Merritt fought for control of her own mind. It was all catching up to her—the incredible, bizarre events of the last few days. She should have known when she arrived at the airport. As soon as she laid eyes on that thin lipped, ice cold smile of Colonel Ladislak, she should have turned around and gotten back on the plane. How could she have sat still for that treatment in the white room and then gone on to tolerate the bizarre encounters with Karisvan and Ileana and Rutledge and Petrok and the horrible trip to Rochescu's castle,
Plus the ghost of a seven-hundred-year-old prince who, according to the colonel and Simon both, really did possess the power to return from the grave. Which is why she was here now as a spy, still pretending to finish her infernal book on social strata in medieval Zuravia.
Correction. Make that bait, to snuff out the prince, to make him expose himself so that when he attempted to rape her—and let’s not forget that the ghost was after her because she was supposed to be the reincarnation of his equally dead wife—Simon’s shadowy spirit hunting organization could zap him once and for all into oblivion.
“What are you waiting for?” Becca hissed, her pussycat demeanor changing back to she-beast.
“Ow!” squealed Merritt, recoiling from the scratch to her face. “You little bitch,” she exclaimed, examining the blood where her hand had been. “You could have put out my eye.”
Becca shoved her backwards. “I changed my mind. You’re a weak, stupid, fat—“
Merritt silenced her with a single blow, a fist to the side of the girl’s face. Rebecca’s head went hard left allowing her attacker to spin her about, thrusting her midsection against the edge of the table.
“Mercy,” she cried, her arm jammed high up her back.
“Palms on the table. Legs apart.” Merritt yanked the short skirt up over the girl’s arse. It was well marked under the sheer white panties, the smooth globes a road map of corrections, recent and not so recent. “I am beginning to see,” Merritt pulled down the knickers to the girl’s quivering knees, “why you get beat so often.”
“I am lonely,” confessed the lovely submissive, her cheek resting on the stained legal pad. “Rochescu is gone. Ileana won’t touch me, and Doctor Karizvan hides in his office. I sleep alone in my room. I try to tie myself, but I need more. Please, mistress.”
The tempting behind was straining in her direction. Becca was literally begging with her body. “Why won’t Ileana touch you?”
“She’s changed, mistress. It’s like she’s living in her head somewhere.”
It was true. From the moment of Merritt’s return to the Institute, the woman had been cold and distant, barely showing her face. It made no sense. If anything, eliminating Rochescu should have improved her own position in the organization, the secret society that Simon had told her was behind this Institute, plotting to use the old rituals of magic to bring Belok back with the crucial help of the long awaited incarnation of Vistya.
Everything was way too quiet as far as Merritt was concerned. Even the dreams had stopped. It felt like ages since she’d seen the silver haired Belok or heard his haunting, deceivingly soothing voice.
A mystery is what this was, and Merritt needed more clues to solve it. Beginning with the girl at hand, the one who’d somehow found her way into Belok’s throne room in her dream. “I want you to tell me your story, Becca. How you came to be here, everything.”
“Mistress, spank me first,” Becca purred. Curious, Merritt inserted two fingers into the girl’s opening. Becca moaned as Merritt slid herself easily into the lubricated hole.
“You’re a sopping wet slut,” said Merritt, smacking her glistening hand down on Becca’s arse.
“Yesss,” the girl hissed, like an addict receiving the first influx of a badly needed drug. “Only a slut.”
Merritt punished her hard, experimenting with various swings and angles of her palm. She discovered it was especially pleasant to cup her hand so she could hear the compression of the air even as the trembling flesh yielded like a pond to a skipping stone. Over and over she struck the girl, each time being rewarded with a submissive pleasure filled sigh.
“Strip,” ordered Merritt when her hand grew tired, the powerful aroma of domination filling her nostrils seductively. “I want you naked and kneeling on the floor at my feet. You’ll tell me your story with your fingers in your cunt, dripping like a little whore.”
Becca complied without hesitation, the arousal keenly obvious on her face and body. She wanted sex, she wanted abuse, but above all she wanted to be subjugated, made to set aside her own will in favor of another’s—the more compromising and humiliating the position, the better.
