Belok's Bride

by Reese Gabriel

  “Tell Vonya to come on your face, whore. Beg for it.”

  “Please, I beg you to come on my face,” she replied almost shyly.

  Vonya threw back his head, her words apparently pushing him over the top. Merritt braced herself as the first of it pelted her. The sperm shot out in white-hot jets, splashing her cheeks, lips and nose, bathing her face in the fluid she herself had coaxed to daylight.

  “That’s it, soak her completely!” Timor roared.

  Vonya continued to pump himself, the supply of jism seeming to be endless. It was in Merritt’s hair now and on her chin. Gobs of it sticking to her skin.

  “Her tits —get her tits!”

  The last drop of it bathed her exposed cleavage and the dress, too. The material was ruined now, but she had no say and no power to object or resist.

  “By Blessed Vistya,” the expended man exclaimed. “Look. I’ve nearly drowned her!”

  Timor snorted. “You call that a load of come, you superstitious twit? Maybe in that shit hole of a village you come from, but where I come from, that’s a rooster’s load.”

  “Prove me wrong, you son of an atheist whore!”

  “Upstairs,” he promised. “I will show you how to properly humble an American slut.”

  Merritt cowered at the look he gave her. “May I clean myself?” the come-soaked girl appealed to the whistling Vonya, who was wiping the sweat off with a handkerchief.

  “No,” Timor answered for his friend. “Leave it where it is. Let it be a reminder of what we are going to do to you, and how you will let us do it all.”

  She lowered her eyes, not even daring to ask if she could stand. As the elevator ascended, Merritt Fisher stayed on her knees, head down, sperm dripping down her face, her mind filled with nothing but images of the humiliation yet in store for her. And yet, for all her revulsion, Merritt was excited, too, sexually on the brink of release such as she had only ever dreamed about. If either of these men were to touch her now, even to slap or punish her, she was certain she would come for them.

  In fact, if it took much longer to get up to her room where she could find release, she might begin begging. Something she’d never thought possible, and which, when this horrible incident was over, she was sure would fill her with the deepest self-loathing imaginable. But for now, tonight, her body belonged to the insolent youths and to her own dark desires.

  “Get up,” Timor commanded as they reached the top floor. “It’s time to earn your right to be in our country.”

  “I suppose that makes us ambassadors,” mused Vonya, shoving her down the darkened hall.

  Merritt struggled to keep her balance.

  Timor seized her purse at the door, rifling the contents for the key. “Give me that. You start getting naked.”

  “Out here? Are you sure?” she swallowed, fearing one of the other doors might open, revealing the goings on between her and the men.

  Vonya yanked back her head. “Take the dress off, slut, or I’ll tear it from your cringing body.”

  Her cringing body. The very words the colonel had used. “I’ll do it,” she acquiesced. “Don’t hurt me.”

  Timor turned the key in the lock, forcing the knob to yield. Pushing it wide open, he pulled Merritt inside by the wrist. “Never mind undressing, I’ll fuck you as you are, right on the fucking floor. Vonya, lock the door behind you.”

  “I shouldn’t bother with that, gentlemen,” called a voice, clipped and decidedly British in accent. “The two of you shan't be staying.”

  “What the —?!” Timor was the first to react, the sight of the seated man in the middle of the room catching all three of them entirely off guard.

  It was Vonya who had the presence of mind to grab the bedraggled Merritt, wrapping his arm around her throat from behind. “Whoever you are, if you don’t leave us be I’ll snap the girl’s neck.”

  The room was lit only by the patch of moonlight coming through the glass doors leading to the balcony. Merritt could make out nothing of his face except the smile, wry and tight, seemingly nonplussed. “I wouldn’t advise that, unless you want to draw the last breath of your miserable little life right where you’re standing.”

  “Fuck you!” shouted the tempestuous Timor, charging the man head on. The shadow barely twitched, the drunken Zuravian hitting an invisible brick wall. He went down hard, a sickening sound coming from deep in his gullet.

  “I’m holding a blow dart,” the man said calmly to Vonya. “Tipped with a quite extraordinary poison, the tiniest dose of which will arrest your central nervous system and render you instantly paralyzed. The seizures will begin approximately ten seconds after you land on the floor. It won’t be pretty, though the whole process shouldn’t be more than five minutes in length. You’ll soil yourself, and the pain will be excruciating. Then you’ll die. Although you’ll be happy to know it isn’t actually possible to swallow your tongue. That’s an old maid’s tale.”

  “This is fucked up!” Vonya exclaimed, releasing the girl. “I’m getting the hell out of here!”

  “Wait for me,” groaned Timor, rising painfully to his feet.

  The groggy Timor stumbled out after the already departed Vonya, which left Merritt alone with her mysterious rescuer.

  “Thank you. You saved me from something…very terrible.”

  The man’s laugh cut through her like a knife, as cold as anything she’d ever heard. “Spare me the damsel in distress speech. We both know you brought this on yourself.”

  Merritt’s thankful relief was quickly replaced by anger. “You don’t know me, sir, and I’ll thank you not to judge me.”

  “And I’ll thank you not to test my patience. Put the lights on, girl.”

