Angela Knight - Pirate's Strength

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Copyright, Julie Woodcock, 2001 The wolves gave her a bad moment after she slipped over the fence around the mansion, exploding out at her from the trees with vicious snarls, but she kept her head and took care of them with a series of precisely placed tranquilizer darts. The guards were next, but they were even easier than the wolves. They came running with drawn guns, only to pull up in bewilderment at the sight of Anika in her neon pink sports bra and black bicycle shorts with pink piping. The two looked from her curling blonde hair to her bountiful cleavage and deducted thirty points from her IQ, just as men always did. They probably would have grabbed a male, slammed him against the nearest wall, and demanded what his business was, but they holstered their guns and asked Anika if she was lost. She'd smiled sweetly and shot them with the last two tranqs, savoring the shock on their faces as they fell. Getting past the mansion's security system was more difficult, but Van Helsings had been breaking and entering the various domiciles of Vlad Dracula for a hundred years. In the end, she defeated the sensors and silent alarm and slipped silently inside. Finding her way to his coffin was more difficult. The house was enormous, but unlike his Carfax Abbey haunt, it was lovely and modern, with thick carpeting, beautiful art and antiques, and not a cobweb or Renfield to be seen. Anika found it a little unnerving. It was one thing to murder a monster in a crypt, another thing altogether to kill someone who collected Monet. Still, she had her duty. She knew from hacking into the security system that the house had a "wine cellar" - and she was willing to bet there was a lot more than bottles of port kept there. According to the schematics, the cellar door was located in the library near the fireplace -- a strange place for it. But when she walked into the room, she saw nothing but shelf after shelf of books. It must be concealed. Conscious of the rapidly setting sun, Anika began searching for the trigger she knew must open the panel. She also knew she'd better find it fast. The tranquilizer would be wearing off soon, but if the sun set before her task was done, guards and wolves were the least of her problems. She finally found the trigger in the bookshelves, behind a copy of Stoker's novel. Pushing a button concealed in the wall, Anika wondered whether Dracula had more of a sense of humor than any of her relatives had ever given him credit for. A section of the bookcase lifted into the ceiling with a hum and the gentle rumble of hidden machinery, revealing a black square of utter darkness. Swallowing, Anika pulled the flashlight out of her back pack flicked it on, and stepped inside. Playing the flashlight over the floor, she found a stairway winding downward, barely wide enough for her shoulders. It wasn't easy descending into that darkness, especially knowing what had happened to five generations of Van Helsings at Dracula's hands. Over the past 104 years, her great-grandfather Barend, great-uncle Devoss, Uncle Lange, and most recently, cousin Dehaan had all met their deaths trying to kill him. Then again, they'd also managed to do a great deal of damage, slaying two of his undead wives, several henchman and four vampire mistresses, as well as burning one of his houses down around his ears. Yet Stoker's book notwithstanding, none of them had ever managed to touch the monster himself. She wasn't sure whether her great-great- grandfather Abraham had lied to the Irish novelist, or whether Bram had simply been guilty of trying to give his story a happy ending. The fact was, if any Van Helsing was going to be responsible for Dracula's death, it would have to be Anika. She was the last of her line. Dracula had systematically pruned all the other branches of her family tree. Which was why Grandpa Koenraad had called her to his deathbed and made her swear to stake the monster. The old man could not stand the thought that "that unholy killer" would outlive the last of the Van Helsing men. One she gave her reluctant promise, he coughed his last from lung cancer and died with a smile on his lips. If he was aware he was sending her into danger, it did not seem to worry him. She wondered if he would have gone so peacefully if he'd known she'd agreed for reasons that had nothing to do with revenge, duty or even family pride, and everything to do with secret guilt. At last she
