His Captive

by Kiley Beckett

  She gasped for breath a moment, murmured, “No...”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t... don’t know...”

  Voice a confident sneer: “Too busy thinking about me, weren’t you?”

  “No...”

  “You like me, Pearl.”

  Through bleary eyes she regarded Julian. Then the men surrounding her; their arousals were obvious, humping out the flies of their cotton cargo pants. The prince watched, horrified but also aroused. His face was contorted with what might be anger. He shouted from behind the Plexiglass, “That’s your niece, you savage!”

  Shackelford laughed, said, “Relax, Prince, sit down, it’s not his niece. Stop proving how gullible you are.”

  She looked at Julian, saw new softness in his eyes. It was her final submission that pleased him. He’d won. He’d beaten her. She could feel it. He had complete and total control of her. She whimpered, then—almost crying—said, “I think I’m gonna come a-again.”

  “Yes, little Pearl, you’re definitely going to come again. Again and again.”

  “You’re cruel...”

  “You love it.”

  “You’re a buh-bad man.”

  He cocked an eyebrow—a roguish and insanely charming expression on his face. She hated the lust he inspired.

  He said, “Pearl—that picture you took? You saw nothing, but told yourself what your dirty mind wanted to see.”

  “You and the... the puh-princess...”

  He smiled and chuckled, stroked her cheek. She felt her consciousness fading to gray—all her attention diverted to the consuming bath of pleasure pooling between her legs. It was too much.

  “Pearl, my darling, darling Pearl. My good college friend Stephanie came to me for guidance. I offered my full support to her. You see, her husband”—his eyes moved up to regard the prince held captive—“is a selfish man whose greatest interest is himself, not the good people of Kunkhodzhastan.”

  “You were nuh-naked to-together, running, huh, from the b-beach...”

  A smile flashed on his devilishly handsome face. “Does that mean we were sleeping together?”

  She gasped, “Doesn’t it?”

  The eyebrow cocked again, and he shot her a sympathetic but superior look. “I won’t deny that the princess and I were lovers, but that was long ago. Long, long ago. We were kids at college. We’re comfortable with each other.”

  “You d-didn’t suh-sleep with her?”

  “Honestly, no. We were swimming together, not fucking, Pearl. In the ocean at dawn? Swimsuits are for the plebes, and I own two miles of coastline. It’s spiritual, not dirty. I only care about the princess as a friend.”

  A small heat of embarrassment flashed her forehead and the nape of her neck. She said, “J-just a fuh-friend?”

  “My business with Princess Stephanie was of a political nature.” He stroked her cheek again, touched her lower lip with his middle finger, then moved that finger to touch his own lip. “Our country has made Prince Nursultan fabulously wealthy in trade for oil transit, but the prince has hoarded it. His hoarding has made the Kunkhodzh people suffer greatly, and in turn their suffering has led to the impeded transit of American oil. That’s where my friends here come in.” He smiled now and nodded to the scary-looking army men. “My interest, however—despite the bad man you think I am—is the Kunkhodzh people. They need a compassionate ruler. One who’s strong and smart. Not one who rules with an iron fist, but one who nurtures with a soft, feminine hand.”

  She sniffled, blinked, seeing it all now. “A coup?”

  “That’s right, Pearl. It’s done. It’s over. I needed you here because your picture and your big mouth could ruin it all. But the last few days the coup is complete. Princess Stephanie is installed as Her Royal Highness, Princess Stephanie, ruler of the Empire Republic, Kunkhodzhastan.”

  A long defeated groan wavered from behind the glass and she tilted her face to see Prince Nursultan collapse to sit heavily on the prison cell bench, head in his hands. She returned her gaze to Julian. “I’m not... not a prisoner anymore?”

  His eyes narrowed, and he showed a smug smile. “Not my prisoner, no. But...” He tapped the base of the vibrator and the change in pressure inside her shot her off like a rocket. She gasped and cried, and another orgasm loomed closer, a larger one that was far more threatening than the first. “You’re a prisoner of your own passion.” He pushed the vibrator deeper and now every muscle in her stomach clamped down, and her channel squeezed on the insane slippery feel of the vibrator. Julian stroked it in and out of her gently and she swore her sanity was on the verge of fleeing.

