“Yes, Simon.” she corrected herself.
“This is for your own good,” he struck her again. “It is the discipline I instill in you that will save your life one of these days.”
Merritt bit her lip, gulping down the sensations. “Simon,” she whimpered, using the name in a way they both knew was the equivalent of ‘sir.’ “I can’t stand the pain.”
He struck her thrice more then buried his fingers back inside her, the tip of one smoothing her clitoris. “Actually, I rather think it turns you on, young lady. Isn’t that so?”
“Yesss,” she gasped, finding no quarter from his probing touch. “I don’t know why, but it does.”
“You’re wired that way. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Merritt thrust her arse up against his hand, begging more. “Oh, Simon, you don’t know how I’ve felt all day. There was this girl at the airport. She was with her boyfriend. I think she was his slave. He spanked her arse to make her obey and I got so wet watching. And then the colonel…he told me things…”
“Do not come yet. I forbid it.”
Merritt stilled herself, a chastised female. “Yes, Simon.”
How scandalous to be obeying a man, to be letting him dominate my body, she thought. Scandalous, but sexy as hell. Like being held on the edge of a razor, her pleasure sensors being slit open. She couldn’t endure much more of this, he had to know that.
Simon patted her sore posterior, casually, possessively, ignoring for the moment the raging fire he’d created between her legs. “On your knees, girl.”
Merritt slid to the floor, intensely aware of her own nakedness. Her every nerve fiber intensely alive she looked up at him, awaiting his next command. She could feel herself slipping into another world, a world of pleasure-giving where strong men took all a woman had to give and then some. It was Colonel Ladislak's world. And Belok’s world. In such a world, women waited for the privilege of climaxing.
“Come closer.”
Merritt slid till her kneecaps touched the toes of his shoes.
Simon reached for her nipple. “Powerful forces will vie for possession of you, Merritt. You must be prepared.”
She moaned as he rolled the tiny pink nub between thumb and forefinger. “Simon, please, I need you. Inside me.”
“I want you to get out your suitcase and empty the contents on the bed.”
Merritt’s crotch flared at the personal violation he was proposing. “But those are my private things.”
Simon turned her moans to instant whimpers with an expert tightening of his grip. “When I tell you to do something, girl, you will not question me, is that clear?”
“Yes, Simon,” she winced, the pain tearing through her languid body, sending fresh ripples of desire radiating out from her tortured nipple.
The pain focused her thoughts. She remembered the nipple clamps on the breast cage. It was said Belok’s prisoners wore them for weeks at a time as they languished naked and chained in his dungeon. So merciless was he that even Vistya herself had spent time in the dark bowels of his castle.
“Go,” he released her.
Her tit throbbing, her buttocks stinging from the fresh blow, Merritt retrieved her small suitcase. She’d intended to bring more for her trip, but it had struck her as a recklessly wild and wonderful idea to buy her clothes here, whatever struck her fancy. If she liked, she’d leave it all behind when she left, too.
Her hands trembled as she unzipped it, knowing that among the contents were things that would reduce her in Simon Rutledge’s eyes to something lower that what she already was.
“Be quick about it, girl. I haven’t all night.”
His displeasure lashed at Merritt like the cords of a whip. It chilled her to the bone, because she realized that she could not bear to disappoint such a man as this, ever. “It’s just that I have a few sensitive things…intimate things.”
“Turn the bag over, Merritt, empty it completely.”
She did so. The ten-inch dildo and handcuffs landed near the top of the pile, along with the tiny vibrator. She’d bought both items on a whim at a sex shop on her way to the airport. She’d been early for her flight and had extra time. She wasn’t sure why she’d gone in, but she knew that it thrilled her the way the men looked at her when she did. The way they must have thought of her as a dirty little whore who needed fake cocks and who wanted to be chained up and fucked.
“I—I’ve never even used them,” she explained.
“Separate out all of the items by category,” he ignored. “Clothing, under garments, toiletries. Identify each item as you encounter it.”
