“For your information, young lady, the things I intend to do to you are hardly appropriate for children.”
She watched mesmerized as he took off the suit jacket, gray pinstripes today, and rolled up the sleeves of his blue polyester shirt. “Oh, really? And what do you call an over-the-knee spanking, then? Something grownup?”
Simon laughed dryly as he bent to unzip the long black pool cue case he’d brought up from the car. “We’re quite a bit past the point of spankings, my dear.”
Merritt turned suddenly pale as he produced the long, thin stick. It was bamboo, almost exactly like the device Ileana had used on the subjugated Becca. “And what exactly do you intend to do with that, may I ask?”
Simon took a tentative swipe in the air. The whistling sound cut through Merritt’s already brittle nerves. “I intend to beat you with it,” he said non-chalantly. “Quite severely, in fact.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Not by a long shot. I’m drawing a line, here, Simon. Either get out now, or I’m going to phone the police.”
“There’s a splendid idea. Why don’t you begin with your good friend Colonel Ladislak?” He proceeded to unzip the black gym bag, pulling out a set of long leather straps complete with buckles and cuffs. One by one he laid the nasty looking things on the desk. “He’s already given me a full report on you, trust me.”
“I hate you,” cried Merritt, lifting the lamp off the nightstand to throw it at him.
“That’s your choice, Merritt.” He was looking her square in the eye, dangling a tiny black harness with a red rubber ball in the middle. “Now how about if we get down to business? This is a ball gag to stifle the screams. It tends to cause drooling and the taste is a little on the bitter side, but I’m afraid it’s not negotiable.”
“You come near me,” she threatened, waving the lamp, “and I will clobber you with this.”
He took a step forward, holding out the noisome gag. “You can try. But it wouldn’t do you any good. It’s going to happen, Merritt, just the way I intend. One way or the other, the dress and underwear come off, and you go into naked bondage. While you are in that bondage, you will be caned without mercy. You will fight it with every fiber of your being, but you will lose. Afterwards, with tears in your eyes, you will beg my forgiveness.”
Merritt felt her eyes watering already. As angry as she was, he was confusing her, his stern looks and words discomfiting her more than she cared to admit. “You have no right,” she defied.
He took the lamp from her hand and set it down on the floor at her feet. “Open your mouth for me, Merritt. It’s time for you to taste the ball.”
She stamped her foot impotently. “You can’t make me, Simon.”
His gaze narrowed. “Open your mouth,” he repeated. “Wide.”
Merritt obeyed, though the protest was registered all over her face. Rutledge popped the foul little thing between her lips. It was dry and tasted like dirty cotton.
“Turn around,” he commanded.
Merritt rotated, allowing him to buckle the straps behind her head. He made no effort to free her hair, but cinched the device right over her lovely locks. At once, she felt a line of spittle running down the corner of her mouth. It was impossible to swallow just like he’d said.
“Hands on your head, girl, and legs apart."
He tore the tiny silk panties from her hips, having first slid the tight dress up to her waist. Merritt felt hot chills up and down her spine as he ran his hand over her quivering cheeks. “This will change you,” he warned her with rare gentleness. “Punishment always does.”
There was no answering him now, no resisting as he took the edge of a switchblade and began cutting a line down the seam of her dress from under her armpit down to her thigh. It wasn’t like she’d ever wear this again, she stiffened, but still, a woman had rights.
Merritt moaned into her gag as she felt the tickle of the knife blade. If he wished, he could cut her. Repeating the action on the other side, he turned the dress into two non-attached panels, both of which fell away to the floor.
“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered, his breath burning her earlobe. “Is that what you dreamed of when you went out tonight? Having a man take complete control of you? Don’t try to hide it—it’s written all over your body.”
She drew a ragged breath as his hands began to play over her. She wanted to resist, wanted to respond, but she could do neither.
“You’ve a beautiful body, Merritt. It’s a shame no one owns you.”