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reached the bottom of the winding stairway to find a thick steel door. She knelt and pulled out the pack of lockpicks her grandfather had given her when she was five years old. Using them on the door was the work of a moment - a tense, sweaty, heart-pounding moment. A thought slipped into her consciousness: What was she doing here? If she failed, the last Van Helsing would die as so many before her had - struggling helplessly against Dracula's inhumanly powerful body with his fangs buried in her throat as he drank her life's blood. And yet, if she did not make the attempt, the thought of him would continue to haunt her as it had for the past ten years. She had no choice. It was this, or go mad. Mouth dry, Anika turned the knob. The door swung open smoothly, without so much as a dramatic creak. Light flooded into the stairwell from the room beyond. She rose on quivering legs and walked inside. The magnificent coffin dominated the room, its smooth black finish gleaming in the muted light from a single lamp. Nearby stood the biggest bed she'd ever seen, spread with a scarlet silk coverlet that shimmered like a lake of blood. The wood of the headboard was black, intricately carved with leaves and figures she could not make out clearly. Brass rings gleamed against the wood. She wondered why the hell he slept in a coffin rather than that sensuously tempting bed. The room around the coffin was opulent and vaguely gothic in feel. Carved wooden pillars supported an arching ceiling painted with lush nudes she preferred not to examine too closely. A marble fireplace big enough to roast a boar dominated one entire end of the room. Beside it sat an enormous chair that bore more than a passing resemblance to a throne. It and the footstool in front of it were upholstered in matte black leather. Fine paintings hung on the wall, again depicting classical themes. All of them, she realized, dealt with seduction - nymphs yielding prettily to handsome gods, a virgin coaxing a unicorn to her hand as hunters waited in the surrounding woods. But it was the coffin that held Anika's sickly fascination. He won't be the same, she told herself, moving toward it on leaden legs. He won't be the man from my dream. The dreams had been haunting her for the past ten years - dreams of seduction and submission, dreams of being taken by a dark, muscled stranger with glowing eyes and white fangs. Dreams of yielding to his demanding mouth and hands. Dreams of fangs and blood and dominance. Wrong. All wrong. Van Helsings did not have such dreams. Not about Dracula. She stared at the coffin, her eyes wide and dry as she swung the back pack off her shoulder. The zipper hissed under her fingers. Reaching inside, she pulled out the hammer and stake. The sharpened length of wood felt smooth and cold in her hand. It had belonged to Grandpa Koenraad, and it was very old, stained dark from its lethal point to two thirds up its length with the blood of one of Dracula's minions. A mistress or a wife, she wasn't sure which. Her heart was pounding so hard she only hoped it did not wake him. She had to put her weapons down to raise the coffin lid. It was heavy, a massive piece of intricately carved black wood she could barely lift. Unlike the door, it raised with a creak that made the hair lift on the back of her neck. What the hell happened to your cape and tuxedo? she thought, eyes widening. He was naked. Magnificently naked, broad shoulders pressing the walls of the coffin, his biceps bulging as his hands lay crossed over his powerful chest. She had thought - had hoped he would be thin and bloodless and ancient, not this dark and virile figure. Unable to stop herself, Anika scanned the length of him. And stopped dead, her eyes fastened in titillated shock on his rock-hard erection. It was a thick, threatening length, flushed rose and uncircumcised, its bulging tip brushing his navel. His balls lay dark and heavy in a nest of curling black hair that thinned only slightly as it continued up the length of his cobblestoned belly. His legs were long and muscular, with the powerful thighs of a horseman. Finally she dragged her fascinated eyes back to his face. His features arrogantly Slavic, broad of cheekbone and forehead, strong of chin, with eyes deep-set under thick dark brows. His hair was longer than she'd expected, curling down to his powerful shoulders. But it was his mouth that riveted her attention. Sensuous and a little cruel, it curled in a