  Merritt did as she was told, though not without retort. “I’m not a girl, I’m a woman.”

  A split second later, her new protector came into view. He was facing her, his hands resting on his lap as he slumped arrogantly in the luxuriously upholstered armchair. He was wearing an open trench coat over a non-descript blue suit, open necked shirt, and no tie. His hair was sandy brown, short, and he had the most penetrating green eyes Merritt had ever seen. She took him to be about forty, though he had the kind of looks that made his age hard to peg. There was a tinge of gray at the temples and tiny character lines. No doubt the man would become more handsome with each passing year.

  “You’re not Zuravian,” she said, attempting to keep the upper hand, though at the moment her heart was fluttering uncontrollably.

  “How perceptive, professor.”

  Sarcastic bastard.

  “If you’ll excuse me. I am very fatigued. If you would like to speak to me at breakfast, I’m sure we could—”

  “Take off your clothes, Doctor Fisher.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We are both native speakers of English. I think you took my meaning quite clearly.”

  Merritt squared her shoulders, determined to keep her dignity despite her flushed cheeks, aroused body and come-stained face. “Am I to assume you intend to have your way with me?”

  The man’s snort deflated her like a balloon. “You flatter yourself entirely too much. Actually, I intend to paddle your behind, but I should like you cleaned up a bit first. Before you shower, I would very much like a martini from the wet bar. Feel free to stir it as opposed to shaking. I prefer not to resemble too closely a certain literary character.”

  Merritt glared at him. “You must be joking.”

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life, doctor. Starting now, you have exactly ten minutes to comply with my wishes.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  His smile seared her heart like a brand. “Try me, young lady, and you’ll find out.”

  Chapter Three

  Merritt cleaned her body as if it belonged to someone else. It was her second shower in the tiny bathroom stall today, but the first might as well have been a week or even a year ago. The soap was rough, and it was difficult to work up a good lather. Tears were spri
nging to her eyes even as she scrubbed away Vonya’s emission from her cheeks and chin. A tiny bottle of shampoo, unscented, would have to suffice for her hair.

  Was there to be no end to the indignities she must suffer in this country? Was there not one man here with anything on his mind save her degradation and humiliation? Merritt gave a frustrated little sigh, high pitched as she drew the hard, foreign soap down her smooth, well-toned belly.

  She was still juicing between her thighs. The more the water washed it away it seemed, the more was waiting, glistening, bubbling at her untouched lips. It was like her mind had been buzzing ever since the airport. If she didn’t know better, she’d say the nasty little colonel was in her head, making her feel things not to mention orchestrating the events around her.

  But this last fellow, he took the cake. The nerve of him breaking into her room and ordering her to the shower like she was a common servant. It couldn’t get any worse than this or anymore ridiculous. Merritt cleaned her vagina gingerly, sucking in her breath. She was so horny she could scream. And mad, too. She had rights. She was an American citizen.

  Tentatively she ran her hand over her butt, trying to ignore for the moment how swollen her nipples had become. She could feel where Timor had touched her, mauled her. The sensation reminded her of what was to come according to the mad man in her armchair. Merritt Fisher, only child of Roger Fisher, the debonair, melancholic ghost hunter and writer, was to be paddled. Like a wayward slut.

  She turned the water off with a furious motion. It made her sick, the look on the man’s face, the way he’d made her fetch him a drink. It had taken all the restraint in the world not to throw the martini in his face. As it was, she couldn’t even look him in the eye.

  Like a king, he’d lounged, watching her strip herself naked so she could go to the shower and clean herself for punishment. Well, he was going to get his comeuppance soon enough. Whoever this man’s bosses were, she’d find them and make sure he had as terrible a day tomorrow as she was having right now.

  The towels. Where were the damned towels? They were here when she came in a moment ago. Merritt clenched her fists in rage. This was his doing. He’d taken them away while she was in the shower and now she would have to go to him, wet and nude. For punishment, no less.

  “I won’t let you touch me,” she called out, opening the door a crack. “Do you hear me? I’ll stay in here all night if I have to.”

  “Very well. I’ll go and call your friends back. I’m sure they won’t be so squeamish about breaking down a door.”

  Merritt stormed into the main room finding him exactly where she’d left him in the chair. “You are not a gentleman,” she told him, covering her nude body as best she could with her hands. “And if you don’t give me back the towels, I will—“

  “A refill. If you please,” he cut her off holding out his glass.

  “You know what you can do with that?” She fumed.

  “With every defiance, your sentence increases. Ever been paddled, my dear? It’s hardly a whipping, but it can have a cumulative effect.”

  She snatched the glass from his hand. “Who are you, anyway? Some sort of spy?”

  “I work for an organization you wouldn’t have heard of.”

  “What? MI5 or six or whatever it is?

  “Neither. We exist outside the normal government structures. Our concerns are not of the natural order, but of the supernatural.”

  “Humph,” she snorted, thrusting the refilled glass at him as insolently as she dared.

  The man moved so swiftly, she had no time to react. Taking the glass in one hand, he grasped her wrist with the other and brought her to her knees between his legs.