Thrusting back her head, she offered herself, back arched, nipples pointing skyward, dripping, gleaming cunt throbbing with silent need. With teasing, needling little fingers, he worked his way over her belly, making her writhe. It was like torture, every few seconds a new sensation, combined with the steady dripping of her saliva onto her tits, a steady stream.
“Are you ready?” he nibbled at her neck. “To be beaten?”
He had to hold her up because she was shaking, conveying to him the paradox, the terror and need, the craving for his power having reached a mind blowing crescendo. Simon was ready for this, and he laid her out over the varnished desk chair. Using the straps and cuffs, he secured her ankles to two of the legs, then bent her at the waist over the back of the chair, securing her hands to the other two legs.
Merritt’s breasts were crudely squashed on the back of the varnished wooden seat. Her hair hung down unceremoniously, and the blood was rushing to her head. Worst of all, her throbbing cunt was poking straight up at the bastard, as were her defenseless arse cheeks.
“Pain by itself,” he lectured, squeezing her ready cheek, “is nothing compared to the mixture of pain and pleasure together.”
Merritt bucked against the chair. She did not want his fingers inside her. Not now, not when he was about to abuse her this way. In just a few seconds, however, he had her straining for his touch, responding like a trained slut.
“Good girl,” he murmured, massaging her arse even as he made her other cheeks crimson with shame. “Now if only we could instill this kind of obedience in you the rest of the time.”
He left her, seconds passing like knife blades. Her ears strained to hear, dependent on him now for everything. Was he gone? Would he leave her like this?
She called his name, just another meaningless whimper from a bound and gagged girl.
“Miss me,” he teased.
He was sliding the cane feather light up the back of her leg. She closed her eyes. The bastard was really going to make her need this, wasn’t he? When he got to her second leg, she was a wreck. It was cruel, really, because all he wanted was to break her defenses down and leave her wide open.
“This is going to hurt you, worse than it will me.”
Bamboo cracked on skin, merciless, like fire, exploding in a central place and pouring itself out in all directions. If not for his hand on her back centering her, she might have lost herself to the sensations entirely. As it was, she was still fighting not only the world of hurt he’d just put her in, but also her own desires, a lust all too easily fueled by the knowledge that she was in submission, having willingly surrendered to corporal punishment again.
“You will orgasm at my touch. Then I will strike you again.”
She shook her head violently, but Simon paid her no heed. With cruel precision, he stroked her clitoris, overriding her body’s refusal mechanisms, sending her in under the radar to a body-rocking climax. The undeniable evidence of her acquiescence pained her worse than the cane. How could she ever face the man as anything close to an equal after this?
“As I told you before, discipline instilled now could save your life later. You’re in over your head, little girl. Way over your head.”
The cane whistled once more through the air, finding its target with merciless accuracy. Merritt felt as if her flesh were ripping open, and yet she knew there was no real break in her skin. Welts, yes, and bruises. She’d seen as much on the arse of the hapless Becca.
Simon follo
wed up with another pass at her cunt with his wicked fingers. “Some women were born to be slaves. Do you believe that, Doctor Fisher? Do you think there are females who are not content unless their bodies are under lock and key, at the beck and call of strong men? I ask you as a student of history. You know what it was like in Belok’s day, and what it’s like now.”
The magic fingers withdrew, leaving Merritt at the edge of a precipice. Uselessly, she wailed into her gag, begging completion.
“You’d like to come again, Doctor Fisher? Show me then. Let me see what an eager little slut you are.”
Merritt worked her body as best she could against her bonds. Pushing up on her well-exercised stomach, she raised her arse and cunt as high as she could. It was not the action of a lady, and she knew it. A slut, the kind of woman who got turned on when a man tied her down and beat her.
If only she could touch herself, even for a moment, she could finish herself off, but Simon wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted frustration and tears, he’d told her as much. And he would get them.
Merritt jerked in her cuffs as he caned her yet again. It was a cruel blow, delivered low to the back of her thighs. She was breaking out in a cold sweat now, a sharp contrast to the warm sex juices trickling down her inner thighs.