“Panties,” she began, her mouth and hands numb. “Red silk, and a matching bra.”
Simon made her inventory the lot, including the sex toys. He made no particular comment over these, except to ask whether she had batteries for the vibrator. She told him she did, her face bright crimson. For a split second she imagined him humiliating her further, forcing her to use it on herself in his presence, in order to show what a whore she was. Maybe he’d have her cuff her hands together in front, so she could fuck herself while in bondage.
When she was done, he ordered her to come back to him on her hands and knees.
She did so, her cunt throbbing with renewed need. There was mistaking the relationship now. This was submissive behavior. Slave behavior.
“You say you bought the sexual items just before taking this trip?”
Her pussy was dripping wet. “Yes,” she whispered, feeling like a naked pet, ready to be collared and leashed.
“And that you’d never before had a notion to do such a thing?”
Merritt nodded.
“You’ve had dreams as well, haven’t you? Dreams of Belok?”
There was no way she could get away with a lie. Not as much as he’d exposed her. “When I was a teenager. It was from the books, my father’s books, I suppose. There were women in them, on the rack, being sexually abused. It gave me nightmares.”
“But more recently, as well. Today, in fact.”
Not waiting for an answer he ordered her to kneel up, legs spread, hands behind her neck. Merritt obeyed. The position was exquisite torture, making her feel completely vulnerable, needy and hornier than she’d ever been in her life. If she’d thought it would do any good, she would be at his feet begging him to end her virginity.
Simon regarded her for several moments before speaking. “The resemblance is uncanny. You could be her double.”
“Whose double?” she blurted.
“Silence, girl. Enough questions.”
“Yes, Simon,” Merritt said meekly, tiny ripples of submissive joy passing through her chastised soul.
The Italian girl, she thought. I am responding just as she did when her lover became harsh and domineering. Where was the sexy little creature now, Merritt wondered, and what was she doing? Was the dark haired boy loving her softly or was he taking her hard, giving her a mix of pleasure and pain to suit her obviously submissive nature?
“There are no surviving portraits of Vistya,” Simon was saying, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his captive was arching her back, subtly offering herself to be used. “Belok ordered every image of his bride destroyed. He was quite thorough in such matters.”
Merritt knew this, of course. Along with the legend that he drained all the blood from her body, having first made a pact with the devil. By drinking the life fluid of his own wife, he was to have achieved immortality. The bargain seemed to have run out prematurely, as Belok was killed just three years into his reign of terror, having been assaulted on all sides by a combined army made up of a dozen surrounding kingdoms and fiefdoms.
Thirty-eight months of impaling, burning at the stake and enslavement of young females was more, it seemed, than even the bloodthirsty medievals could stand.
“You could be Vistya's twin,” he told her, his fingers gripping the armrest of the chair. How strange, she thought, that the man had not yet removed the open trench coat. She longed to see him
in the flesh. With his sinewy neck and powerful moves, he was obviously well muscled and lean of form.
Merritt licked her lips. If he were to command it, she would lie on the floor, her legs open to receive him. As it was, everything she had to offer was visible to the eye, her delicate, pink lips as ill concealed beneath the fine yellow fleece, as were her throbbing nipples. Sucking her lower lip, wondering why he wasn’t taking the opportunity to make love to her, she waited. She was curious, wanting her questions answered, but he’d forbidden her to speak unless spoken to.
“She loved him unconditionally, of course. Though he sported with dozens of slaves, she never lost her devotion. Nor did she complain when, out of jealousy, he kept her confined to her room, her ankle tethered by a golden shackle and chain to the bed. For the last six months of her life, she never left that room.”
But how? she wanted to know. How could he know things not in the history books or any of the records? How could he have the foggiest idea what the prince’s bride had looked like?
His next words ripped through her like a hot knife. “Belok is coming for you. He has been cultivating you a long while…your whole life, probably. Who knows, perhaps, you are her reincarnation. Shame on us for not seeing this sooner. Now we must deal with the end game.”
