by Judith Gould
She did not reply, and he reached into his jacket pocket.
'I want you to wear this while I make love to you,' he said softly.
She looked down at his hand and gasped. He was holding a necklace of tiny bronze freshwater pearls with a huge chalcedony clasp. She moved her surprised gaze up to his eyes.
'Wear them while we make love at least,' he urged softly. 'It would please me.'
For a moment she just stood there; then she turned around and held her head high, exposing her neck. She could feel him draping the pearls around her throat, then clasping them shut.
'Ouch!' she exclaimed. 'They're so tight I can scarcely breathe!'
His breath was a whisper against her ear. 'Just the way I like it,' he said, giving the clasp a slight tug.
The pearls dug into her throat and her hand flew up to tug the necklace forward. She gasped for breath.
'You are very beautiful,' he said. 'Pearls suit you.' Then she felt his hand under her chin, gently turning her around and lifting her face to his. She stared deep into his eyes as his lips descended to hers.
She felt rooted to the carpet, afraid to encourage him, afraid to flee. Her heart was pounding. She had never gone to bed with a man behind Schmarya's back, and never been to bed with any other man. Not even with her lawful husband, his brother. But now I must, she thought. I must please Vaslav. He's used his power for Schmarya to escape the clutches of the Okhrana.
She forced her lips to part, forced her mouth to his, accepting his long soft kiss.
'Senda, how I want you,' he breathed softly, his words muffled by her lips.
She closed her eyes against the lull of his voice, letting it lap at the edges of her consciousness.
'I have waited so long for this moment. At last you are mine.' He kissed her deeper, more urgently, his mouth clamping down on hers in a fury of possessive passion, his tongue probing hers, tasting her mouth, her smooth pearly teeth.
For a moment she let herself succumb. Then her eyes flew open.
No! something inside her screamed suddenly as he pressed his hips against hers. Even through the restricting fabric of his trousers and multitudinous folds of her silk gown she could feel his swelling hardness pressing against her. The hardness which for Schmarya would be forever futile ... at least for its biological purpose, she couldn't help thinking.
'I need you so much,' he murmured, 'so very much . . .'
I don't want to be needed! she wanted to shout. I need to be loved!
His hips continued to grind against hers, and suddenly her heart slowed. A wave of stifling nausea surged through her. It was as if her blood was fired with bile. Her head swirled with a peculiar lightness, much like it had at the hospital after Schmarya had exposed his wounds to her.
I mustn't get sick, now, she pleaded with herself, clutching Vaslav's arms for support. Oh, God, if I do that...
But he misinterpreted her desperately clawing grasp as a sign of her passion, and he kissed her with renewed fury.
Her ears pounded while her blood surged madly. This is wrong! she wanted to cry out. I can't go through with it! Not after what they've done to Schmarya! I can't go to bed with a man, feel him in me . . . not after Schmarya's suffering. Not after they've made him a eunuch.
She tensed, feeling his hands tugging savagely at the bodice of her gown. Every muscle of her body drew taut, the marrow in her bones chilling. A sudden flash of heat boiled in her stomach, caused beads of sweat to stand out on her forehead. Then she heard the fabric tearing. Her breasts leapt free, the strawberry nipples erect and surrounded by gooseflesh. The night air rippled cool against her bare back.
A terrible voice inside her kept raging: You whore! Making love to this man after your lover's been castrated! Whore!
She struggled to twist out of his grasp, but his hands dug deeper into her flesh, made red depressions in her arms that hurt to her very bones. He jerked her closer to him, crushing her to his chest as he buried his tongue deep in her throat.
She made little whining noises, trying to pull away. 'Please,' she cried, trying to wrench herself out of his grasp, but the word was garbled, smothered by his intense lips. And all the while his fingers roamed, clutching her even more fiercely against the unyielding muscular flesh of his chest.
She could feel her body going faint.
