Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Part of me wondered if I could hurry this part of the plan along; if I could just tell Belkonov to use my discarded fuck toy and then dispose of her as he saw fit, and then leave his palace, trusting Heather and the Pretorian Guard to take care of the rest in short order. I didn’t want to leave her in his ‘care’ at all, but I knew I would have to—the plan called for that as an essential element.
Could I spare myself the suffering and the danger involved in standing by while this shittiest of excuses for a dominant fucked my beloved, though? Only my knowledge of Heather’s dark submissive needs, the perfect match for my own will to master her, kept me from attacking Belkonov and ruining everything. If I appeared antagonistic to the man, or showed any awareness that he meant to take me down, a horrendous civil war would certainly break out in the wake of his disappearance.
Heather wanted this. I could still hardly believe what had happened on the embankment, but I had no doubt of her ability as a secret agent. I supposed I felt a little resentment that she had played me as she had, but the Pretorian Guard’s wanting precisely what I wanted—a way to rule my little empire for the benefit of its citizens rather than their exploitation—more than made up for it.
Plus, Heather’s proven ability to use her submissive sexuality in the service of her mission meant that, as painful to admit as it might be, I represented the potentially weak link in the plan. Alpha rage or no, I had to demonstrate to Belkonov beyond the shadow of a doubt that I had tired of my concubine and simply wanted to see her degraded and punished as much as possible before she made her final exit in some unknown and uncared-about way.
I looked at him, as he stood over Heather’s prostrate body, utterly naked but for her white, high-heeled shoes and the black hood. He pumped his rigid penis in his left hand, his eyes roaming freely over her uncovered private places, lingering it seemed to me on her lovely bottom, so cruelly marked by the knout.
I set my face into the same harsh expression I wore when I found myself forced to give orders for violent retribution.
“Do you want me to put her on the bench so you can fuck her?” I asked.
Heather
From moment to moment I felt certain I would pass out. When my gospodin asked Belkonov whether he should move me to the bench, the swooning, lightheaded sensation grew so strong that I would definitely have fallen down if I hadn’t already lain on my side between the two men—the good man and the bad man, my mind called them in the simplicity of thought to which I felt reduced.
My master and his enemy, some more complex level of logic said, though that part of my mind seemed off in the distance, only very loosely connected to the events unfolding in Belkonov’s dungeon.
“No,” the bad man said, speaking in the language I knew but shouldn’t know. “Let’s put her on my rocking horse. I want to see her shame herself with pleasure while she gets it in the ass.”
I felt my mouth starting to make an n—the beginning of no. But I couldn’t say no, because I shouldn’t know what the bad man had said. I changed the movement of my mouth: I made myself just open and shut it, like a fish, as if showing the bad man that I missed having his manhood inside me.
Suddenly—or it felt that way though I could tell that my sense of time had gone away along with my sight inside the frightening hood—I felt the good man’s hands on me. I could tell the hands belonged to him, but I hardly knew how—whether my body had become attuned to my master’s, or my mind told me that my gospodin would touch me that knowing way, while his enemy would never have that ability.
The words Belkonov had spoken seemed to rattle around inside my head, not making sense but nevertheless affecting me terribly, in the most humiliating way.
Shame herself with pleasure…
My rocking horse…
In the ass…
I had only gotten a glimpse of the thing. As Ivan lifted me from the floor with the ease he might have carrying a down-filled pillow, I tried desperately to keep the picture, the quick snapshot my brain had taken, from dominating my mind. It felt utterly mortifying to allow Belkonov to master my body with the very idea of his lewd toy.
But it seemed I couldn’t help the thoughts behind my closed eyelids, in the darkness of the hood. My gospodin, the good man, brought me the two or three meters to the horse, his shoes sounding squeaky on the padding of the floor.