“Submit,” demanded her user, requiring her to slither to him on her belly, her body wracked with pain.
Merritt felt the terror now of her isolation. Other than Honey, who was sucking the German’s cock, she was the only one still sitting, still clothed.
“Submit,” the medallioned man echoed, this time speaking to the entire group of females.
Their response was rapid, lovely and servile. How she hated these sluts, licking and laying, blatantly spreading, especially the busty blonde with the way she writhed on her back, lifting herself for Simon. So far, however, the treacherous agent was like stone, polite, distant and seemingly oblivious to the sexy slave, her body right there for the taking.
Merritt cast him a questioning glance, giving him a chance to say or do something reassuring, but he just sat there, staring right through her like she wasn’t even there. More riddles, she thought with disgust, more useless, half-hearted efforts by him at guardianship that inevitably resulted in her compromising and humiliating herself.
The show of submission was quickly turning into an orgy. Several of the men had succumbed to oral embraces already. A few others had gotten off their chairs to take advantage of the nearest wet and ready hole. It was like a feeding frenzy.
“I presume you are mine,” the curly man drawled, pulling his jacket off his shoulders.
“You presume wrong.”
“Where do you think you are going?” he laughed, easily restraining her by the arm. “Be a nice girl, won’t you, and take off your clothes. I promise not to hurt you much.”
“You already are,” she squirmed.
“All the more reason for you to give me what I want. Come on, you know it’s what all you females want. It’s why you have holes down there in the first place.”
Merritt saw Simon rise to his fate. Finally, she thought to herself, barely containing her glee. The man was going to rescue her. It was about bloody time, too. To her horror, however, Simon was not coming for her. Instead, after bowing briefly to his host, he headed for the door, walking off down the corridor and leaving no reason to believe he’d ever return to the place for her or anyone else.
She knew it was probably a compromise of their secret relationship, but Merritt couldn’t help screaming out his name. She was so vociferous, her mouth practically foaming with vehemence, that the mustachioed man hesitated in forcing himself any further on her.
“Leave her to me,” said Andre, his hand suddenly on the man’s shoulder. “I will get what we need out of her.”
“Gladly,” the fellow spat scornfully. “The bitch is obviously frigid.”
No, thought Merritt, not frigid. Simply cursed with too much independence to surrender like a little puppet.
“Shall we, Miss Fisher?” he gestured to the door.
As if she’d go ever anywhere willingly with this man!
“No,” she said emphatically. “We shan’t.”
“Think again,” he growled lifting her off her feet and slinging her effortlessly over his shoulder. “I have someone who’s just dying to meet you…or should I say, he’s already dead.”
***
Merritt tried to wriggle her way out of Rochescu’s grip. He was carrying her down a circular staircase deep into the earth. The smell was rank like rotting earth and sweat, the decay of centuries.
“Let me go,” she cried, trying to claw at his back.
“Stupid cunt,” he growled. “I’ll throw you down the rest of the way. How would you like that?”
Merritt had already lost her shoes. Her hair was ruined and there was a tear in the back of her dress. This Rochescu was an animal, and if she had the chance she’d get back at him no matter what it took. “You’ll pay for this, I swear!” she squealed.
He reached for her breast, twisting hard. “No one will make me pay, you little bitch! I am Rochescu! I rule this country with an iron fist!”
Merritt stored the information. Would Belok be in agreement with the man’s grandiose plans? “All right,” Merritt grimaced, her tits mauled, “I’ll stop fighting you, just let go.”
Rochescu set her down roughly against the circular stone of the stairwell. “Too late,” he grinned, an eerie light in his eyes. “You made me mad. Now you will pay the price.”
The top of Merritt’s dress shredded in his hands. In seconds flat, he’d stripped her to her waist, destroying the very gift he’d given her. Savagely now, with short stabbing blows he punished her tits with the backs of his hands.
“You’re insane,” she wailed.
