tagErotic HorrorThe Bitch is Back

The Bitch is Back


It had been ten years since the last time Mark saw her, but all that fell away in an instant. The random motions of the crowd had, just for a moment, left them in perfect view of each other, and to Mark, that moment felt like ten years of ice water rushing into his veins. Her hair, that perfect platinum blonde so close to white that it seemed to gleam. The ice-blue eyes...he actually flinched when she looked at him, like she'd cut into him with a whip. Skin as pale as alabaster, paler than her white leather outfit even in the middle of summer in DC. And that smile. That smile was the worst part of it all. She didn't have it at first, but when she saw him, when she recognized him, the sides of her mouth curled up in just the faintest smile of triumph. He heard the cracking of thick glass, the voice--you can fight it now, you bastard, i think she's dead--remembered the smell of rain and blood. It was all he could do not to wet himself. He knew for a fact he'd never be able to run if she came for him.

Then the bustle of the crowd swallowed her up as if she'd never been there at all, and he felt motion returning to his limbs. But he knew now. She wasn't dead. Mistress Eva. Oh, god. He pulled out his cell phone as he started walking as fast as he could away from the spot where he'd seen her. It only took a moment to dial his home number, but every ring seemed to take forever. He kept expecting to feel a hand on his shoulder, hear that soft voice saying, "Broken to My will..." Ten years, and it felt like it could have been ten seconds.

Finally, Erica picked up. "What is it, honey?" she asked with a trace of amusement in her voice. "Not going to be late, are you? Because if you miss--"

"She's alive, Erica." He was talking too loud, too fast, but he didn't care who heard. "I saw her. She--" you can fight it now, you bastard, i think she's dead-- "You were wrong. I saw her and she saw me. Lock the doors, Erica. Lock them and..." Oh, god, she'd have my keys if she gets to me, she'd be able to get right inside the house... "Lock them and hide in the bedroom. Shove something in front of the door. Something heavy. Don't let anyone in but me, and, and even then, don't trust me. You have to be ready to hurt me if I try to hurt you. Promise me, Erica. Promise me you'll stop me if I try to hurt you."

Erica didn't sound frightened on the other end of the line, and that frightened Mark even more. "Honey, calm down. It couldn't have been...Eva. Even if you're right, and I didn't--" --you can fight it now, you bastard, i think she's dead-- "Even if she's alive, that was ten years ago, and thousands of miles away. She wouldn't come here stalking us, not in the middle of Washington. If she was going to do that, she'd have done it years ago. You must have been mistaken."

He was out of the crowd now, heading for his car. He swung his head wildly around, almost tripping over his own feet as he tried to keep a complete lookout, but he didn't see any sign of her. "Do you really think I could forget her? Five days, Erica. If you'd been there, you'd never forget her either. She's alive. She saw me. Maybe it was an accident, maybe it was just coincidence that made us bump into each other, maybe she'd just been waiting for me to win an election. But she's back. We both have to accept that before she finds us. Now lock the damn doors, get into the bedroom, and wait for me. I'll be home in three hours." He hung up without another word.

Ten years ago, and it felt like it could have been ten seconds...


Mark Sandhurst and Erica Sandhurst. Six days into their honeymoon on St. Vincent, and this was the first time they'd even left the hotel room. He grinned. He'd been doing a lot of grinning lately. "We should at least go out onto the beach once," she'd said. "People are going to ask a lot of questions if we come back from a tropical island and don't even have a tan."

He'd brushed her strawberry blonde hair out of her eyes and grinned roguishly. "Then maybe we'll have to tell them some answers."

She'd laughed, but they wound up heading down to the beach anyway. It was a good idea, too; he was already learning that she had great instincts. It was a good trait for a lawyer's wife. And who knows, he thought as he walked over to the bar, a good Congressman's wife as well?

The bartender gave him a faint smile of amusement as he sat down on one of the barstools, but her eyes were unreadable behind John Lennon sunglasses. She looked a bit out of place for St. Vincent's, he thought idly. It was the hair, so blonde as to be almost white. Made her look more Nordic than tropical. "Two rum and cokes," he said, pulling out a credit card.

"Certainly, sir," she said in a clear, melodic voice. "No sex on the beach for you, then?"