slight smile that revealed the tips of his fangs. She knew that mouth. Knew it all too well. She'd been seeing it in dreams for years. Yet she had never met Dracula. Never even seen him at a distance or in a painting - and there were no photographs. Grandpa Koenraad had never described him as anything but a cold, inhuman monster. As Anika stared down at that too-familiar face, she realized the truth. A sudden, wild fury washed over her. The bastard has been coming into my dreams. Seducing me. Taunting me. No more, by God. With a snarl, she bent and picked up her weapons. Her hand shaking with rage, she put the tip of the stake between his beautiful pectoral muscles. The lethal point dimpled the skin. For a moment she imagined the spill of blood, the convulsion of that magnificent body, the shock and betrayal in his dark eyes. The thought almost stopped her. "No," she told him savagely as she drew back the hammer. "You've fucked me for the last time." A powerful hand blurred up and locked around her wrist, holding the hammer at bay. His dark eyes snapped open as his lips drew back from a snarl. "I haven't even started." *** Dracula didn't trust himself to touch her. That she, of all of them, dared to lift a hand against him sent such hot fury boiling through his veins, he feared he'd kill her. He sent the hammer and stake flying with a surge of telekinesis, then swept her up on a wave of mental energy and pinned her against a column. With a gesture, he called a coil of rope from its drawer and bound her, the thick cord wrapping itself around her lush body like an obedient snake. "I suppose this is no more than I deserve for being such a fool," he snarled, as he called a robe from his armoire and whipped it around himself. "I should have known you'd be no different from the rest of your murderous family." "You're one to talk about murderers." Her blue eyes glittered with defiance, but there was the faintest vulnerable quiver to her luscious lower lip. He wondered if her mouth really tasted as sweet as it had in the dreams. "How many helpless women have you raped and drained?" "None," Dracula growled back. "I don't make war on women. I leave that to Van Helsing's spawn." He stalked toward her, deliberately letting her see he was staring at her breasts. They looked round and full and deliciously tempting as they quivered with her agitated breathing. A coil of rope pressed just under one of the nipples he could see jutting against that ludicrous sports bra she wore. He thought about pulling the cup down and rasping the hemp back and forth over the sensitive little peak. She'd always loved being taunted that way in her dreams. Well, now there was nothing to stop him from indulging himself as he pleased, not even his own conscience. He'd denied himself all these years to spare her, and she'd rewarded him with attempted murder. He could do any damn thing he liked to her, secure in the knowledge she deserved it. And he knew she'd love every minute of her punishment. Dracula closed on her until the erect tips of her breasts brushed his chest and his heavy cock curved against her belly. Her eyes flickered as she lost some of her bravado, her wide eyes focused on his mouth. He bared his fangs at her, and she sucked in a breath. He wondered if she knew she was at least as aroused as she was afraid. He could smell the faint musk as she dampened between her legs. God, he'd dreamed of her for so long. And she'd rewarded him by trying to drive a stake through his heart. "So," he said, "What brings you to throw yourself into the devil's hands? Did that old bastard grandfather of yours finally drift off to hell, sending you to play assassin as his dying act?" Her eyes flickered, and he knew his guess was correct. He thought about reading her mind directly, but he found he didn't want to taste the hate he knew he'd find in her mind. "There was nobody else," she gritted. "You killed all the others." "Only because they kept trying to kill me." He leaned down and breathed in, inhaling the scent of her hair. She'd washed it in something that smelled of jasmine. " What a cold and callous monster Koenraad was. I wouldn't have sent a child of mine after Dracula." Lifting a knuckle, he brushed it over her breast and smiled when her nipple plumped, straining toward his touch. "What do you expect? You murdered his wife," she spat. "He wanted revenge." He gritted his teeth. "Koenraad murdered his wife. He drove a stake through her back as she lay in