“Hands down,” he warned, “or it’ll go worse for you.”
Merritt whimpered, turning her palms against the stone. She had no choice but to let the man have his way with her.
“That’s better,” he leered, continuing to batter at her breasts until the flesh was red and inflamed. “Are you ready to be a good girl, hmm? A good little slut?”
“Yes,” she cried, “ I promise.”
“Look at me, slut, and say it again.”
Merritt’s eyes were moist and pleading, the fight vanished for good. “I’ll be a good girl, please believe me.”
Rochescu seized her by the hair, pulling her the rest of the way down the stairs. “I’ll believe it when my dick is between your legs and you’re begging for the honor of having your worthless hole filled with the sperm of the future president of Zuravia and the whole of Europe to boot.”
“But I am pledged to Belok!”
Rochescu threw her to the floor at the bottom of the stairs. “Sorry, lover,” he chimed in imitation of an answering machine. “Belok’s not here to take your call. Now get the rest of that dress off, slave, and get on your back, legs spread wide.”
Merritt stood up, shimmying the ruined material down over her hips. “But doesn’t he need me…my virginity that is to return to the flesh?”
Rochescu was salivating over her. “Of course he does, you stupid slut. That’s why I’m going to pump you full first. Once you’re carrying my seed, he’ll have no choice but to stay in the spirit world. Which will make my victory complete. Belok will serve me, making me the most powerful ruler of all.”
Merritt skinned down her panties and stockings, exposing herself to the dank air. “And what of me?” she asked meekly.
Rochescu reared back his head in ghastly laughter. “Use your imagination, my fair-haired beauty. You’ll live a life of great privilege. The privilege of being my personal property, that is. The world will know you as my wife, but you will eagerly take your place under my thumb and beneath the heel of my boot. You will honor and obey me as a god, crawling to me each and every day of your life, begging to be abused and ruled and overpowered. Your life will be suffering and obedience, writhing in chains, cringing beneath the whip, serving my hard cock.
“That is your life, Merritt Fisher and it begins now. Lie down at my feet and spread your legs before me; prepare to receive my godhead.”
Merritt lowered herself nude to the cold, damp stone, icy and unforgiving on her tender flesh, her buttocks, the backs of her thighs and above all her spine. “Sir,” she shivered, hands palm up over her head, “be merciful, I am a virgin.”
Rochescu grinned, his cock poking through the opening in his underwear. Wasn't he even going to take off his clothes before fucking her?
“I am well aware of what you are,” he pulled the bullwhip from the rack on the wall, “but tonight your body will dance for me as a whore. Prepare to be beaten, slave.”
“Yes,” Merritt arched her back, lost in the moment, “master.”
The whip snapped in the air, slithering like a snake. Merritt gasped as it popped a millimeter above her skin.
“An instrument like this requires consummate skill,” he bragged. “In the hands of a fool, a victim could be marked for life. Hold your breasts for me. Hold them up high.”
Merritt obeyed, cradling the sensitive mounds. Rochescu grinned, an unearthly look in his eyes. “Yes,” he hissed, “that’s it.”
He
reared back his arm, delivering a fresh swing. This time the brutal tip painfully flicked at her left nipple. “Master,” she cried, her eyes wide with the mix of sensations. “What are you doing to me?”
“Whatever I wish,” he repeated the swing, this time striking her right nipple. "If I chose to, I could aim for your clitoris, giving you an orgasm as I whip you.”
“Please, sir, I submit!”
He sliced at her belly, leaving a welt. “I reject your submission. When I take you, it shall be by force.”
“But I have no force to use against you.”
The whip singed her thighs, leaving a red line at the top of both. “Than I shall compel you to resist. Turn over, slave, on your back.”
Merritt rolled piteously, putting her breasts and cunt to the dungeon floor. Her arse was a tempting target, especially with the marks from Simon’s cane still very much in evidence.