He looked back across the sand to where Erica lay on a beach towel, soaking up the tropical sun. For a moment, he wondered if the bartender was flirting with him. Barking up the wrong tree there, he thought. He already had the most beautiful woman on the island. "Just the rum and cokes, thanks." She nodded and got to work, and he got back to staring at his brand-new wife.

She actually had to tap him on the shoulder to give him the drinks. "There you are, sir. And congratulations on your recent marriage."

Mark gave a little start. "How'd you--?"

The bartender smiled. "You're not the first newlyweds I've seen out here. Enjoy your drinks."

Mark thanked her, left a decent tip, and took a sip of his rum and coke before starting the walk back. He literally could not remember a time when he'd been so happy. He just seemed to be floating the whole way. In fact, it felt like the world just seemed to be moving in slow motion. Everything just felt so perfect, right down to the slight breeze across his neck, and the gentle warmth of the sun, that it felt like this whole day had frozen in time, just for him. Frozen, and...


He didn't even remember dropping the rum and cokes, or falling over. It just felt like one moment he was on the beach, in the warmth and light, and the next, he was somewhere else. Someplace dark.

But everything still felt like it was moving in slow motion. His head felt light, like it was in danger of falling off if he moved it too fast. Everything felt muddled. He'd had clothes on when...when...it was hard to process time. Thinking felt like too much effort.

"Hello." He looked up. Everything seemed hazy, and his eyes had trouble focusing, but it looked like the woman from the beach was talking to him. She wore a leather outfit now instead of the light dress she'd worn on the beach, but she'd kept the same creamy white color. "Mark Sandhurst, recently made junior partner at the prestigious law firm of Hawthorne and Blake, and a rising star. They're saying you could be President in twenty years, Mark. I always wanted a President." She leaned down and caressed his cheek, and he shivered at the intensity of the sensation.

"Recently married, although I'll admit I haven't paid much attention to your beautiful wife's talents. I'll need to get that out of you before we're done here." She focused her eyes onto his. They were the most beautiful ice-blue. He felt like he couldn't look away. "But where are My manners, Mark? I am Mistress Eva. Your Mistress." She laughed. "And here I bet you thought you'd be a Senator before you had a mistress."

She traced a finger down his chest, and he shuddered. "Feel that, Mark? It's the drugs. Not just the roofies I slipped into your drinks. That was just so that you and I could be alone together for a while. No, I've pumped a number of powerful drugs into your system. Makes it hard to think, doesn't it, Mark?" He tried to figure out exactly what she meant by the question. The sensation as she rubbed his nipples made it impossible, though. "It stimulates your nervous system as well. It amplifies pleasure...and pain." Her nails dug into his chest and he gasped. "Right now, your brain is nothing but putty. Broken to My will. Why don't you say that for me, Mark? 'Broken to My will...'"

His tongue felt thick in his mouth, but he managed to speak clearly, if slowly. "Broken...to...your will..."

"Very, very good, Mark!" Her hand moved lower down, brushing just gently against his balls, and he felt everything go red for a moment with pleasure. "Broken to My will. But of course, I can't just keep pumping you full of drugs forever. I don't want you to be some mindless zombie." She raised one perfect eyebrow. "Not all the time, at least. You'll need to be able to pass through the corridors of power, while still remaining totally obedient to Me. I don't want to destroy that mind of yours, Mark. I want to harness it. To ride it." One of her fingers just barely brushed up against his cock. He could feel that it had gotten erect, but he couldn't remember when. Remembering took too much effort. It felt too much like thinking.

"So let's talk, Mark. I want you to tell Me everything about yourself. I want to learn every detail of your life, every chink in your armor, every hold a woman can have on your soul." Her ice-blue eyes bored into his. "Tell me everything, and I might even use my whole hand, Mark."

He began to talk.


He didn't know how much time had passed when he woke up. But this time, he knew he'd woken up for real. His body still felt weak and shaken, his limbs loose and watery and weak as a kitten's. But he could think again. Whatever that bitch had done to him, he felt like himself again. He tried to get up off the bed, but his legs went out from under him and he sprawled out onto the floor.

Mistress Eva walked in, utterly naked this time, clearly amused at his distress. Her skin was pale as moonlight, and utterly free of any blemish. It looked almost inhuman, like a marble statue. He half-expected her to be as cold as stone when she touched him. "Phase Two, Mark," she said. "I gave you a different series of drugs this time. I want your mind clear, but I can't have you trying to overpower Me, can I? Although I think by this point, you're probably less able to fight Me than you think. Broken to My will, Mark..."

