Shamefully Mastered – Bound For Service Read Online Emily Tilton

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When the door opened that time, instead of the silence that accompanied his own solitary visits to use me, I heard boisterous laughter. Four or five men, it sounded like to me.

This is it, said the calculating, logical part of me that I had carefully kept awake and protected. Either the plan is going to work or I’m going to die, probably in a very painful way. Definitely in an utterly degrading way.

I refused to think about the parts of the plan that depended on things far beyond my control: things Ivan had hopefully done, things the Pretorian Guard agent had promised would happen. Thankfully, I didn’t have much time to think about anything extraneous to the immediate situation in Belkonov’s dungeons, because I heard him stride straight to my side and then I felt the compliance wand press against my back, followed by the tingling that meant he had activated it.

“Obey every command these men and I give you,” he said, his voice hard and loud, the tone of an incompetent commander who feels he must put on some dominant act in front of his thug henchmen.

Then he spoke in Russian to one of the others.

“You’ll see, like I told you. Go ahead and unchain her. Take the cuffs off too so her hands feel better on your cocks. Just not the hood. Our benefactor doesn’t want you to see her pretty face, but you should use the mouth all you want. The slut can’t help doing whatever you tell her to do.”

The door slammed heavily shut.

Belkonov had stood up as he gave his instructions to his minions. I heard him move away, and then I lost track of him because another man had come over. I felt his hands unfastening the chain that bound me to the wall, and then the cuffs around my wrists.

“Get up,” he said in Russian.

Oh, no. I tried to resist. I shouldn’t know that Belkonov’s thug had just given me a command; I shouldn’t know the language. For an instant I thought I could do it, could stay in place on the floor. Then I started to move, compelled by the wand’s effect.

Belkonov saved me. “In English, you fool,” he said in Russian, before they could notice that my movement represented helpless obedience.

The henchman spoke again in accented English. “Get up.”

I had enough wiggle room within the confines of the wand’s operation that I could shift myself and push up in a different direction, disguising my previous attempt at compliance. I got up, with my hands instinctively over my breasts and my pussy.

“Hands on your head,” Belkonov barked.

Good, I thought, he’s going to stay involved, as we knew he would. He’s too possessive to actually share me, the way Ivan did.

My hands went to my head. A murmur of obscene appreciation went through the other men. I still couldn’t tell how many there were, but I thought my guess of four was probably a good one.

Clearly trying to play the part of the benevolent boss giving his closest aides a coveted perk, Belkonov said in a casual voice, “You should punish her first. The benefactor told me she’s a bad girl, and he wants her whipped soundly before she’s used. Don’t worry about doing it too hard—we have to get rid of her afterward, anyway.”

For the very first time I felt glad to have the awful hood on my head, because I knew they would have seen my comprehension etched on my face. I forced myself to swallow hard, and managed to keep my sob of fear and shameful arousal down in my throat.

I felt a hand on my bottom pushing me forward, making me stumble until other strong, masculine hands caught me. The first hand, or maybe another one, delivered a hard spank. I cried out in pain and alarm.

Someone pushed me up against a piece of furniture, its edge pressing into my belly.

“Get on that,” said a voice I hadn’t heard before, his English almost unrecognizable. “Ass high. We’re going to whip you until you beg for our cocks.”

Now, the rational part of me said.

I ripped off the hood.

“Alright, you motherfuckers,” I said in perfect Russian, looking around at the five men in their dark suits, of whom Belkonov seemed the most thunderstruck, and concentrating not on the enemy warlord but on his minions, “if you want to live, you’re going to grab that asshole who calls himself your boss as soon as…”

I had meant to say, as soon as my friends get here, but my friends interrupted me. With a deafening crunch and a cloud of dust, the wall of the dungeon—the one, I noted before its destruction, that had held the ring to which my collar must have been attached—fell down, and the Pretorian Guard arrived.

CHAPTER 25

Ivan

I watched the Guard’s invasion of Belkonov’s dungeon in a van parked two streets away from the palace. The man’s security precautions, they had told me, prevented any access to the room where he had kept Heather for three days. The Guard’s micro-drones had kept constant watch on the upper floors of the house, so they had felt reasonably certain that he hadn’t moved Heather. Until their slow, silent digging device breached the wall of the basement, though, they couldn’t assure me that Belkonov had kept her alive.


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