Bitsy's Inhuman Submission Ch. 01

With lime green eyes that slash her enemies down and reflect the lime sheen of the lightning bolts she summons in her anger, Lady Elizabeth Karnackii nevertheless stood subdued, enchained, as she awaited her fate.

Her Grace, the Duchess, leader of the witches in the days since her mother's death smirked at the defendant. Elizabeth did not see the gaze; she was merely counting down the seconds until her death sentence is pronounced. She had been holding her breath since she confessed to the death of the old Duchess, a crime she did not--could not--commit, as the new Duchess well knew.

Tracy, the Duchess, cleared her throat. All eyes were on her as she preferred them to be. "I bow to the wishes of the court and King Stuart in making this sentence. I am grateful that I have this opportunity, as it was my mother who lost her life two days ago. I wish to show mercy for Elizabeth, as she so kindly confessed to the crime, sparing us a lengthy trial. In lenience, I commute the death sentence." A gasp went up throughout the courtroom. "Instead, she is sentence to a year in King Stuart's custody."

Stuart's lecherous gaze swept the trembling, enchained virago that had haunted his dreams for years. Ever since Tracy had offered this bargain, he had played out each fantasy he had imagined for his cousin's fiancée over the years. Now, only a few feet and the thin white muslin gown separated him from the body that made his dreams ignite. The chains, rather than repulsing him, served only to heighten his desire for Elizabeth. Images of her spread eagle for his delectation played in his mind.

***

Stuart led her, stumbling, by the chains that joined her hands together down the heavy stone stairs into the darkness of the dungeon. With a laconic gesture, he lit a match, his features taking on a demonic cast in the light of the candle he now lit.

He waved his hands expansively, a gesture only obscene as he parodied the generous host. "This will be your home until you learn to please me."

With a rough jerk he tugged and then finally dragged her to the manacles that were placed on the far wall. The candlelight caressed the menacing devices that Elizabeth tried to ignore.

Elizabeth kept her head down, eyes downcast, as he ordered her to lift each hand to be shackled to the wall. The heavy black iron of the manacles contrasted sharply with her ivory skin; the coldness seemed to chill her to the bone. Stuart was gratified to see her pale pink nipples stand proudly in relief, the only impudence his domination would tolerate.

For Elizabeth, she refused to acknowledge his control of her; instead, she dreamed of her gentle love, Michael, the king's cousin. She bit her lip almost to the point of drawing a thin line of green blood.

"Further," the king continued, "you are woefully overdressed." A sword, the wickedest blade in the king's collection sheered the fragile muslin of her gown. Even Stuart, the master swordsman, was shocked at how easily his blade divided the delicate fabric. The blade worked until her body was bare to his gleaming dark gaze.

Her refusal to look him in the eyes, for him to completely enjoy her humiliation enraged him. From a nearby stone table he lifted a riding crop. With the handle, he pushed her chin up until she was forced to catch his gaze.

"Rule number one: I must always be able to see your reactions in your eyes. Hide them from me and the punishment will be all the more severe."

Her mute, mulish glare was her only response to his dictate.

"Second," he added, slowly running the loop of the crop across each puckered nipple, "you will refer to me as 'Master' or as 'Your Majesty.' Is that understood?"

Although fear of the leather crop shook her slender frame, Elizabeth responded, "Is that all, Your Highness?"

She flinched as the crop raised and slashed twice in quick succession, once on each uptilted nipple.

Stuart's voice thundered, "What did you just call me?"

Elizabeth's wheezing whimpers echoed in the cavernous gloom, her only reply. To her shame, she felt her body tearing--not her eyes, which would be embarrassing enough--her softness between her legs wept, for what she could not begin to understand.

Her mind balked at Stuart's demands. She was not raised as a Romanian; she was no subject of his to do his will. Even more, she did not understand why his touch, his masterfulness, aroused her. Michael, before he left, had impressed on her the need for them both to remain sexually untouched until they wed. Until now, she had kept that promise.

Stuart, by far more experienced with the female sex, recognized the signs of arousal: the taut, pouting nipples begging for lips, teeth, tongue, whip, and candle wax; the uneven breathing that caused his predator's senses to sing; and the sweet wetness even now dewing the curls at the apex of her thighs, curls that he would have removed so that she could hide none of her secrets from him. Even now, the sweet muskiness that betrayed her beckoned him to taste.