  “Oh please, oh please,” she cried.

  “Everything I’ve done to you since we met—I hope you realize now—was because you begged me to do it. With your smart mouth, with those sexy fucking eyes...”

  “I’m, ah, mm, gonna, mm, come...”

  “Tell these men how you want me.”

  “I want him,” she gasped.

  “And how do you want it?”

  “Huh-hard.”

  “Hard, that’s right. My Pearl likes it that way, doesn’t she?”

  “Yuh-yes...”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes... Sir.”

  Now he rose to stand at the chair’s side, and the vision of his handsome face was replaced with that of his crotch and his two large masculine hands gathering together, one drawing down the fly of his suit pants. The other reached in and hefted out his cock and let it bob before her. Julian was fully hard and heavy, a silvery strand of pre-cum slinging from his tip. He hefted his cock, stroked it, coated it with his slippery lubrication. Then he disappeared behind her.

  “Oh, what... what are you gonna do?”

  Both his hands slapped down on the leather on either side of her head. His face loomed near hers, his hot cock resting on one of her bare ass cheeks. She humped backward against it. He said, “Tell me I’m wrong: You never came to blackmail me that day in my office. You brought that photo as an introduction. You knew the kind of man I would be, and that’s the kind of man you need.”

  With the vibrations still dominating her clit, and the vibrator still buzzing, she writhed now under his masculine presence, tilting her rump upward, trying to get the weight of his huge cock to settle in the crack of her ass. “I n-need it,” she whispered.

  “Need what?”

  “A m-man... a man like you...”

  “There is no other man like me.”

  She gulped. Faced the truth. Admitted it. “I nuh-need... I need you, Julian, I need you...”

  He grumbled a low masculine sound of extreme satisfaction. He stroked her cheek again, doing it with care and compassion, saying, “I found my princess.”

  She squeaked, “Yeah?”

  “There’s nobody else like you, precious Pearl. I need you like you need me.”

  “Will you t-take me, puh-please, take me...”

  Another satisfied growl, then his face was away, Julian kneeling on the chair behind her. A warm wetness slithered her ass crack—his spit needed for lubrication. Then the large prodding of his cockhead against her anus had her mewling like a cat in heat. He pushed in the swollen end and she cried out with lust.

  Julian said, “Take you how, my Pearl?”

  A wondrous firework of honesty exploded happily from her. “Fuck my... fuck my ass wh-while they watch...”

  And now while the alligator chewed her clit and hummed with electricity and the vibrator buzzed her pussy, her well-endowed billionaire master fucked her ass hard. The chair squeaked and groaned with her vigorous punishment, slowly oscillating so all the gathered men could enjoy it from every angle. The CIA soldier men, the prince watching through the V of his fingers, Shackelford sneering...

  She came for Julian, but she came for them all. Showed them all how she orgasmed. Completely naked and dominated by the most powerful man in the world. Her man.

  And if she thought it was over, she was wrong. Julian had only begu
n. He fucked her right through her orgasm, brought phosphorescent blobs dancing in her vision, the chair going around for another time as he pummeled her bottom over and over, his strong hands clamped on her waist and pinning her in place for his massive anal impalement.

  Orgasm after orgasm, Julian dominated her for an hour, and she showed the gathered men the face she made when her master delivered her to an ecstasy no other man could ever get her near.

  Epilogue

  A year later and she was still on the Caribbean beach.

  Only today she was zipping across the hot sand in an estate golf cart, doing twenty-five, which was about ten miles per hour more than recommended for such terrain. But she was in a hurry to get to the airstrip.

  The cart’s air-conditioning blasted cold air on her knees, two cocktails tinkled and splashed in the cupholders, their rum contents sloshing as she ascended a dune now, four tires coming right off the ground for a second before squeaking and chirping on the asphalt. Julian had warned her to be careful, but maybe the best thing would be if she had to come home and tell her master she’d crashed his precious golf cart.