Her lips were free at last, and they felt swollen and puckered. He bowed his head into her elongated neck now, his lips making little sucking noises. Her back arched and a million minuscule tremors crawled up and down her spine, tingled along her arms, danced ghostlike along her legs. Both his hands cupped her breasts, massaging them in circles, and then he massaged downward, rolling the gown to her hips.
It occurred to her that this was her last opportunity to draw back, to call an end to this travesty of lovemaking.
But I need him. Schmarya needs him desperately. When Schmarya is well enough to stand trial. . . well, it mustn't happen. That's why I'm doing this, Schmarya. For you.
And then, curiously, the nausea she had felt was replaced by a surge of lusty warmth. But she stood there resolutely, trembling, afraid to give in to it. It had been so long since she had slept with a man. She had almost forgotten what it was like to be held. The last time had been with Schmarya, just before he had left.
Vaslav slid a hand down to her groin. She could feel his smooth fingers gliding over her mound, seeking her womanhood.
She sucked in her breath and shivered in sweet agony, powerless to stifle the need rising within her. She could already feel the long-forgotten moistness welling up between her thighs.
Her hands moved, as though of their own volition, slipping inside Vaslav's open shirt, her fingertips crawling on the crisp, curly hairs of his chest, kneading his nipples.
Suddenly his arms blurred, and he tore the gown completely from her body. She let out a sharp cry as the fabric bit into her flesh before sliding to a useless heap at her feet. Effortlessly he ripped at her underwear, shredding it with a few concise tugs. She felt herself beginning to tremble all over, her mouth dry, the moistness between her legs increasing, running blatantly down her thighs. She felt naked, vulnerable, yet strangely excited in a way she could never remember ever having been before.
Without warning, he bent over, scooped her off the floor, and carried her to the bed like some sort of medieval conqueror bringing her to his altar. She felt herself bounce lightly on the mattress as he put her down, and she quickly slid around on the quilted blue-and-gold silk to face him, her breasts brushing against the sleek rich covers, her round, contoured buttocks feeling the slight chill in the air.
She felt herself go weak as he stripped himself to the waist in front of her, staring at her all the while, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue. She was unable to tear her eyes off his body. His chest was tantalizingly wide and taut, swathed with curly hair, and his muscles, burnished bronze from the dim bedside lamp, seemed moulded to his very bones. For such a large and strong man he was surprisingly lithe and slender and agile.
Her heartbeat was now an endless, quickening triphammer. Schmarya had always radiated a strong sexuality, an animal attraction, but suddenly Vaslav Danilov was the most irresistible man she could imagine. It was not only his body, but the power he wielded in everyday life, his self-confidence, his aloofness, his riches, his title.
He stepped casually out of his trousers, the sculptured planes of his face gleaming like bronze, his phallus huge and red and angry. She could only stare openmouthed at it. The size of his organ was fascinatingly shocking, all the more so because of the way he seemed to display it with such indifference, as though it were a casual threat. She could imagine it deep inside her, disappearing into the bush of her coppery hair, causing her insides to bubble and burst with shards of pleasure. Gone now was all memory of her earlier revulsion. Her face glowed lustily.
Totally naked now, he straightened his back and stared at her, and she felt herself drawn into his hypnotic, glittering gaze. She cau
ght her breath. Promises of a thousand pleasures glowed back at her.
Greedily her eyes swept him from head to toe. He was hairy. Besides his moustache and trimmed beard, short black hair swirled dark vortices on his chest and started again below his navel, spreading into a thick hairy scrotum. Shorter, curly hairs traced the curving furrow of his buttocks. He was like Schmarya in that way, although Schmarya was blond and his phallus was very curved. The Prince's, she could see, was ruler-straight, thicker, and came to a blunt end. When he entered her, it would be head-on and deep.
Tentatively she reached out to touch his phallus, but he slapped her hand away. She drew back, looking up at him with an expression of hurt, her eyes wide and frightened.
Without taking his eyes off her, he reached into the nightstand drawer and produced two long white silk scarves.
Her breathing grew quick and shallow as she wondered what they were for.