He heard his own voice say, "Broken to--" before he managed to gain control of his own tongue again. "Go to hell," he said. "I love my wife."

She smiled. The bitch actually smiled. "And that's a shame, Mark. Because we've had a long, interesting talk about your wife. She sounds lovely, a brilliant artist and social activist. But that's going to be a problem." She sat down on the corner of the bed, looking down at him, resting her feet on his chest. "Oh, not the 'social activist' part. By the time I'm finished with her, the only cause she'll care about is Mistress Eva's Will. But artists...it's so hard to brainwash someone and keep the artistic temperament. And frankly, I don't need her around for the decor. So I'm afraid that you're going to become a noble widower, Mark. She's going to be the victim of her own fatal carelessness--obviously not in any scandalous way, that'd be wasteful. But she'll be out of the way soon enough. Just as soon as she's broken to My will."

"Broken...no! Please, I am fucking begging you. I'll do anything you ask--"

"That's a good start, Mark. But My mind is made up. I don't need another mouth to feed."

Mark glared up at her. "I swear to God, you will never make me help you in this. Not if you're the woman who killed my wife. You will never break me if you hurt her."

Eva stood up, straddling his body. "Such self-confidence. Erection, Mark." Mark looked down to see his own penis stiffening. "See? Your other brain, I already control." She slowly lowered herself down, until she was squatting just inches above his dick. He could feel her moisture dripping down onto it. "I know everything that pleases you, Mark. You can't escape that relentless pleasure." She fixed her ice-blue eyes on his own. "You can't escape Me. If it takes Me an hour...or a day...or a month...you can't escape Me. You will be broken to My will." She plunged herself down onto him. She didn't feel cold like a statue, though. She felt so warm, so wet...

"Brokennnnooooo!" He tried to look away, but it felt like there were iron cables tying her eyes to his. He tried to twist away, but his body could do little more than writhe as she clenched and relaxed her pussy, not moving up and down even a fraction of an inch yet. "No, no, no!"

"Broken to My will, Mark." She slid up just a little, her cunt feeling like a velvet glove around his cock.

"no no no no..." he was chanting it now, trying to drown out her voice.

"Broken to My will." She was riding him now, just like she'd said she would.

"Broken to you're going to kill my wife, you bitch!" He was panting with effort now, but she wasn't even sweating. That perfect marble skin made her seem like she was just gliding up and down his cock.

"One last chance, Mark. Broken." She slid all the way up to the tip of his cock, just holding it barely in her pussy lips. "To." She slammed herself back down, pressing all the way against his hips in a single motion. "My." Her fingers gently caressed his balls. "Will."

"Erica." The word felt solid in his mouth, like sucking on a stone.

She pulled herself off of him. "Very impressive, Mark. It's My own fault, really. I should have mentioned the wife later on." She walked over to the corner and put on a silken bathrobe. "Oh, well. We've tried the carrot..." She cinched shut the belt of the robe, and the smile left her face... "Now let's try the stick."


Erica Sandhurst almost signed her name "Erica Bloom" on the Missing Persons Report. That was how long she'd been married.

Of course, everyone had been full of sympathy. The police...well, St. Vincent wasn't supposed to be a place where tourists got into trouble. They'd promised to do everything they could for her. Her family back home, and Mark's as well, had asked her if she wanted them to come out there. She'd told them to wait back home. No point in dropping thousands of dollars on flights out here just to wait around in a hotel room like she was. Like she had been for the last five days straight. She looked out at the night sky, suspecting that rain was coming, but not caring enough to close the door out onto the balcony. Five days. The longest five days of her life.

A noise from around the corner made her start. Every day, she'd been waiting for Mark to walk back into the hotel room like nothing had happened, and every day, the maid or the concierge or a policeman had made her think it was about to happen, and every day...

Mark walked back into the hotel room like nothing had happened. He walked over to her, seeming almost numb with shock, and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"Omigod, Mark!" she gasped. At the same time, she was wrapping her arms around his. "What happened--where were you--why didn't you, oh, god, I was so worried..." She just held him for a long moment, sobbing in his arms. Then she noticed something.