How beautiful the girl looked, clothes and rights and self stripped away. On her knees, legs painfully wide, both hands at her hungry cunt lips. Rousing herself and reducing herself further to the state of an animal, a female slave.
“You can’t come,” Merritt told her, overcome with a sudden wave of petty jealousy. It wasn’t fair, the girl could surrender like this, safe and secure in the knowledge of her ownership, assured that no matter what, her future will be guided by steel and leather, by pain and orgasmic bliss, walking the razor’s edge of ecstasy and death.
Merritt took up the legal pad and a pen. “You’ll tell me everything, Rebecca, and if you lie or try to conceal anything, I’ll know it, and you’ll be punished, very badly…I can do what I want with you,” she bluffed. “Take you back to America, make you my own personal slave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We’ll start with your early life. Your first sexual experiences.”
Becca trembled. She was dutifully masturbating, and Merritt could see she wanted to come already. “My father was very rich. I hardly saw him. Governesses raised me. The only time he ever came to me was when I’d been naughty. He would order me over his lap, raise my skirt and spank me. It was the only time I ever saw emotion in him. His hand would get so warm, there’d be a little trembling. At first he’d just growl at me, lecturing me on my sins, but then he’d get softer, and sometimes he would even cry. I’d want to hug him, but he’d send me away.
“”You’re a good girl,’ he’d say, closing himself in the study. I would do bad things just so he would relate to me this way, warming my little bottom, showing me how he felt and that he cared. But then I got older, and he said it was no longer appropriate. I was becoming a woman and he couldn’t be that way anymore. I wept and wept, though I was careful not to let anyone see. Not the servants, not my teachers. In my mind, I resolved quite firmly to replace him with another. I had no idea what this meant, only that I must find a young man, to love me and hurt me.”
Merritt rubbed her thighs together. It was impossible, she found, to listen and not participate. “Go on,” she said, abandoning her note pad and heading to the cabinet where the whips were kept.
“It was not as easy as I thought. When I made the boys angry, they ignored me. I think I scared them. Not one of them understood that I wanted him to take me over his knee and discipline me. I dropped hints. I slipped books to them I had found, but it was not until I was away at college that anyone responded. Reggie was my first lover. An upper class man. He punished my freshman arse hard. Nightly as a matter of fact.”
Merritt chose a riding crop, sleek and black. Tentatively, she slapped it against her own thigh. A moment later she was poking Becca’s tits with the tip of it, rubbing the device over her smooth, vulnerable globes. “And he fucked you, as well.”
Becca bit her lip. She wanted the whip, bad. “Yes, ma’am, but I was disappointed. He was too gentle, not at all hard and strong like when he was spanking me.”
Merritt put the whip to the girl’s lips, which she parted readily to lick and suck it. “So you were too much of a slut for him?”
“Yes, mistress. I tried to provoke him in bed, scratching and so on, but it only made him laugh nervously. Then I tried another tack, refusing his advances, playing the cock tease. I wanted him to take a strong hand, forcing m
e to his pleasure, but he was too confused. Eventually, we broke up. I tried some of the clubs, the underground ones where they play games. I discovered the whip and the cane and suddenly I was getting off on a regular basis. A few of the men wanted to collar me, but they were dilettantes, weekend players. I wanted a real man. Someone with the guts to live his dreams. A man like Dimitri. He’s the one who brought me to Zuravia.”
“Put your hands on your head, no more touching yourself,” Merritt gave a swipe across the girl’s breasts.
Becca gave a low moan. “You’re a natural,” she grit her teeth, relishing the sensation.
Merritt admired her work, the angry raised line, the instant welt marring the girl’s soft skin. There was no doubt watching her subtly undulating hips and the drops at the fold of her sex that she was getting off on it. And the humiliation, too, of being forced to discuss her intimate life, kneeling nude, her come soaked fingers laced on her head, the juices matting her lovely red curls.
“Keep going, Becca, tell me about your Dimitri.”