Wordlessly he took her hands, and before she knew what he was doing, he pressed her wrists together and wound one of the scarves swiftly around them several times in a tight figure of eight. His fingers nimbly knotted the ends.
She could only stare at her tied hands in frozen shock. Then she flicked a swift upward glance of apprehension at his face, but what she saw was not comforting. His eyes flashed with a bewilderingly sinister, merciless glint. With another swift motion he looped the second scarf around her bound wrists and jerked her arms back as he secured them to the bedrail. She shook in horror. Now she was completely helpless.
The entire procedure had taken him mere seconds.
The necklace around her throat made breathing difficult. She began struggling furiously to twist her wrists free, but the silk held. It was far too strong to tear.
A thousand fears flashed unbidden through her mind.
What was going on, she wondered, and why had he tied her hands like a captive? What did he have in mind? Maybe he liked to play these sorts of games, but she didn't. And what if . . . what if this wasn't a game? What if he intended to really hurt her?
Well, if he did, it was too late for her to struggle against it.
'Please,' she whimpered. 'D-don't do this to me. D-don't hurt me.'
Her pleading received no reaction from him, which only made everything seem all the more ominous.
'Oh, God.' The tears welled up in her eyes. What on earth had she gotten herself into?
Before she could come to grips with the situation, he swung himself up on the bed. She tensed and held her breath.
What was he going to do?
She felt herself growing red with anger, and she waited with bated breath. Waited for an opportunity to somehow wrench herself loose and escape. He squatted over her, straddling her belly with his legs. Her eyes followed his fingers as they slowly reached for her nipples. Then he squeezed the roseate nodules between his fingernails.
She let out a shriek. The pain was razor sharp, agonizing as fire. 'You bastard!' she screamed, writhing helplessly. Every nerve in her body screeched with hatred. 'You fucking bastard, I'm going to kill you!'
His fingernails pinched again in reply, cutting off her tirade with another wave of red-hot, excruciating pain.
'So I am a bastard, am I?' He grinned down at her.
She was flushed, breathing hard, and confused. 'Yes! I mean no!' She seemed to slump as the fight went out of her. 'Let me go,' she whispered wearily. 'I'm not enjoying this.'
'Ah, but we have just begun.'
She shut her eyes and sighed.
'There. That is much better.' He nodded, slid further toward her feet, and fingered her groin.
Despite herself, she shivered and moaned as he massaged her vulva with his hands. Then he spread her vagina with the tips of two fingers, closely studying the exposed moist purple clitoris. She moaned again as he suddenly stuck a finger up her anus while simultaneously stroking her moist labia.
'You are getting even wetter,' he marvelled softly. 'That is not so bad, is it?'
She shook her head, her eyes glazed over with an odd look. 'Be gentle?' she pleaded in a tiny voice.
He slid himself higher toward her face, straddling her chest with his knees. His huge phallus poked her nose and mouth. She found herself grimacing. Then, with one hand, he grabbed her behind the back of the head and savagely thrust his penis toward her mouth.
Involuntarily she clamped her lips shut against it before he could slide it into her mouth.
'Open up,' he commanded softly. 'I want you to eat me.'
She stared up at him, once again shaking her head.
He shifted slightly, making room to reach her nipples. Even as she felt his fingers tightening on them, she realized she must do as she was told. Swiftly she opened her mouth wide. For an instant her fear overwhelmed her; then he shoved himself deep inside her. For one long, terrible moment she felt her throat muscles quivering, and she thought she would choke. Her teeth tightened instinctively against the intrusion, and she heard his sharp yell.
'Bitch!' he hissed. 'Don't use your teeth!'
She immediately opened her jaw wider, and he slid partially out again, then thrust back inside, and his penis seemed to come alive within her.
He thrust his hips rhythmically against her face, using her throat mercilessly. She shuddered, half from fear and half from indulging in this forbidden pleasure. Schmarya had buried his face in her mound, licking her, but she had never taken a man in her mouth before.