How she wished she could beg him or strike a bargain. What Ileana had said of their sex was obviously true. When faced with punishment or torture, the instinct of woman is to sexually submit, offering up her favors to appease and promise. It is not only the male’s lust that drives her, but her own innate needs as well.
The more brutal the man, the more thorough and unreserved is the female’s willingness, for it is her instinct to yield, her greatest single desire to be at the feet of one strong enough to keep her there. Simon hit her twice more, than paused to observe the results of his work.
“There is nothing more beautiful on a woman, Merritt,” he ran his hands over the vicious welts, “than the marks of her capitulation.”
She bit down on the ball, attempting as best she could to externalize the pain.
He stroked her glistening lips. “A pity you’re off limits. You’d give a man a fine ride.”
Merritt shook her head. She didn’t understand. Why off limits? Why would a man who’d mastered her so thoroughly deny himself anything where she was concerned? It wasn’t as if she could resist him even if she wanted to. She would welcome him into her cunt, wet and eager, her desire beckoning him into her very soul at the same time he took her captive body.
“Unfortunately,” he continued, wiping his come soaked hands on her back. “We need you pure to serve as bait.”
Bait? What sort of game was the man playing at now? If only she could dislodge this oral plug, lift herself upright and give the man a piece of her mind.
Simon slapped her arse, sending her into orbit, making her forget her momentary resolve. “I’m going to let you up now, Merritt. You will kindly go to the bed and assume a position on all fours facing the headboard, thereby affording yourself the opportunity to show me what a good girl you’re going to be from now on. Otherwise, it’ll be back over here for another round.”
Merritt was too weak to stand. He had to help her up off the chair. Gratefully, feeling infinitely more comfortable this way, she let him lower her to the floor on her hands and knees. Across the carpet she went, inflamed ass throbbing and hurting, the bed a million miles away. What could possibly be waiting for her on the bed but more of the same suffering and dark torture? Show him, she’d said. That sounded like sex, but he’d just gotten through saying he wasn’t allowed to use her.
What did he mean then?
A wave of indignation flashed through her as she crawled up onto her own bed. How dare he? Why should she prove anything? To the center she went, palms and knees statically charged, rubbed to high alert by the soft material of the bedspread. What a sight she must make for him. Her tiny body in the middle of the huge mattress, helplessly exploited and ready for more.
“You are a natural, Merritt.” His hand was at the back of her knee. He might as well have struck her with the cane for the explosiveness of her response.
“Steady, girl,” he sought to control her writhing. “I want to remove the gag.”
The gag. A line of drool running from her jaw to the bed. Her mouth aching, holding the form dictated by the cruel ball, her speech, her very right to swallow having been stolen. Reduced to little more than an animal, communicating in grunts. Trading off the pain of the stick for the pleasure of sex stimulation.
“You’re a little wildcat, aren’t you?” he worked the straps at the back of the head harness. “I’ll bet your little friend from customs is, too.”
Merritt stiffened. How did he know about that? He’d had some kind of contact with Colonel Ladislak, that much was clear, but what was the relationship, and whom did he work for really? Was he a protector or just another enemy, someone watching her stumble and fall, not preventing anything, only intervening for his own jollies?
“For the rest of our session you will refer to me as master.” Simon informed her, popping the ball from between her lips.”
“Fuck you,” sputtered Merritt Fisher, surprising herself with the vehemence of her initial reaction. “Master.”
“Ah,” sighed Simon, seeming not entirely displeased as he reached for her sweat soaked, limp hair. “So we have uncovered a layer of true resistance, have we?”
Merritt’s head was drawn back painfully. He could at this moment kill her all too easily. The slightest motion of his wrist being all it would take to snap her neck clean.
“The conventional thing to do would be to continue with a fresh beating,” he mused. “Personally, I enjoy being a little more creative.”
