Bitsy's Inhuman Submission Ch. 03

This chapter takes place a litle bit after chapter 2 leaves off. Enjoy and keep the comments coming, please!

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An hour later Bitsy was awakened by Maria's quiet knock on the door. She smiled up at her new friend sleepily. "Are you well, Your Ladyship?"

"Yes, Maria." Despite the bondage of the tie, Bitsy stretched her slender frame. "Could you untie me for a few moments, though? I need to make a phone call."

"I don't see why not," Maria agreed. "His Majesty did not say I couldn't untie you," she said reaching for the silky fabric. After untying Bitsy, she turned to leave. "Let me know if you need anything else," she called back.

Bitsy waited until Maria had shut the door before dialing on her cell phone which she found in her purse conveniently placed in the closet. The receiving end picked up on the second ring. "International Police Department Headquarters, how may I direct your call?"

"Alyssa Mason's secretary's desk, if you please," she demanded in her imperious tones known to make subordinates quaver.

But she had trained her receptionist staff to well to back down. "And who may I say is calling?" the receptionist queried in a laconic tone.

"The woman who signs your paycheck, Elyse," Bitsy ground out. For it was true that Lady Elizabeth "Bitsy" Karnackii Dracula, newly selected First Lieutenant of Count Dracula and concubine of King Stuart of Romania, and Alyssa Elizabeth Mason, Commandant General of the International Police Department headquartered in Paris, with the sole mission of eradicating all witches and werewolves with evil intent from the planet, were one and the same.

Elyse, one of Bitsy's closest friends (although not one privy to her covert "other" identity), giggled. "Right away, Lyssa," she said.

A few seconds later, Alyssa Mason's new secretary, Marcos, the king's brother, answered his desk's extension. "Marcos? Alyssa Mason here. I'm sorry I am unable to be present for your first few days on the job, but that's the burden of field operations. I left a file of your duties and responsibilities on your desk blotter. If you have any questions, either Ginger or Dee Browne will be glad to help. I don't know when I will be able to be in my office in the next few weeks, so this will be a trial by fire." Bitsy's businesslike tones had softened into the southern accent of her Texas hometown of Jasper.

She could hear the king's brother on the other end of the line shuffling through the papers in the folder. "All of it seems fairly straightforward, Ms. Mason."

"Alyssa," she corrected.

"Alyssa, then. You do have a few messages, though." Bitsy inwardly groaned. "The Duchess, that is Tracy Bathory, has called three times to set up an audience with you." Bitsy knew why, of course. As touted by The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal as the most influential woman alive, Alyssa Mason had aroused the interest of her former schoolmate, Tracy Bathory, who desperately wanted to help on the "Great Witch Hunt" with a "sizable monetary contribution."

Bitsy spent a few seconds clenching and unclenching her hands into fists. "Tell her that for the meantime, I am unavailable for appointments, but that I will personally contact her when I am able to meet with her. She won't like that, I know, but that honestly is the case."

Marcos just barely managed to hide his groan. "She really won't."

A glance at the huge grandfather clock that dominated one corner of the grand bedchamber alerted Bitsy to the fact that the king would probably return soon. An unwilling warmth and wetness seeped to gather at the newly unfurled petals of her sex. She shouldn't be thinking of him with such desire, but she could not help it. The fascination she had for him—her Master—compelled her to cherish each moment, each attention he lavished upon her. Call it the Stockholm Syndrome, call it latent effects of being placed in the asylum twelve years earlier, but the king in a few short days had become the center of her universe.

"That is all for today, Marcos. I do not know when I shall be able to contact you for the next few days, but again, just check in with Ginger or Dee if there are any problems that arise."

"Yes, Alyssa." The phone call ended after that only to have Maria rapidly enter the room.

She appeared out of breath as she approached Bitsy only to retie her wrists to the wrought iron of the headboard. "The king has returned, and he's in a foul mood. And he's been out riding."

Grimly, Bitsy pictured the king in full riding gear, the boots, the clothes, and the riding crop. She got a sinking feeling in her stomach, but she knew she needed to reassure Maria. "All will be well, my friend. It's nearly dinner time. You must eat!" A nervous Maria scurried away as Stuart came to stand in the doorway.

Bitsy soon realized that her mental picture was not far off the mark. The black riding boots that traveled up his legs to his knees nearly were buffed to a patent black sheen. Strong thighs were encased with buff riding breeches that were almost buttery soft as they caressed the muscles of his upper legs. A white button down shirt, open at the neck to display a patch of reddish-brown hair, the pelt that would extend to cover his body during every full moon, whispered over his torso. With an unreadable yet threatening expression, he swished the heavy black crop through the air. The air of menace was unmistakable, the demon highwayman come to life.

His slave, his pet, summoned up the strength to speak. "Welcome home, Your Highness," she said with a bit of sauciness to break the tension in Stuart's coiled presence.