“He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” she said unabashedly. “Dark hair and eyes, very tall with the lean muscles of a dancer. I met him at an underground S and M club. I asked him to dance and he said no. I said to him 'please' and he shoved me away. The rest of the night I followed him as he danced with all the others, submissive sluts on chains, kissing and licking his legs. He was about to go—it was nearly closing time—when I confronted him, angry.
“He looked at me, his face so hard and cold. Grabbing my arm he pulled me out the door. We fucked in the alley, my tits and belly pressed to a damp, brick wall. He took no care for my pleasure, but I came for him five times before he got off. He intended to leave me like this, but again, I followed him. Three weeks later, we were engaged and I was his total slave. My every move, the clothes on my back, even the food I ate completely dictated.”
Merritt disappeared behind her, enjoying the victim’s momentary apprehension. “And this is what you wanted?” she slashed her back, right between the shoulder blades.
Becca exhaled a sheer burst of pain. “It’s what I was born for,” she winced. “And Dimitri, too. He was Russian, an exchange student who’d grown up in an authoritarian house. My subservience to him was total. If he so much as saw me look at another man, he would beat me savagely. He had me move in with him where he kept me naked, a locked collar on my throat and leather wrist and ankle cuffs. I spent my days cleaning for him, scrubbing every surface of the small apartment until it shone like silver. When he came home, I served him supper, kneeling at his feet while he ate. Afterwards, I would either serve as his footstool while he watched TV or else amuse him with my mouth, keeping him hard for hours. He was capable of using me three, four times a night, and I was required to be in a constant state of arousal. Sometimes he would come home in the day and surprise me while I scrubbed the floor on hands and knees. I would be helpless as he took me from behind on all fours, the scrub brush still in my hand, the floor wet beneath me. After awhile, my knees would give way and he’d finish me off on my belly, tits pressed to the freshly mopped floor.”
Merritt struck her across the lower back. “Get on with it, slut. How did you end up here at the Institute?"
Becca was shaking, on the verge of orgasm. One little touch and she’d be over the top. “Dimitri heard about a summer program. He’d met this teacher whom he liked, a strong, passionate man like himself. They talked of their dreams of a male dominated society, and naturally the subject of Belok came up. Dimitri enrolled here at the Institute for courses. He was encouraged to bring me. The Institute would put me to use, they said. We arrived four months ago —four months tomorrow.”
The girl’s voice was showing emotional strain. They were getting at something important now. Merritt dropped impulsively to her knees in front of her. “Tell me the rest, Rebecca. What happened next?”
Becca blinked, the start of tears in the corners of her pretty, young eyes. “Dimitri was so excited at first. They gave us a room at the hotel. The same place you’re at. He made me stay in the room at first, tipping the staff heavily so as not to disturb me, chained to the bed while he went for his training. He told me it turned him on so much knowing I was waiting just for him, nude and spread eagled, completely available and helpless.
Each night he’d talk my ear off about what he was learning, the things he was seeing. I didn’t understand a lot of it, but I knew it was important and that he was going to be important too, a leader in a new society built on the right principles of order and justice and male domination. The sex between us was incredible. It was like he was possessed. All night long he kept at me, never tiring. I became afraid actually, because he stopped sleeping all together. I begged him. Maybe he needed to go to a doctor. He got angry and slapped me down to the floor.
“’That,’ he pointed imperiously to the tips of his shoes, “is where your idle tongue belongs.’ And so I licked at his feet, trying to show him I loved him and wanted to be a good slave, but that only made him angrier. He stormed out and got drunk. For several more days it went on like this, and then he couldn’t touch me at all. If I would ask for his touch, he would grow furious and whip me hard. But no sex. And no sleep. Finally, one night he went out to some bar I thought, but I never saw him again.”
Merritt took Becca in her arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
“I try not to think about it,” she sobbed. “They came for me right after that and brought me here. Told me I was their secretary now and their slave. I do everything I’m told. I’m a good girl.”
Merritt let her break down, knowing she needed to let the emotions out for sake of her own healing. The first thought that crossed her mind was that Dimitri had been eliminated by Ileana perhaps, as yet another enemy or potential enemy of the new order.