  Up ahead, past a swishing field of sawgrass, she could see the white tail of the private plane passing like a shark fin. She’d missed the plane’s arrival, but it was touched down, her best friend safe and sound and she better be ready for a weekend to end all weekends.

  She swished the cart around on the runway and brought it to a squawking halt next to the jet, turned down the stereo as the airstairs descended.

  Marly emerged in the plane’s doorway with grand hurrah—knowing Pearl was waiting—arms outstretched, one hand holding a big bottle of Cristal Brut champagne by its gold foil neck. She was shouting something as celebratory greeting but couldn’t be heard in the ocean breeze, her long brown hair flapping; Swanson, in her steward’s uniform, irritated, trying to untangle Marly’s hair from her face.

  Then Pearl was scuttling around the nose of the golf cart, heading to the plane, and Marly was trotting in too-high heels down the steps, careful not to topple down face-first and ruin the whole weekend.

  They collided together on the tarmac and embraced, jumping in place and laughing, the bottle cold on her sunburned back.

  Marly shouted, “Shit, Pearl, did you see me get off that plane? I’m a fucking suh-lebrity, I tell you what.”

  “You looked marvelous, Marly!”

  They laughed and hugged, then set each other back so they could look one another over. It’d only been a few months since she’d last seen her best friend from college. They’d both graduated now, and Marly had moved on to her full-time career, working in a la-dee-da lawyer’s office in downtown Seattle.

  But Pearl had a development of her own since school—and showed Marly now (it was the reason Marly was here, after all) bringing her hand straight up between her breasts, knuckles toward Marly, and waggling her fingers. Expression: nonchalant, but also somewhere between coy and smug.

  Marly’s eyes jolted wide seeing the engagement ring on her finger. A seven-figure, two-carat whopper in emerald cut and absolutely flawless. Marly’s knees dipped and she looked like she would crap herself. The perfect reaction. They embraced again, Marly squealing. “I do declare,” she said in her southern drawl, “I’m friends with the one and only future Mrs. Julian Mann.”

  * * *

  They sipped the cocktails she’d brought (the amount that had survived her driving, at least), heading back to the estate on the asphalt road from the runway, cold air blasting, Marly with the bottle of champagne she’d liberated from the jet between her ankles, one hand holding onto her hair so it wouldn’t whip around as Pearl had the cart at thirty, eager to get the fun started.

  On the road up ahead there was a black hump that looked like a turtle. She stopped the cart in front of it and got out.

  Marly asked what it was, coming around to join her at the cart’s front bumper, squinting in the hot Caribbean sun, cocktail in hand.

  Pearl stooped and gathered it up, looked off the side of the road and down to the tire tracks coming up from the beach. This was the spot where she’d jumped the dune. She said to Marly, “It’s the, uh... it’s one of the fenders off the cart, I guess.”

  They both turned to regard the cart, then moved to one side where they could clearly see the spot over the passenger-side rear wheel where the fender she held should be, two empty sets of bolt holes in the sheet metal.

  Marly regarded her, bit her lower lip, scrunched her nose. “Are you going to be in trouble?”

  “Probably,” Pearl said, escorting the fender in both arms and putting it in the small square pickup bed behind the cart’s two seats.

  Marly nudged the back of Pearl’s knee with the toe of her high heel shoe, saying, “Don’t worry about me, baby cakes, I won’t say a thing. Mum’s the word.”

  Pearl crossed her arms and smiled, leaning against the back of the cart. “Actually, Marly, I want you to make sure you rat me out.”

  Marly’s eyes narrowed.

  Pearl said, “I mean, I was driving like a maniac.”

  “You do go kinda fast. So rat you out to who?”

  “To Julian.”

  Marly’s brow crinkled as she considered it, but then she shrugged and shook her head. “All right, Pearl.” Her eyes narrowed further. “You’re always up to something.”

  * * *

  Marly was wowed by the extravagant thatched-roof villas and buildings as the cart wheeled a loop out front of the main house. At the formal entrance a host of island staff had gathered in a line, knowing their guest’s plane had landed. Marly peered up the stairs from under the shade of the cart’s canopy, saying, “I can’t believe you live here.”