It seemed to last forever. She lost all sense of where she was, what part of her body he was using. She became a forest of tingling nerves, and everywhere he touched her, she shivered and trembled.
Her initial anger fading, she submitted to him, sucking eagerly, her mouth making soft gurgling noises. As his thrusts quickened, she wondered if she felt violated ... or ecstatic? Could it be both?
And his penis was doing the impossible, growing thicker, harder, longer, pressing savagely into her mouth and out again.
Finally she could sense the shudders preceding his orgasm. She sucked even harder, but then, at the last moment, just before letting go, he withdrew from her mouth.
She lay there gasping, madly gulping for air. Her lips seemed swollen, her throat raw, her arms tingling sleepily from the constant strain of the silk bonds.
He poised himself, lifting her hips with his hands, and then he started to slide into her. She let out a yelp of surprise. For a moment she could scarcely breathe. He was so huge, so impossibly swollen that she was afraid she could not take him.
But then he was suddenly inside her as far as he could go. The sharp, piercing pain radiated inside her, stabbing throughout her belly.
He pulled back slowly, and the constricted feeling in her groin ebbed away with his movement, like a receding surf. Afraid that he would pull out completely, she clamped her wet insides against him, trying to trap him there through the sheer force of her vaginal muscles.
Slowly, deliberately, he began to thrust half in, and then out again. She shuddered and stared at his purposeful expression. His mouth was open, his face agonized, as though hurting from concentration, and a silvery thread of saliva formed on his lips and dripped down to her breasts.
She scissored her legs tightly around his buttocks, forcing him to enter her more deeply.
In response, he began to pump away at her in earnest.
It was nothing like anything she had ever experienced before. She knew that this mating ritual had nothing to do with love, but it was as intense a lust as lust could get. He was like a man possessed. With his every thrust, she could feel his scrotum bouncing against the cleft of her splayed thighs.
And he seemed indomitable, pumping on forever, relentlessly pounding himself into her, stopping if his passion threatened to burst forth, and then continuing on as it subsided. His skin was sheathed with a veneer of glistening sweat.
She had never known anything like it.
She closed her eyes, giving herself over completely to the warm friction of his manhood, to this pleasure
which seemed to have no beginning, no end. She felt as if she could go on like this forever. Her entire body was filled with it, and she forgot the cramps in her bound arms and the constriction of the tight necklace. In fact, she began to enjoy her helplessness.
On and on he savagely assaulted her open thighs, jolting her with each inward thrust.
Then suddenly she let out a cry. Stars seemed to burst behind her closed eyelids, pin wheels spun wildly, the sweat dripping down off him seemed to hiss and sizzle and spark on her skin like drops of water falling into hot oil. Wave after wave of numbing, crashing orgasm rolled through her, repeating like a mad symphonic crescendo with no end.
And still he continued.
'Please!' she whimpered. 'Please, please, give it to me! Hurt me, Vaslav, hurt me!'
Her voice took on the hellish chant of obscenity, each word punctuated by a thrust of his pummelling hips.
'More . . . oh, yes, more, more, harder, harder!'
And then he let out a savage howl. She opened her eyes and squeezed him tighter into her scissoring legs. His body bucked, jerked, and he thrust so deep into her that she cried out in pain, and then he clung to her as if for dear life and she could feel him spouting inside her.
It was as if a dam had burst, and her own last shuddering orgasm sent her wetness to mingle with his.
This time, she did not refuse his gift. When she left the house in the early hours of the morning, she wore the pearl necklace home.
And every time she saw him in the weeks that followed, he presented her with another jewel, each more priceless than the last. But they all had one thing in common: they were tightly constricting necklaces or bracelets. Never rings or brooches. Never earrings. Whether diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, or rubies, gold or platinum, they were all, in one way or another, symbols of his power over her. Slave collars and slave bracelets.
And she found herself hungering for even more of his twisted passion.
Chapter 17
'And if I don't want to leave?' Schmarya's voice was low. 'What happens if I decide I like Russia?'