  Wet and humbled, his total prisoner, the naked, kneeling Merritt resorted to the oldest female trick known to man. Feminine wiles.

  “You’re hurting me,” she whined.

  “You think this uncomfortable, girl? I assure you, those two brutes you latched onto at the bar would have done far worse. But maybe you don’t realize the power you’re playing with. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.”

  He raised her arm over her head, forcing her to arch her back. “Arm down,” he commanded when she tried to free her wrist with her other hand.

  Merritt obeyed, giving him control and an unimpeded view of her proffered breasts. She wanted to look him in the face to shame him, but the green eyes were far too intense. After a few seconds, she lowered her gaze towards her dripping cunt. She made another protest, humbler and softer. “I don’t want to be paddled. Please.”

  He released her. “It’s time for introductions. My name is Simon Rutledge. You may call me Simon, though our relationship will not be one of equals.”

  She held her smarting wrist. “Does this mean you changed your mind about punishment?”

  “No, sorry. You will take that towel over there, dry yourself off and lie down on my lap.”

  Merritt complied, seething. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It was the men who’d done things to her, made her feel things.

  “Now what?” She demanded.

  “You will put your head and feet on the floor, making yourself into a bridge with your cunt here.” Simon Rutledge pointed to his crotch where she was expected to place her own bare sex.

  “Not yet. Put the towel down first,” he stopped her initial awkward motions. “I don’t want you juicing all over my pants. Reimbursement for my dry cleaning takes forever these days.”

  Merritt stung with humiliation. How she hated this man. Arrogant and cruel, treating her like a little girl, a pet to be dominated and abused. She cringed when she saw the paddle sitting on the table. He must have been planning this all along.

  “You are a monster. I would rather have been raped by those other two than be treated this way by you!”

  “I am doing this for a reason, doctor. This is a hostile country. Whether you believe it or not, I am your best and only hope against the real dangers you face here.”

  “Then tell me who you are, at least. Give me some reason to trust you before you…before you beat me like a child.” The words stuck in her throat. She still couldn’t believe he was going to follow through on this ridiculous idea.

  “I am a hunter,” he replied. “I track and destroy creatures you cannot possibly imagine. Creatures of the night. Enemies of humanity.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Her father had been such a hunter, too, though his weapon was the pen and not the sword.

  She hid her newfound sympathy. “If you want me to fall at your feet in awe, sorry. I’m not won over so easily.”

  “I expect nothing. You asked a question, and I am answering it.”

  Ooh, this man was infuriating.

  “But why do you do what you do? Something must have turned you towards an occupation most would think insane.”

  His features darkened almost imperceptibly. “When I was five years old my father was killed. He was mauled by what they said was a wolf. The police report conveniently overlooked the fact that his head had been ripped clean off. Instead, my mother was given a generous sum of money by the local landowners to move the family to another county and ask no more questions. The body was hidden away. From that moment on, I vowed never to rely on anyone, to trust nothing but my own wits, and to never, ever turn my back on any creature.”

  Merritt felt the deep pain behind his voice. “Did you ever learn how your father died?”

  “Let’s just say there are some things no one should ever have to face. I won my revenge. That is all you need to know.”

  “My father, too, searched for things few others saw.”

  Simon nodded. “I knew him. He was a good man.”

  Merritt felt a wave of warmth, a million questions rising in her soul.

  “Enough for now,” he cut her off. “It is time for your punishment.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it.

  Laying the towel over his lap as ordered, she stole glances at the instr
ument of her impending discipline. It was made of dark brown wood, sanded and varnished. The handle was wrapped in leather, finely grained and reddish in color. The paddle itself was surprisingly small, barely five inches in diameter. Surely he couldn’t do much damage with it?

  “Down, girl,” he chastised, “that’s enough gawking.”

  Struck with fresh embarrassment, Merritt was content to place herself below the radar of his hawk-like glare. Her body tremored in anticipation as she made the first contact, her belly touched the terrycloth material. She sighed inwardly as her tits were momentarily squashed on his thigh. Then she slid herself forward into place, feeling like a sleek little animal, clean and wet, ready and submissive.

  Her head touched the floor, and she braced herself with her palms. Resting her legs on the balls of her feet and balancing her weight, she did her best to keep her midsection up in the air. If she could manage not to feel anything down there, she might come through things unscathed.

  Simon must have sensed what she was doing. With a single finger, he touched her sex, instantly draining her strength. Merritt collapsed in a heated moan on his crotch, feeling like a cornered, possessed bitch.

  “It’s no use resisting me. I have considerable experience in these matters, and I am fanatically and notoriously patient when it comes to breaking recalcitrant females.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” she asked, her voice a hot whisper.

  Simon removed his finger and struck her a single blow with the paddle. Merritt howled at the sudden, intense invasion of her nervous system.

  “If you scream again,” he warned, reclaiming her sex, this time with two fingers, “I shall be forced to gag you. Is that understood?”

  Her inverted head swam as she thought of the gag in her dream, her nightmare of captivity at the hand of the silvery Belok. “Yes. I understand.”

  “You will address me as Simon at all times. Coming from you, my Christian name shall be a term of respect, a mutually understood sign of our proper relationship.”