The sensuous lips that had tormented her, pleasured her, and teased her, flattened into a thin line. "What did you call me, slave?" his questioned thundered throughout the room, bouncing off of the walls. A spark of red showed within the flat black depths of his gaze.

She pulled herself up to a sitting position. At this point, some insane part of her rationalized that it was best to provoke him further; the burgeoning violence she sensed within him needed to be unleashed before it grew into a maelstrom she could never hope to survive. "I said, 'welcome home, Your Highness.'"

Like the dog he was stalking his prey, he shifted toward the bed, never once taking his eyes off of her. "Lie back and spread your legs," he barked.

Compelled more from the dominating force of his presence than from his words, she did as commanded. The king removed his belt and attached one ankle to the headboard that held her wrists hostage; the leather that was warmed by his body heat cinched her foot tightly in place. Her other leg he lifted so that the knee was against the headboard. Using another tie and a complicated series of knots, he secured her thigh, leaving her open, spread widely obscene before him.

His anger had not calmed one iota during his activity. As he surveyed his crude, yet effective hogtying handiwork, his fury only grew. "My butler informed me that Maria untied you earlier today and that you were heard using your phone," he growled. "Tsk, tsk, pet. If you had needed use of your limbs and the phone, all you had to do was earn it, as you will this evening. But first, you consider Maria a friend or confidante, right?" At Bitsy's nod, he laughed insidiously. "Then to help her avoid her punishment at the hands of my male staff, you will submit to a double helping of punishment. Is that understood, slave?"

"Yes, Master," she whispered, her eyes wide with fright—and an even more troubling emotion. He had discovered that she seemed to grow even more aroused from the idea of his discipline. Now her eyes were glowing with suppressed pleasure in addition to the predictable fear. The fully cognizant part of his brain rationalized that this would be useful later, when he entered her backdoor.

Bitsy felt her body reacting against her will or reason, her nipples budding, her cunt leaking, her eyes dilating, and her breathing growing ragged. Despite the threat of the punishment to come—or because of it—she felt herself grow excited. As for having to do something later in exchange for the favor of being untied when not at his disposal and being able to use the phone—there was a word for women that exchanged their bodies for favors. Was she, in fact, going to be a whore?

Stuart left her little time to ruminate further. "I'm not going to ask you to count these; they will be coming at you too quickly. Nor am I going to ask you to play the coquette and beg for more. There will be a total of fifty: fifteen on each ass cheek centered on your sit spot and twenty on your clit and labia. Do you have anything to say?"

For a second, she considered saying the safe word persimmon. Would it make a difference if she did? She wouldn't be saying it for a surcease from pain, but rather to prohibit her own reaction to the punishment. It didn't seem right, somehow, to shirk this punishment as she had been deceitful (even more so than he knew). "Only that I'm sorry for being deceitful, Master."

Stuart almost relented, but then he remembered that she would need to be aroused to the point of no return for what was to come. The first thirty thwacks of the crop elicited squeaks that escalated to moans and then screams. Tears flowed from her eyes more from her regret at deceiving him that from the pain the thwacks elicited. Her pussy cried as well, a steady stream of juices that slide down the crack of her ass to gather beneath her. The king noted this with a sense of almost relief.

Before he began the final assault with the crop, he murmured to her, his anger nearly melted from her glorious reactions to his ministrations, "Now for the final twenty. You may orgasm as need be; I've been very generous in not prohibiting your orgasms, but the time will come soon where you will only come on my command." He bent to lick the tears that remained on her cheeks, kissing her eyes closed. "It is best not to watch this part, pet. Just feel."

The first heavy slash on her partially spread cunt lips elicited a shrill scream from her lips and juices rushing forth from her pussy; the force of the orgasm lifted her off of the bed. He continued quickly, each smack bringing forth a musical scream that melded pain and pleasure into a beautiful soprano siren's song.

When the twentieth stroke was just a recent memory, he dropped the crop where he stood, breathing as heavily as his slave. "Open your eyes," he ordered. "I need to see your reaction now."

Orbs of that incandescent vernal green shone for him, only for him, he could almost convince himself. The pleasure and desire were there, no fright, no animosity to cloud the crystalline window panes to her soul. And now, what he would do next could possibly shutter her soul to him forever.

"Slave," he stated, purposefully roughening his voice and distancing his tone, "now you will earn your partial freedom around the palace as well as the return of your phone." With brisk, almost angry movements, he removed her from her bondage.

The doubt seeped into her expression, paling her creamy complexion. "What is it that you require of me, Master?"

"There is an orifice on your body that I have not conquered. Your ass." At Bitsy's sharp indrawn breath, he paused, and then continued. "Even if it didn't come down to exchanging that particular pleasure of mine for more privileges for you, I would still partake of that enticing rosebud. You can comfort yourself with that."