“What is this?” he proclaimed, pressing his foot down on the marks. “Has someone already laid claim to you, slave?”
Merritt said nothing. She did not wish to reveal Simon’s identity, especially if he was an ally of Rochescu.
He pushed the tip of his shoe into her opening. “Speak, slut, or you will enter a dimension of pain you cannot even imagine.”
“I—I don’t know him, really,” she cried. “Please, don’t make me—”
Rochescu growled. “On all fours, bitch. I’ll make you talk.”
Merritt raised herself, her body a mass of anguish.
“Time to meet your master.”
She gasped as the thick, swollen head of his cock touched the furrow of her womanhood. He was behind her, preparing to mount.
“You belong to me,” he hissed. “You will obey my command and reveal the name to me.”
“Simon,” she whispered, too frightened to hold out. “Simon Rutledge.”
“Interesting,” Rochescu said, his voice neutral. “But irrelevant. And now it is time,” he moved into thrusting position. "Time to insure my immortality.”
“Yes…master.” She was as anxious to be had now as he was to have her. Her virginity was—as it had been since her arrival in this god-forsaken country—a complete sham. The sooner she was reduced to the level of a sex toy, an object for male pleasure, the better. What she did not want, however, but which she was powerless to prevent, was pregnancy. To bear sons to this monster, to spend her life as his cow, making babies, and subject to every abuse, without rights and hopeless like Honey and the other girls.
Merritt tried to imagine now what was happening to the others. Were they being happily fucked, earning small treats for themselves? Or were they being tortured again, their breasts and cunts manipulated for male pleasure?
“You will orgasm upon command,” Rochescu instructed. “If you do so prematurely or if you fail to respond to my cue, I shall give you to my bodyguards for the rest of the night. Do you understand?”
Merritt gathered this must be a particularly brutal fate to endure. “Yes,” she replied, “master.”
He rubbed himself over her entrance, still taunting. “This is mine now. If you touch it yourself or if another does so without my permission, I will have you executed.”
“Yes, master.”
Never in her wildest dreams had Merritt ever thought a man would take from her the very right to please herself. The prospect overwhelmed her with terror and yet, at the same time, it put her on the brink of climax.
“I—I’m afraid,” she dug her nails into the grooves between the stones, “that I won’t be able to hold back.”
“You should be. I am irresistible to women. Punishment, I’m afraid, is going to be inevitable, my sweet little slave.”
“You are cruel, master,” she cried, her breathing coming in stabs of anticipation.
“Ah, the anticipation,” Rochescu was saying, his voice moving into a low, seductive reverie. “I will have what I have waited for. I will impregnate you—the reincarnation of Vistya. And when you give birth, it will begin my era, not his.” His hands circled round to her quivering belly. “The seed you take will be from a line of kings. We shall use the old spells and magic, Merritt Fisher, and we will rule the world. I, a god, and you the captive female at my feet. Be proud Merritt, you will be the model for all womanhood. Universal female slavery.”
Merritt began to orgasm as soon as the tip of his penis grazed her clitoris. “Forgive me,” she wailed.
“No,” he groaned, “not yet!” He was trying to shove himself deeper when all at once he went rigid, a deep gasp coming from the back of his throat. Merritt thought perhaps he was ejaculating prematurely himself, but then she heard the gasping and choking.
“Forget something, did we?” she heard Ileana saying, her voice a low, sinister rush. “Like maybe the one to whom you owe your allegiance?”
Rochescu was on his knees, his hands at his throat. Ileana stood behind him, the thin wire wrapped round the big man’s neck. He shook awhile, rearing back his head, then slumped to the side, his body dead weight. Merritt screamed as his lifeless body hit the floor.
Ileana snapped her fingers. “That’s enough nonsense. Pull yourself together. I’m taking you back to your hotel.”