“Becca, I need for you to think very carefully and remember hard. Have you had any unusual dreams, anything at all supernatural?”
Rebecca stiffened in her arms. “Ma’am, we can’t talk about this.”
“Becca, we have to. Everything depends on it. Have you ever seen Belok? Have you been to his throne room in a dream? Or imagined yourself as someone else?”
Becca was trying to get away. Merritt slapped her, one side of the face then the other. Becca’s expression cleared, her eyes sliding closed, her spirit transported. “I have serviced him,” said Rebecca, her voice suddenly bold, softly proud. “On my knees, I have taken Belok’s manhood, not in flesh but spirit. One day he has promised I will be among his harem. The finest chosen females in all the world. First slaves of the new order.”
Merritt’s blood ran cold in her veins. “Becca, do you hear what you're saying? You can’t possibly mean this!”
Becca’s eyes reopened, the timid brown changed to glowing amber. “You,” she said, her voice taking on a new timber. “I know you. You are her...”
Merritt stepped back, scared. “Becca, get hold of yourself.”
Though in truth, it was Merritt herself out of control. The room was closing in on her and if she didn’t get out soon, she would choke to death. Becca tackled her at the door. Her strength suddenly multiplied, the younger woman put the older one to her back.
“I’m going to fuck you,” Becca told her, straddling her hips. “With my fist.”
Merritt’s hands were of no use, her flailing counter attacks having no effect. Becca tore open her blouse and ripped apart the bra, tearing the tough connecting seam in her bare hands. The skirt was similarly disposed of.
“You can’t,” Merritt squealed. “I’m a virgin.”
Merritt’s protests dissolved in her throat as the hungry Becca fell onto her breast, her teeth and lips and tongue drawing and sucking. A line tugged at her, connecting her nipple and rapidly moistening cunt. Merritt was no lesbian, but there was no denying the pleasure, the thrill of the woman’s mouth on her body, commanding and taking whatever it wanted as she wriggled her arse wantonly on the Persian rug.
Things were going too far. She had to fight back, had to keep touch with something objective. She was on the floor in the study in a dangerous place, a place full of ghosts. Just because the dreams stopped, she couldn’t forget. She had to remember and to fight. Becca was not in her right mind. She didn’t know what she was doing and just because it felt so good, meant nothing.
“You like that…professor?”
Something in Becca’s voice made Merritt think the girl wasn’t speaking entirely on her own. Like when she’d so managed to so enrage Ileana that time she’d first met her outside Karizvan’s office.
“Rebecca, you have to get hold of yourself. Let me up, and we can—“
Rebecca’s nails rooted themselves in Merritt’s breasts. Two concentric circles of pricking points, painful now, but promising to be worse, much worse. “We can what?” the girl hissed. “Hmm? Tell me, teacher, what do you want?”
The eyes, Merritt had to keep from looking in her eyes.
“I…want…” Merritt thrashed her head, her flesh on the razor’s edge. Sensations surged through her, needs she could not name, a dozen men in her mind as many perilous situations fueling her fantasy, and with it, the sad truth that in the midst of the worst danger of her life she was allowing herself to be reduced to a mindless slut, willing to crawl and beg for the very terrors she ought to combat with every fiber of her being or else run from as fast as she could manage.
“More,” she finally confessed. “I want more.”
Becca laughed, taunting the woman’s nipples with pinching fingers. “Then you have to beg for it. Beg me to abuse you, Doctor Fisher. Beg to be my little pain slut.”
“Yes,” groaned Merritt, her sex straining to press itself to Becca’s, her body, flush and ready in the midst of her ruined clothes. “I beg you, please, Rebecca, use me…hurt me, make me your slut…a little pain slut.”
Becca increased the pressure of her fingertips. Would the girl draw blood? Would she fuck her soon? There was an irony. Her much vaunted virginity, coveted by every man it seemed, in this country, and yet here it was, about to be plucked by the most unlikely candidate of all, the submissive secretary of the Institute.
Belok's Bride Page 18