  “This is just the Caribbean house,” she said, switching off the cart and stepping out.

  They gathered together on the passenger side, and Pearl linked arms with her friend (who was still awestruck, mouth agape) so they could mount the stairs together and she could introduce her to—

  “Oh, shit,” Marly gasped, stiffening.

  Pearl looked up the steps to see her future husband, hands in pockets, hair ruffling in the wind, smirking down on them. He said, “So who do we have here?”

  To herself, Marly nervously murmured, “Oh God, oh my God, be cool, act natural... sheez, could he be any hotter?”

  Pearl said, “Hi, baby,” as Julian strolled down the steps to meet them, looking so fine in steely linen pants and a loose ivory shirt that hugged tight the muscles of his chest and arms. At the bottom of the steps he leaned in close to kiss her and she melted her mouth to his—taking it easy and keeping it relatively PG for Marly’s proximal benefit.

  Pearl then unhooked from Marly’s arm and proudly introduced her to Julian. Marly performed a weird curtsy that had great comedic effect and she and Marly broke up laughing. Julian studied them, one eyebrow raised.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marly,” Julian said then, taking Marly’s hand and touching the knuckles to his lips, “you’re all my Pearl has talked about for days.”

  Another curtsy, Marly’s eyes sparkling and dazzled, overwhelmed in Julian’s presence. “We go way back.”

  “Indeed,” Julian said, letting her hand go, returning his to his pockets. “We’re going to do everything possible to make sure you enjoy your stay on the island, so I want you to make yourself comfortable while you’re here. Indulge, explore—”

  Pearl said, “Go anywhere. We got rid of all the spy stuff.”

  Marly said, “What spy stuff?”

  “Long story.”

  Julian side-eyed her, and she could sense a growing displeasure that excited her. She’d been warned to keep her mouth shut regarding his precious coup last year.

  “Anyway,” Julian continued, “your bags are being delivered from the plane as we speak. Pearl and I are putting you up at the cottage—it overlooks the ocean. Breathtaking view. Pearl knows it well.” Julian smirked for her benefit but his eyes stayed on Marly.

  She sho
t out a kick, her foot swinging up and askew, the side of her canvas sneaker smacking Marly mid-thigh.

  “Ow,” Marly complained, rubbing where she’d been kicked and shooting a confused scowl. Pearl bounced her eyebrows and nudged her head aside toward Julian. Marly’s scowl deepened, but at last she got it.

  Marly straightened, adjusted her skirt, saying, “I’m not surprised I beat my bags here, given the way Pearl drives that golf cart.”

  Julian’s expression smoothed out from grace to concern. He cocked his head, wanting to know more. “Oh—is that so?”

  Pearl shot out her foot again. Marly swished aside but still got swiped. I know, I’m doing it, she mouthed angrily.

  Marly’s angry expression gradually went to gracious again while Julian waited patiently. Now she stepped back—out of the range of another prompting kick—and upended one side of the broken-off fender in the golf cart’s pickup bed to show Julian. “Pssh,” she said, “Pearl even lost a fender off the cart. Came flying off when she was jumping dunes.”

  Julian hummed a sound of displeasure in his throat. It got her tingling. He looked her way now.

  “Sorry, baby,” she said to him, giving a not-sorry lopsided smile. Then, “What kind of trouble am I in?”

  He stepped closer, held a lock of her hair, studied it. “There’ll be consequences.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  He chuckled, let her hair go, said, “Shackelford’s coming to the island for a visit tomorrow.”

  Her whole body slumped, and she rolled her eyes wildly, saying, “Ugh. That’s real punishment.”

  Julian said, “Don’t be petulant. You know that’s not your real punishment.”

  From behind them, Marly said, “You’re going to punish her?”

  Without looking Marly’s way, her eyes on Julian’s, she said, “Don’t worry, Marly—I deserve it. I’m practically begging for it.”

  Julian’s eyes bored into hers now and he was intense. He said, “Marly, I’ll have someone get you settled then we’ll meet for drinks on the beach. Spare me Pearl for a few moments, would you?—I need to talk to my fiancée. In private.”