The Russian Sleep Experiment Novels & Stories

She was non-judgmental, actually listened and had a quiet dignity about her. “I am fine,” I muttered as I got out of the ice box. Apparently,ice helped to preserve my genes and improve my metabolism, so I made it a habit of coming here to sleep. The DEN had been my new home for the past few days. “You have been sleeping in the cryochamber for weeks now,” Strahovsky said as she walked in with concern written on her face. “Your vitals are perfect and you are at the utmost peak of physical and mental cognition. You should sleep on a bed.”

Ruslan relieve the pain in his body. The deliciousness of Gabriel's massage coincided with Mr. Ruslan's fatigue, so much so that Mr. Ruslan fell asleep. "Pa? Are you sleeping?" asked Gabriel while looking at Mr. Ruslan's face. But there was no answer, so to make sure Gabriel waved his hand near Mr. Ruslan's face. The results showed that Mr. Ruslan was fast asleep. "I think papa is really asleep, what an opportunity," Gabriel muttered to himself.

It was such a fucking erotic sight, and her pupils, glazed and wide, dilated as she watched the ropes of semen drop on her skin, with that large palm pumping his monstrous cock furiously. The spurts of jism hit her face, stomach and tits, until he was spent, panting for breath above her, his cock flaccid. Elena felt boneless, physically exhausted and too stunned to utter a word. That was probably the reason she didn't protest when Mikhail gathered her in his arms, And burying his face in her neck, he sucked in a deep breath, and muttered, "Sleep, Elena." Like the program he had designed, her eyes fluttered shut, sleep luring her to its web.

Except for the sound of her falling apart in the dark. Her breathing hitches again. A cough. Then silence. A long one. My heart strains listening for the next breath, afraid it won’t come. I know she's asleep when I don't hear any hiccups, nothing but her muttering incoherent Russian like she does most nights. Sometimes, it's as if she's reciting her little shows, expressing some regret for enjoying them.

Not only because I’d built and dismantled things since I was five while living in Russia but because the things they’d done to me in the lab made it easier for me to pick something that didn’t require emotions I was the only one who’d picked it. I watched as my wife slept soundly like a baby, her chest heaving up and down as she burrowed her small body into me, her nose nuzzling into my neck with a contented sigh. I never liked people touching me let alone sleeping in my bed. But with her, I found it hard to let her go, or to sleep anywhere other than at her side I’d learned that about my body when I could barely close my eyes while on my last mission. There was something about the way she l

I take his advice and go back to bed, I would be dealing with all that later. I had no idea what made me sleep that much but I blame the leftover scotch I took and the fact that I was actually tired from doing actual work all week. The people Russo sent to get me ready were actually a team of elite designers and the way they called me ma’am at every point was even more alarming. I had no idea what this man had planned but they just got to work.

The subtle hum from the fridge in the next room grows louder as I start to fall asleep. “Hey, we can’t sleep yet. We have a lot to get done first.” I jump out of my skin, startled awake by Ruslan’s booming voice as it bounces off the exposed brick wall. “Holy shit, you scared me. I laid down to test out the couch and it ate me. It won’t happen again.” He smiles briefly before he approaches me, leaning over my body and bracing himself on the back for support. A spark of arousal overwhelms me, and I’m forced to reckon with the choice between giving in or making him wait for me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He stood up, walked to the window, then turned back slowly with a wicked grin. “I’m just saying... Igor has a bear in Siberia that acts a lot like you. Sleeps all day. Wakes up only if there’s salmon or honey. And bites anyone who dares to talk too early.” “Pascha Romanov,” I hissed, throwing a pillow at him.

My fingers splay over chiseled angular features, and my heart hammers in recognition. But before I can shove at him, he murmurs in his sleep. "Hazel... hmm...so pure..." My eyes widen in alarm and I attempt to lift his heavy arm away from my waist, yet this proves as a failure. He draws me closer to his hard chest while murmuring again in his sleep. "Hazel... I need you..." My face flushes with heat as my mind processes his sleep talk. I wondered what kind of dream he had about me. I try pulling away from him, yet that causes him to mumble something in Russian and roll over, pinning my body down by half of his weight.

Tyson woke up with a groan, his head feeling like it'd split open. Same nightmare as always. Same thing that haunted his dreams. It was always bad whenever he came back from Russia. This time it was worse. His hopes had risen so high, only to have it crushed into pieces. Back to square one. He pulled out a bottle of painkillers from the drawer, popped one and swallowed. Each trip to Russia drained him more than the last. As he stood in front of the huge panoramic windows of his bedroom, he stared into Manhattan's nightlife.