this guy in Romania, he was stealing from everyone. He was supposed to be distributing medicine and food, but he sold it. Made a huge mansion for himself while everyone starved. And his fucking daughter, she was a spoiled little whore." He grunted. Anita was stepping on his cock with one foot. He was still in his boxers. She kicked it from side to side and pressed down hard to see if she could coax him into getting hard. 

"What did this bad cock do to her?" Anita asked. She got down on her knees and hovered over his face. Since barely anything was covering her pussy, he could smell her. She smelled so good. 

"We… we fucked her. She loved fucking powerful men so they'd buy her designer clothes. We met her at a party, she knew who we were. We got all coked up. Sh-she wanted to, b-but—" he stammered. Anita started grinding her pussy on his face. He was tempted to try to get her naked by ripping off the fabric with his teeth, but he laid there submissively, taking her dominant stance while she pulled his hair. Anita paused and he took a deep breath. "We made her father watch from the other room. She didn't know. I had her on the bed, spanking that little ass on my lap. I turned her on her side so he could see me spread out her pussy. The little slut loved it…"

"What. Did. You. Do?" she said, rising a few inches and slapping him across the face multiple times.

"My boss came in," he choked. "She was so eager to please us. I held her by the hair. She let him shove his cock down her throat. Her eyes were wicked and pleased, but her father's…."-- I didn't care. Her tits were flopping out of her little dress. My boss told me to fuck her. I didn't care, I thought we were teaching her father a lesson!"

"Oh, so you thought…" she questioned him. "That you were being a good little vigilante, fighting evil, while you got that dick wet?" Her voice was nasty. She turned around and pulled down his boxers, but he couldn't see what she was doing. It scared him a little. But she had a nice juicy ass to look at. 

"Alright, I knew it was bad!" he yelled, trying to be compliant. "My boss told me to fuck that little pink pussy and I did. I tore off her panties. Her fucking five hundred dollar French lace panties that could have fed a family for a fucking year…" 

"I don't wanna hear about what THEY did," she sneered. Mischa could feel cool nylon rope being wrapped around his cock and balls. She jerked him off, forcing him to get hard as she wound her rope around each testicle. It made his brain want to explode.

"We were animals! AAAAA!!!" he yelled, feeling the rope go tight around his shaft. Suddenly, it made sense that some men removed their pubic hair. The rope was torturing each hair follicle. "She begged for it and I fucked her, right in front of her father, while she let my boss ram his cock down her throat. And I liked those sounds she made, screaming and moaning while her mouth was full of cock. It made me so hard, so I kept fucking her. 

"Then, Ayano wanted to trade. I slapped this girl's face with my cock while he spread out her asshole. He fucking laughed as she demanded he fuck her in her tiny ass. And I fucking loved it. When he was done, I finished too and came all over her face and tits. We threw her across the room like she was garbage!" he gasped and panted. Anita didn't do anything for a few seconds. Then, she released the rope. 

"And now? Now, you're sorry?" she said savagely. She put her face up close to his and wrapped her surprisingly strong fingers around his neck. 

"I'm so fucking sorry, Miss Anita," he told her sincerely. His brain still felt like it was short-circuiting.

"Say. It. AGAIN," she yelled in his face. 

"I'M SO FUCKING SORRY!!" he yelled back. He felt a lump in his throat that had nothing to do with being choked by a dominatrix. 

"Here's what we're going to do," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. Now, she reached down below and grabbed his cock roughly. "You are going to transfer two thousand dollars to the women's shelter downtown and if I hear you tried to cancel it or take it back, I'm going to cut off your balls." When she saw Mischa look confused, her eyes narrowed and her fingernails dug into his balls. "Oh, what's the matter? You don't like being extorted?"

Mischa would have smiled if he weren't fearing for his testes. He liked this woman. She was clearly not from Toronto. She sounded like a Puerto Rican girl he knew who lived in the Bronx. So fucking mean. 

"Yes, mistress. I'll do it. You want me to do it right now?" he asked. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. His heart hadn't stopped pounding for an instant.