Merritt did not remember the drive, nor did she recall how she ended up in her bed. Presumably, Ileana had put her there with help. She vaguely remembered them spreading something over her nude body afterwards, a cream or lotion of some kind, and there’d been the smell of smoke. Incense. And chanting. Archaic Zuravian, some dialect with which she wasn’t familiar, but it was most certainly medieval, even older than Belok.
Following that, there’d been sleep, bone soothing and deep, a collapsing into nothingness. A place too deep for dreams, too profound for sense impressions. Were Merritt a religious person, she would call this God. As it was, she was merely thankful. What she did in this interval—what occurred in the synapses of her brain—she couldn’t be sure, though she had a sense of being in contact with her father. At one point he was taking her hand and leading her to where her mother was.
She felt little again, safe and secure in the man’s protection. She’d never had a feeling like that since. In that way, every man had been a disappointment.
“You have to stay outside,” she heard her father saying when they stopped them at the gate, the doorway to where her mother was. “I can’t take you in yet. A little while longer, all right pumpkin?”
Her heart warmed at the pet name he’d always used. “It’s okay, Daddy,” she looked up at him. “I can wait.”
But when she looked up, it was not longhaired, sinewy blue-eyed Roger Fisher holding her hand, but the other. The creature of silver. And of night. And of pain.
“What’s the matter?” smiled Belok. “Have you seen a ghost?”
Chapter Eleven
Merritt awoke to pounding on the door accompanied by the shouts of angry men.
“Polichka!”
The Zuravian word for police.
They weren’t waiting for her to get up and open the door. Once, twice, the door was struck with a battering ram and then it gave way, locks shearing, wood splintering.
Merritt barely had time to pull the sheet over her naked body before she was surrounded by a dozen of them. Gray uniformed, steel eyed, automatic weapons trained on her trembling, aching body.
“You’ll have to forgive the dramatic entrance,” said Colonel Ladislak, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trench coat. “Standard operating procedure in such cases, I’m afraid.”
“What sort of cases, colonel?” she challenged, shaking out her matted hair, feeling like the underside of the man’s shoe. “The ones where you harass innocent guests of your country?”
Ladislak regarded her slim form outlined beneath the sheet, the points of her nipples and hair of her vagina all too obvious in her unclothed state.
“Sergeant,” he called to an officer behind him. “Kindly find something of Doctor Fisher’s for her to wear. We wouldn’t want any diplomatic incide
nts now, would we?”
Several of the officers chuckled as the sergeant rifled through her belongings. A few moments later he tossed her a spaghetti strap dress of light cotton.
She glared up at him.
“What is the problem, doctor?” the colonel wanted to know.
Merritt flushed. Did she have to spell it out?
“Underwear, damn it. I need underwear.”
“We’re on a tight schedule, Doctor Fisher.”
“Can’t I at least get dressed in the bathroom?”
The colonel pursed his lips. “Perhaps you fail to appreciate that you are no longer in America. By the laws of this country I have the authority to remove you from this room precisely as you are. My advice to you would be to put the dress on. Now.”
Merritt blushed. “Very well," she said defiantly, throwing the sheet over her head. “I will make my own privacy.”
She came up for air a few minutes later, her hair a mess. “I need shoes.”
The colonel snapped his fingers, inducing the sergeant to fetch her flip-flops, the ones that looked like Mariana’s.
Merritt’s pussy burned as she slid her legs over the edge of the bed and put the shoes on. She was utterly helpless. These men could imprison her, torture her, even rape her.
This last prospect not only frightened but excited her, though she’d be damned if she’d let them know that.
“Stand up, Doctor Fisher. Hands behind your back.”
She drew a sharp breath as they locked the manacles round her wrists. They were not the slim variety used in the States, but thicker and much heavier. Like Belok’s chains, she thought. The ones she’d seen hanging from the ceiling in the old dungeon where Rochescu had nearly raped her.
“Is this really necessary?” she blurted as they slipped the chain round her waist, cinching the links over her belly.
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