Creative. Wasn’t that how Karisvan characterized the torture methods of Belok?
Merritt’s heart quickened as she felt the man’s weight behind her. She could hear the sound of his zipper. Was he going to fuck her after all? Had she goaded him into forcing her true submission through vaginal penetration after all?
“You’ve gotten quiet again. Don’t you intend to berate me anymore,” he touched her cunt with his hand, scooping a full measure of the thick juice moistening her legs.
“No, master,” she shuddered.
“I meant what I said, girl. I won’t possess you this way. But there is another option open to me.”
He released her hair and pressed his palm on the small or her back. Oh, God, he was working his fingers into her anus, using her own juice to lubricate the tiny, puckered hole.
“You’ll do best to relax entirely, Merritt. Don’t think about it too much, or you’re liable to panic.”
He was going to fuck her in the arse.
“Simon…master, I can’t…”
“You can and you will.”
The erection poised at the juncture of her buttocks was enormous. Thick and proud and pulsing, exactly as she’d imagined the man to be. But she mustn’t want him, mustn’t crave the sensation of being filled and violated. This man was untrustworthy. He intended to use her as bait, and he’d already humiliated her at every turn, punishing and wounding her pride. So much for his supposed protection.
Yet there was a bond between her and Simon. They were both foreigners here, both from English speaking countries, outsiders to the strange ways of Zuravia.
“But I’m afraid. It’s so big.”
He eased his way forward, hands on her hips. “Don’t appeal to my mercy. This is supposed to be punishment.”
Punishment. An imposed taking. The invasion of reddened, exploding buttocks. Here he’d just caned her and now she was sidling up, attempting to make it easier for her own penetration.
“So…big,” she echoed her own words.
He snaked a finger into her sex. “You’ll take me all the way, and I’ll be coming inside you, so it will get rough.”
“Yes, master,” she hissed, conspiratorially.
Merritt thought of the other girls she’d encou
ntered recently. Mariana would take a penis like this. Marco’s or that of any man to whom he gave her. She would have done this for Simon, too, had he asked. And Becca, surely there were men who used her in the arse? What about Dr. Karisvan? Did he make such use of his pretty, efficient little secretary?
And who was Rebecca, exactly? Could she really have been the girl from Merritt’s dream? Quite an odd coincidence. Unless she’d somehow seen her before and worked the memory into her vision of Belok’s court. Or was there another, more sinister explanation? Could it be that Becca had been imprisoned in the dream just as she had? That would mean that Belok was more than a ghost. He would have to have powers, a reality apart from her memory.
How often she’d stared at the pictures of the Dark Prince in her father’s old book. He’d been real to her. Strangely drawing her towards him at a young age. As a teenager, when her own sexuality had come to fruition, she’d dreamed of the Prince. In fact—and this was something she’d never told anyone—it was Belok who filled her thoughts the first time she masturbated. With his dark features, lean muscles and the blue eyes like the sky and sea, but so very pale.
A color unto themselves. Merritt recalled her father telling her quite young that the Greeks had a word for a color unknown to modern men. It was somewhere between green and blue, roughly the color of a robin’s egg. It was a living hue for them, a carved portion of the spectrum unique to their experience. That’s how she saw Belok’s eyes, only with him it was not a life force, but the very opposite.
She’d thought long and hard about those eyes, and the truth is, she’d been terrified but also attracted to them. Like a small child fascinated by something scary. Like a teenage girl drawn to a horror movie, so she can cling to her boyfriend and scream into his shoulder. Was Simon the boyfriend in her analogy? Or Petrok? Maybe Ladislak. Certainly he seemed to be no friend either of Belok or his modern day cultists.
“All the way,” Simon grunted.
Merritt felt as if she would split wide. The cock was swelling inside her. His hands were bruising her hips, he was pushing her forward, forcing her to lock her muscles to stay upright. There was no resisting, nowhere to go forward or back. Merritt was being taken, and that was that.
Belok's Bride Page 11