Elizabeth, still pondering her reaction to him, wet her lips with the tip of her pink tongue. "I'm sorry...Your Majesty," the words tumbled from her trembling lips.

Her words of unwilling submission snapped him out of the trance her aroma had triggered. "That will do...for now, slave," his voice snapped with a frustration he couldn't conceal.

Elizabeth flinched at the word that echoed just as her whimpers had filled the chamber earlier.

She was no one's slave, much less his. The mutinous light entered her eyes again.

Stuart welcomed the lime green flash. "Your Highness," she stressed, "I am not your SLAVE!" The hand that had held the crop loosely now tightened as he returned to his new toy. "Would you care to restate that, slave? You have only this chance." For emphasis, he smacked the loop of the crop into his other hand, the heavy smack causing her to wince, although the green lightning did not fade.

From deep within her, her natural hauteur rose to the fore. "No. I don't wish to restate anything. Your Highness," she added, merely to goad him.

One hand still clenching the crop, Stuart's other hand grabbed for the closure of his pants, yanking until his strong heavy arousal was free. He then removed her from the manacles at the wall, a twisted smile playing on his face.

With a look that could only be described as unholy glee, he yanked her by her raven waves to her knees to the cold stone floor. He pulled her head up merely to be able to see her fear-laced disdain.

"As you will not learn your place, I think it best to institute your first punishment. I am going to gag you. You will take my cock in your mouth while I take a crop to your slave's ass. Maybe then you will learn your place."

Pinching her nose so that she was forced to open her lips, he plowed past her soft lips to the hot wet cavern that he had dreamed of nightly since his cousin's engagement to her.

Her lips spread obscenely with his thick member, Elizabeth struggled to breathe. The first sharp smack of the crop caused her to jerk a bit, bringing a groan of pleasure from the king.

Swishing smacks rained down on her tender rounded buttocks until soon the ivory blushed pink, then magenta. Tears streamed her eyes and gurgling noises escaped around her cock, yet she refused to move. Refused to give him pleasure. She refused to acknowledge the juice dewing her curls that leaked slowly down her thigh.

The king, meanwhile, held himself rigid as he mentally counted the swats to thirty to allow himself the pleasure of her mouth enrobing his cock. Finally, he could take no more. Using her hair as a leash, his cock rode her mouth cruelly, mindless of the choking, gagging noises issued forth from the back of her throat.

A hoarse shout alerted her that he was about to release his seed in her mouth. She struggled to pull away, but his hands held her immobile, forcing her to take his load. "Swallow it all, slave," he barked.

The ropy strings of creamy come continued to spurt, stinging her face and breasts with his heat as he pulled out of the warm heaven of her mouth. One final blob landed just above her eyes, still laser green defiance.

Stuart's heavy breathing filled the next few moments until he gradually came to his senses.

The senses of the wolf, the predator registered the tangy evidence of her desire, even more evident now. Elizabeth glared at him, still not comprehending the error of her words--or choosing headlong to ignore his warnings and his punishment, he couldn't decide.

Her nipples stood out, tempting little morsels, but what he really wanted to feast on was the moist valley between her legs. He dropped on his knees before her, pushing her down on her back on her stone cold floor.

Her legs splayed, Stuart dove face first just to the left of the delicious feast offered before him. Elizabeth choked in shock, reflexively swallowing the spunk that had been lodged upon her tongue as the king nibbled and then bit, marking her on the sensitive skin of her thigh just shy of her streaming cunt.

The werewolves' bite, his brand for his prey, burned through her veins as her lime-tinted blood leaked from the wound. A taste of her potent blood was all he allowed himself, the salt before the shot of the heady liquor he would find between her legs.

A raspy voice, just barely managing control, gloated, "This will be your final humiliation this evening. You desire my mouth here even now, just as all sluts. The high and mighty Ice Bitch, Elizabeth Dracula, will soon be mewling her climax that I will savor."

Her eyes less sharp now but still determined, she whispered, "I will never purr for you, Your Highness." He forgave her transgression for he heard the newly awakened desire resonating in her tone.

The king's nose drank in the distinctive aroma of her juices. He dipped one finger past her pouting pussy lips. After pulling the dewed fingers from her cunt he held them up to her. "Lick my fingers, slave. Taste the arousal you struggle to deny."

Her tongue darted out, compelled by his tone and the gaze that locked with hers. The flick of her tongue signaled her submission to him in a way she would later regret.

"Tell me how you taste, slave," her Master ordered.