"Do it," she sneered, releasing his neck. Mischa reached up to the end table behind them and grabbed his phone. He opened his banking app. "It's called Street Haven at The Crossroads," she told him through clenched teeth. She started to take off her nylons and her g-string. 

Mischa transferred four thousand dollars to them from his account and showed her the screen as proof. He was kneeling in front of her again, catching his breath. Anita gave him a sly grin when she saw the amount. 

"You're supposed to follow orders, Mister Bad Man. But I like it. Get yourself up on the couch," she said in a slightly kinder voice. Mischa slumped on to the couch, feeling exhausted. "You get a little reward now. Lie down."

Mischa did as he was told and watched as Anita put some oil on her hands seductively. Her hands firmly caressed his neck, shoulders, and chest.

"You're a good boy now, arencha?" she said in a soothing voice. This woman had to have some kind of massage training. She put pressure on different spots in a particular sequence that made him melt. Mischa couldn't begin to think about what she was doing. His mind was spent. She began massaging his erect penis. It came to life for her like she was some magical cock-whisperer. Soon, he could feel every vein in his cock popping out. 

Anita climbed on top of him in the sixty-nine position, placing her totally bare pussy a few inches from his face while she worked with his cock some more. It was a pretty pussy. Anita's fingers reached back and oiled it, spread it apart for him to see. He groaned. Those bitchy lips of hers were on his cock now. It felt amazing. After all that torture, his cock was warm and safe in her gentle mouth. Her tongue hugged its tip again and again while her lips ran up and down its ridges. 

He gazed lazily at her pussy. Her red fingernails spread open her tan, oiled pussy lips and he saw her delicate pink folds. She fingered herself carefully and slowly. She jiggled her juicy ass in front of him while she spread her pussy. Then, she put a shiny, oiled finger into her asshole. It didn't look like she was going to fit anything in there, but she did. His cock was so engorged in her hot mouth. He reached forward, dying to put his tongue right up her ass. He made contact for a nanosecond when he felt her slap his dick.

"FUCK!" he yelled sharply. He didn't think he had ever been smacked in the cock like that before. It was more painful than he imagined. Anita turned around. 

"You haven't earned a taste of my pussy yet, Mr. Mischa," she said with a wicked grin. "You gotta look but not touch for now," she said demeaningly. And, if she hadn't been giving him the best blowjob in recent memory, he might've been pissed. 

Mistress Anita continued to lick and gobble down his cock making sloppy, soothing sounds. She rested her pussy on his face and yelled at him some more. 

"You keep your tongue in your mouth. Keep it closed. I want you to taste me on your face for the rest of the day so you can dream of what it'll be like when I let you lick it," she said. Mischa was impressed that she thought of this tortuous yet arousing method. Her soft lips slid up and down his face. He had never wanted to put his tongue anywhere so badly in his entire life. "You look ready. You wish you could cum, Mr. Bad Man?"

"MmmmMMMMMmmmm," was all he could communicate. He felt like an ocean of semen was walled up in his balls now. Anita looked up at the clock across the room.

"You can cum now, baby," she said and enveloped his cock with her mouth again. Mischa ejaculated like a fire hose, but Anita could take it. She was a pro, after all. "Do you feel better now?" she asked him as she stood up. 

"Yeah," he admitted. He wished he could make a joke or something, but he was having a real mindfuck.

"You confess, you feel better. We do this some more and you're not going to be haunted anymore," she told him. "Unless you decide this is too difficult for you." Mischa stood up as well and put on his clothes quietly for a moment.

"I really hate talking about this stuff," he reflected, grabbing a sock off the floor and putting it on. "But I really enjoy cumming. So this will probably work." Anita smiled at him reluctantly.

"When should I come back?" she asked. They scheduled another appointment for next week, he gave her a wad of cash, and she kissed him on the cheek on her way out. 

"You did a great job, Mischa. I'll see you soon, okay?" she said sweetly. 

Mischa walked her out and returned to the couch in a daze. His chest felt loose. His shoulders rested lower than normal. He had never had an emotional experience like that in his life. For the first time, it felt like he would one day be able to stop hating himself for his past. He would forgive himself some day and allow someone to really love him. And he would love her back.

But he had no fucking idea what he was supposed to do with the rest of his evening.