Merritt read the dread determination, and behind it desire.
“Simon?” she whispered, seeking to engage him.
“Touch yourself for me,” he commanded. His voice was dry and brittle, as if carrying on some desert wind across the desert. “Pinch your nipples.”
Merritt obeyed, pinching the tiny nubs for him. Arching her back still further, she begged his rough attention. More than anything she wanted to be thrown to the floor and had.
Simon’s eyes swirled. There were worlds in those emerald depths, uncharted, terrifying ones. “Touch your pussy. Play with yourself,” he ordered, his voice an irresistible force.
Merritt’s breathing was quick and heavy. Her fingers found their way between moistened lips, the wetness thick and warm over her hand. She was beside herself, raw, burning to the point of explosion. Seeing him so close and not being able to touch. “Simon, let me—“
He grabbed her by the hair. She’d been about to open his zipper. Her precipitous action had broken the spell. Gone was the faraway look in his eyes. The promise of something transcendent.
He’d nearly succumbed, but something had held him back. Duty, perhaps? Or guilt? Would she ever hope to understand a man such as this, whose life work was born of such deep childhood pain?
“Go to bed,” he rose to his feet. “Lay under the covers and sleep. Get plenty of rest because you’ll need it. In the morning they will send a car for you from the Institute. Go and do what you came for, but remember my warnings. Trust no one, reveal nothing and guard your every thought from intruders. Obey me in all things and when you are done for the day, you’ll come straight back here, is that clear?”
She lay at his feet, shattered, sweat covered, her body betraying itself, her sex fragrant and ripe, her flesh screaming out to be raped. “Yes,” she offered piteously.
***
Merritt curled beneath the covers, the air conditioner at full blast. She was both hot and cold, shivering with unspeakable need. Her poor, tiny body felt spurned, utterly defeated and given over to the terrors of loneliness. It was the one thing she’d structured her life to avoid. Ever since she was a little girl and had begun to sense that her father kept girls for himself, playthings helpless to his games, she had determined she would never need a man, never rely on anyone.
That was what her research was for. Her carefully ordered academic life. How quickly it had come to ruin. Just one day—one long and endless twenty-four hour period, from her trip to the Sex Emporium all the way to her aborted sexual surrender to Simon Rutledge—that was all it had taken. Her head swam with the possibilities, the confusions. Men’s faces, their leers and wicked intents filling her fevered brain. Vonya and Timor, their animal-like lust and enthusiasm nearly ending her virginity. The colonel, with his surreal threats and stories of enslaved females, writhing behind bars in chains, serving the lusts of guards and prisoners alike.
And Simon. Enigmatic and infuriating Simon.
Sleep, she craved sleep. She wondered what time was it back home in sunny California where she lectured her classes, binding her breasts in sports bras, relying on loose tops and skirts to confine the lush sexuality with which nature had cursed her. How she hated to see the leers, the dilated pupils, knowing that no matter how hard she tried to keep her lectures focused on the subject matter, the young men were seeing only her body and its latent possibilities.
She could read it in their eyes. The well-hung, muscled jocks longing to come after their sexy little teacher, forcing her up onto her desk, shoving their hands inside her clothes and into her waiting orifices. Many a night she lay awake in terror, fearing that they would one day see in her own eyes that she was more than ready. Her nipples swelling at the sight of their biceps and lean stomachs, her knees weakening as she thought of what was between their legs and how they could so easily make her a slave to their most base desires.
It was no help that her job was to recreate in their minds that faraway time when men ruled with iron and leather and females cringed, their bodies mere property. What a pity it was that these strapping youths, heroes of the gridiron and the baseball diamonds were deprived of the essence of their manhood. Modern society forced their restraint, stuffing down their throats an ethic of hypocritical equality between the sexes.