Her gaze almost dreamy now, she considered his words. "Almost like fresh cream, Master."

A groan welled up from deep in Stuart's chest as his tongue darted down for his own first taste of her sweet cunt.

At the first touch of his tongue to her sensitive little clitty, both Master and slave shuddered. Elizabeth's hips bucked upward in welcoming submission. She bit back the mewling moans that he had threatened her with.

Stuart's talented tongue, honed from years of practice on many of the pussies in Europe, teased her sensitive clit further. She knew he was trying to force a reaction, and she railed against giving him this satisfaction.

With two thumbs, he separated her soft, furred pussy lips. His tongue laved her labia, sliding closer and closer to the hole that wept the honey that now coated his tongue from his intimate cleansing of her cunt.

Stuart could hardly believe his luck. For years, he had resented his cousin for his woman. For Elizabeth. He burned to make this Ice Bitch melt into a puddle as a result of his domination.

Her slender neck that would wear his collar appeared fragile, vulnerable now, especially where her pulse beat erratically with heightened arousal. His gaze absorbed the cream and rose beauty of her coloring. Her rounded breasts would pillow his cock later--later, he promised himself. His cock hardened at the image that struck in his mind where he would ride that now untried pussy while he taught her how to suckle her own nipples. The narrowness of her belly and hips, both that same creamy, snowy white invited him to mark her, to claim her permanently, not just for the damned year.

Sweet, sexy whimpers, so at odds with her usually stern voice clued to him that she was strung out, rapidly approaching her climax.

As he felt her pussy clench around his tongue, he lapped greedily at the juices she produced.

He lifted up only to command, "Sing for me, my bitch. Scream my name as you come."

In a voice several octaves higher than her normally clear soprano, she screamed "Stuart!" before retreating to the soft, mewling moans.

***

Stuart led a limp Bitsy to the sets of black iron manacles that littered the wall of the dungeon. At his order, she lifted first her right hand, then her left to each tether that he deftly attached to her wrist.

Stepping back to observe his handiwork, he tweaked her left nipple. Bitsy jumped in her chains as the peak hardened again.

That show of domination wasn't enough for the king. His lips plundered her pale pink ones that shuddered beneath his own. Sooty black lashes fanned her cheeks as her eyes closed, a demure contrast to the spitfire virago who fought his mastery only an hour earlier. He pondered cleaning her face and torso of his rapidly drying come, but then decided that he preferred this mark of his on her as well.

Her eyes dreamily opened as he broke off the kiss; the laser green had been replaced by the dewy spring green of new leaves following a warm spring shower. Damn, I'm growing almost poetic, he castigated himself. He found the new befuddlement of one newly awakened to dark sexual passion almost adorable, but the body of his new courtesan brought to mind images more pornographic than domestic.

With a shake of his head, he gave his new toy her directions, "Slave, Maria will shortly bring you refreshment and the materials to shave. After you finish eating, she will shave you. Do you understand, slave?"

Bitsy started to nod, but then stopped herself. "A shave, Your Majesty?" she asked with a raised brow.

He nodded in approval for her correct form of address. "Yes, slave." Two strong fingers parted her ebony hair cloaked nether lips to collect the moisture that still called to his predator's senses. He brought one finger to her lips. "Taste," he commanded as he had earlier; this time she eagerly licked her juices from his finger. His gaze locked with hers, ebony zeroed in on green, he tasted the juices that clung to his other moistened finger. He pulled the fingers away, their lips only millimeters apart. "The next time I taste those particular lips slave, or the first time you hold my cock within you, you will be soft and smooth."

As he spoke, her lips brushed his.

She appeared hypnotized by his presence as he stepped away to gauge her reaction. After blinking twice, Bitsy nodded. "Yes, your Majesty." For the first time, she really looked at the king; prior to her imprisonment, she had never really looked at Michael's cousin.

He stood well over a foot above her modest five feet, six inches. A dark auburn pelt capped a tanned forehead. Ebony eyes of infinite depth and coldness burned her with their coldness, but they had melted her inhibitions earlier. Hard, cruel lips that had become the confounding mixture of demanding, coaxing, and seducing on both her lips and pussy frowned in frustration just now. Broad shoulders led to strong arms and chest that betrayed his physical strength. No wonder so many women had fallen victim to his masculinity, Bitsy thought to herself.

His eyes sharpened on her. "That is all slave," he snapped before blowing out the single candle, plunging the dungeon into impenetrable blackness.