Her sudden stiffness clued him in to how she felt about that. "But for now, pet, on your hands and knees, your legs off the bed to the knee, slightly spread with your ass facing me." He guided her into position, and then slapped each upturned buttock. "Very nice, my pet. I am so proud of you. You are growing greatly in your submission to me.

"Right now, I'm going to prepare you. You needn't worry that I'm just going to batter your tightest hole; I will make you crave it as you've craved every touch you have received from me." He bent over to collect one of the ties and the crop. He gathered the pillows from the bed and placed them beneath her chin. The king then retrieved her hands, securing them with the tie behind her back. He inserted the handle of the crop up within her pussy to flood it with juices. Her ass jumped from the feel of the thin leather rod invading her weeping hole.

"Calm down, my enticing pet. It is better that the crop invades your sweet anus before my fingers, lubricating the entry for my heavy erection." He tore open his pants, and his shaft sprang forth, angry, hard, and pink from his nest of reddish curls. The head of his cock probed the crack that hid her anus from view, spreading the moisture that had pooled there during her punishment. Meanwhile, he twisted the crop within her, sending a burst of creamy fluid to coat the slender handle. Her breath caught on a moan.

Stuart chuckled warmly. "There we go, slave. You've moistened it perfectly." The crop handle left her pussy with a yank. She shuddered slightly as it found the entrance of her still virginal anus. He reached around to tease her clit, twitching it, tugging it, eliciting a gasp that was the sweetest melody for his ears. "Relax, my tormented pet. Take deep breaths now." With slow twisting motions, he slid it inside her tightly clenching anus. She moaned, burying her face in the pillows as her pussy began to steadily drip on the sheets beneath her.

A whimper was made, one of loss and emptiness, when he withdrew the crop. "Don't worry, sweet slave, there is more to come." He laughed at his little joke as he dipped his fingers in her sopping cunt, drawing forth the honey that resided there. With a well-lubed finger, he began echoing the motions the crop had used as it had invaded the tight rosebud only moments before.

"Jesus, pet, you are so tight here!" Bitsy moaned her agreement as he worked to slide another finger within her, scissoring them to spread her a bit wider.

Then, his control broke. He pulled his long fingers out that had just began to cause his slave a pleasure she had never before experienced only to replace them at her backdoor entrance with the broad head of his cock. Sweat poured from his brow as he tried to claim the control that eluded him. "Say it slave," he ground out with the tattered remnants of his control. "Beg me to fuck your ass!"

She turned her head in the pillow to capture his gaze. "Please fuck my ass, Master," she moaned more than spoke.

A long, slow penetration was his answer for her. As he had directed, she worked to breathe deeply as her ass tried to tighten up, to clench to stop his further advancement by his cock. The sensations that the crop, then his fingers, had introduced within this secret place of hers awakened again, this time in a blazing array of star bursting colors that danced beneath her tightly closed eyelids. Pain was there, and pressure, too, but tied to it was the long, slow, inevitable slide of his erection moving within her, pistoning within her body, slowly at first, then with a gaining momentum.

She clenched her muscles around him experimentally and was rewarded with a groan of pleasure from him that mingled with her submissive one. The dance of the possessor—and the possessed—made more erotic by the taboo nature of this fucking, this claiming, and this mating. A burst of euphoria overtook her, sending her with shattering speed to the most powerful orgasm of these last few days, of her entire life. The dual clenching of her vaginal and anal walls served to milk a scream and an eruption of boiling semen up deep within her ass.

In the rapid heartbeats after their orgasms, the king collapsed on top of her before pulling out of her anus. She savored the warmth and aroma of his body as it surrounded her, feeling an almost desperate love for him permeate her soul. Bitsy sighed happily.

Her sigh seemed to cause a chain reaction within him. He stood, his expression again growing remote. With an angry twist he pulled her up by her hair, using her hair as a cloth to wipe and clean his cock. She stared at him mutely, wondering what had become of the warm, teasing, and then passionate lover of only seconds before. With purposeful determination, he shoved his phallus into his breeches and buttoned them up. He untied her hands rubbing the wrists roughly to help her regain the blood circulation to her hands. She flexed him, watching but not comprehending as he tossed her phone on the bed.

"My secretary will apprise you of my schedule during the day. I will give you leave to be away from here during the times when I am not present or when you are not required by me to be here. I expect you to be here for those other times. Maria will be up shortly to bathe you and prepare you for the evening meal. Your...cooperation...spared her from punishment that she well deserved. And," he said, delivering the cutting final remark with an odious smirk, "you're obedience and enthusiasm for your final deflowering while I pounded that tight rosebud earned you the use of your phone. I will see you at dinner, slave."

He turned and left, leaving her in a pool of his—and her—climactic juices.

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Stay tuned for Chapter 4!