Just once she wished there could be some modicum of honesty. That some young buck could come up to her after one of her lectures and say, “Professor Fisher, you’ve given a me a raging hard on today. The way your arse moves under that skirt, the way your tits swell against your blouse. You’ve made me horny as hell. Now what do you intend to do about it?”
“I’ll do whatever you tell me to,” she’d reply. “I only await your orders…sir.”
She’d wait for the information to process in the lad’s mind, for the initial shock to wear off. “All right, then. Let’s get your mouth down here on my prick for starters, and we’ll take it from there.”
Merritt would slip from her shoes and go to him, barefoot, sinking to her knees. “I am yours. Use me as you wish, my lord.”
One hand in her hair, making her wince, the other at his fly, he’d make her the promise she craved to hear. “I shall, slave, I shall.”
Merritt knew her dreams were dirty, unnatural and quite probably would one day get her fired. Once and for all, she hoped this trip would cleanse her system. The dildo was on the nightstand and so were the handcuffs. Simon had said nothing about not using them. So what about masturbating? Had he forgotten to forbid it? He’d seemed so suddenly beside himself at the end, all his earlier cool shattered. Perhaps it was an oversight. What secrets, she wondered, was he hiding and why didn’t he just make love to her the way they both wanted? Merritt clenched her small fists, willing her body not to move, willing it not to feel and not to need.
A futile exercise at best.
“Yes, entirely futile,” came the confirmation, the voice, the thought not her own.
Something cold gripped at Merritt’s insides, but when she strained to reach it, to feel it with her own sensory apparatus, she registered only searing, agonizing heat. “Who is there?” she called out into the empty darkness. “I warn you, I have a gun,” she grabbed the dildo, “and I’m not afraid to use it.”
The voice chuckled, showing that for a medieval ghost, he was well enough versed on the twenty-first. “Is that what you call it, my dear?”
“You keep away!” She sat up, gathering the blankets about her naked body like a cloak. “I’ll scream for the police.”
Not that she had much confidence in them, either.
“Hush,” soothed Belok. “Why do you struggle, my little Vistya? I have come to rescue you. Let me in, and we will fly away together.”
Vistya. He was addressing her in the name of his dead wife. The murdered princess, long ago transformed to the saintly mother of her people.
“No more fighting, little one,” he hissed like a slow, enchanting reptile. “You know what it is you must do for me.”
Merritt reached for the metal bracelets. What the voice wanted her to do next was sheer insanity. How would she escape afterwards? How would she—
The lash of Belok’s mind cut short her protests. Through the blanket without physical contact, he cut at her skin, whipping and beating her like a cur.
She squealed, twisting her naked body on the mattress, finding no relief in any position. “I will obey. I accept your will and sovereignty over my body and soul.”
It was a formulaic saying, the wording unlike anything that would ever have occurred to Merritt’s own mind. Fevered, confused, limbs trembling, she put herself into the required bondage, cuffing her wrists to the center bar of the brass head rails. Moaning, she pulled at her hands. She’d chained herself to her own bed and now there was no escape.
“What have I done?” she squirmed on the bed, turning herself about to pull irrationally at the links.
“Nothing that is not meant to be. Do you think it an accident you purchased these items for your trip? It was I. I was there. As I have always been. From the beginning.”
“No! It’s not possible! I refuse to believe!”
“Silence, female!” Roared the voice of the dead prince. “On your back, lie still, open your legs to me and bind tight your incessant mouth.”
Merritt ceased all resistance, the force of his mind like a hand, covering the whole of her body. The fingers were tendrils that sought her sex, entering, conquering and possessing. The pressure radiated everywhere, beginning with a tickling, nagging at the fringes of her frayed nerves. All too quickly, however, it began to spike.
“My lord,” she gasped, her eyes wide with wonder, “are you…?”
“Am I inside of you? Not yet, my little slave. For now you must settle for the vibrations of my unseen fingers. But soon, soon, little bird, you will be mine. I shall fill you and come inside you and when I do, we will be one…I will be reborn and we will rule together…forever.”
Belok's Bride Page 5