She noticed just how tight he was holding her.

"He was with Me, darling," someone behind Mark said. Erica could tell it was a woman, and her voice was filled with cruel amusement. "You should be proud. He lasted five days. I've broken Navy Seals in less time than that." Mark shifted his grip, bringing her face to face with this crazy woman who'd kidnapped her husband. "I'm Mistress Eva. Your Mistress. And soon, you will be broken to My will."

Behind her, Mark whispered out, "Broken to your will..." The tone of sheer mindless devotion sent shivers of terror up Erica's spine.

"What have you done to him?" she shouted. Behind them, the sound of thunder signaled an approaching storm.

"He just told you himself--and here I thought you were going to be smart. Perhaps I should just change your mind around a little, give you a new career doing porno--the bimbos always do well in the sex trade." Eva smiled. "But no, I can't damage My new toy's political future. I'll just have to break you and then make you kill yourself. Don't worry, it'll look like an accident."

Erica felt Mark's grip slacken suddenly, and she struggled wildly to break free. "Hold her, Mark," Eva said in taut, angry tones. Mark's grip tightened again. "Bad boy, Mark...you know what disobedience means." Erica heard Mark whimper in terror. "Rollercoaster."

Mark's grip suddenly tightened painfully, not to hold her but out of simple reflexive terror. "Rollercoaster, Mark." He whimpered again in abject fear. "It took a lot to break him, Erica. You should be impressed. But he told me so many things while he was drugged. He told me why you took a cruise to St. Vincent instead of a plane. He told me why he quit college basketball. He told me why he never went into the military. That was the stick to my carrot, Erica. Simply to invoke his fear of heights. I can make him imagine being on the tallest, most terrifying..." She smiled, cruelly. "...rollercoaster... imaginable." Erica felt her husband quake. He'd almost cut off the circulation to her arms, he was grabbing her so tight. "And only I can take it away. Broken to My will, Mark."

Mark's grip relaxed, but not enough to let her go. "...broken to your will..." Erica would have bruises for a week.

Eva pulled out a syringe. "And now I think it's time for your mind to go away for a bit. We need to chat, girl to girl, and frankly your personality just gets in the way. I'll have Mark visit the police once you're out, tell them a little story about getting lost in the jungle--that, plus a hundred dollar bill, should see off any questions. The police here are quite corrupt." She stepped in, and pressed the tip of the needle against Erica's flesh. "And you, My dear, will spend a while with Me." Erica pushed back as hard as she could, anything to keep the needle from stabbing into her. "I wonder if you'll fight harder to save your own life than your husband fought to keep Me from killing you?"

Mark let go. Erica sprawled backwards, a tiny pinprick of blood on her arm where the needle had just poked into her. She staggered to her feet, looking wildly around her. Outside the hotel room, the rain had begun to pour down in torrents. The scent of warm, wet tropical rain filled the room as Eva rounded on her slave.

"Rollercoaster, Mark. Rollercoaster, rollercoaster, rollercoaster!" Mark collapsed to his knees, his bladder letting go.

"i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry," he gasped out, again and again.

Eva's ice-blue eyes flared in fury. "You're sorry? 'Sorry' is only the beginning, you whimpering, pathetic worm! You will beg Me for forgiveness, again and again and again, and I will never be satisfied!" Lightning lit up her face like a vengeful goddess. "I own you! Body, mind and soul! That will never, ever change! You are broken to My--"

She dropped to the ground with a dull thud of cracking glass. Erica dropped the glass paperweight and stared down at the slumping body on the floor. A trickle of blood edged out from the wound.

She looked over at her husband, still on his knees whimpering in fear. She dragged him to his feet and towards the door. "You can fight her now, you bastard," she said, suddenly furious at his weakness. "I think she's dead!"

But she didn't stop to check. She pulled him out into the night, into the rain, praying that the soaking shower would give her back her husband...


It had, but Mark and Erica both knew how close it had been. They'd never gone back to the hotel room. If Eva had been there, and had taken control of Mark again...they simply went to the police station, told a few stories, spread a few bribes, and got the hell out of the country before anyone found the body. If there had been a body. Nothing ever showed up on the news. No obituary was ever published. Eventually, they both just pushed it away as a bad dream that marred their perfect life from time to time, and forgot.

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