my arms." "He did it to save her soul!" "He did it to save his pride!" Dracula whirled away from her, not trusting himself so close to her with fury gripping him. "He'd beaten her for years. Why do you think she came to me? She thought I was the only man who could - or would - protect her from the rabid dog she'd married. But her trust was misplaced. He attacked us as we slept and fled while I grieved. He didn't even have the courage to try to kill me." "You're lying!" "If only I were." Dracula laughed bitterly. "Like his grandfather Abraham before him, Koenraad was only a man with someone weaker than he was. That's why this feud began. I took Abraham to task for his treatment of his wife, so he killed her and came after me. He played Harker and the others as his pawns." Anika looked at him, her full mouth working. He could see she wanted to deny the truth, but on some level she knew better. He wondered if Koenraad had ever turned his hand against her - and looking into her eyes, he realized she had. His conscience reared. She had suffered enough for being a Van Helsing. He should not blame her for what she'd done in a misguided attempt to gain the love of a grandfather who had never been worthy of her anyway. Yet he also knew he could not simply release her without making sure she would not come after him again - or worse, teach her sons to take up the family crusade. He moved toward her. She shifted uneasily in her bonds, and he felt temptation surge through him. God, he'd love to keep her. But he did not indulge his lust with unwilling women. Otherwise he wouldn't have denied himself when he'd first discovered her ten years ago. It was the anniversary of Lina's death, and he'd finally learned where that bastard Koenraad had hidden all these years. But when he arrived at the sleeping household, he found the bastard had grown feeble and elderly after so many decades. Dracula's honor did not permit the murder of an old man, even one who so richly deserved it. Then he'd discovered Anika sleeping across the hall. He later learned she'd moved in the year before to care for Koenraad Seeing her lying in the tumbled sheets in a silk gown that displayed her every lush curve, Dracula had been unbearably tempted. He'd flowed as mist into her room, surrounded her lovely body, and surged into her mind. What he found there astonished and aroused him. Anika was wrapped in the arms of a dream Dracula, yielding in luscious submission as he punished her for her family's sins. And the real Dracula, with a wicked chuckle of delight, had spun the dream into hot, erotic detail and shared it with her. For hours he'd tormented and pleasured her, his cock hard as a sword while she writhed and pleaded for a mercy she didn't want. She responded with such luscious intensity to the images he created, he was tempted to make them a reality. But fearing the old bastard across the hall would wake, Dracula restrained himself. He knew too well what Van Helsings did to women they considered tainted by his touch, and he did not care to put her in that much danger. He'd already learned he couldn't always protect hs lovers. Yet he couldn't stay away either. He came to her dreams several times after that, making love to her, savoring the pleasure games they played. In the end, though, he knew he had to leave her. He did not want to lose another woman as he'd lost Lina. But now she was the only Van Helsing left. The others were dead - he'd killed the last of Abraham's heirs after the young bastard had murdered a woman for spending a single night with Dracula. Dehaan had died believing he'd saved her soul, the ignorant bully. As Dracula looked at Anika now, he thought how easy it would be to finally make her his own. There was even a certain poetic justice to it. But no. He did not force himself on the unwilling. He would simply make sure she forgot him and send her on her way. He reached into her mind....And felt his jaw drop. No matter what Anika thought she was doing when she came here, deep inside she had never planned to kill him. That's why she'd arrived so late in the day, when the sun had loosened its grip on his mind. She'd known he'd wake. Subconsciously, she'd intended to deliver herself to him. She'd wanted to play out their dreams in hot reality. Looking down into her defiant eyes and the soft swells of the breasts she'd displayed for him, Dracula felt a wicked grin spread across his face. As Anika watched dry-mouthed, the belt of Dracula's silk
robe untied itself. A swath of muscled skin appeared all the way from his powerfully corded neck to his strong ankles. Her eyes tracked helplessly down it, taking in the swells of pectorals and cobblestone abdominals, covered in a silky ruff of chest hair that thickened as it descended. Until her eyes found his cock jutting between the edges of the robe, a thick length of hard flesh, flushed red in lust. He propped a massive forearm against the column over her head and leaned close, so close she felt his breath warm against her cheek. "Normally when someone tries to kill me, my policy is to...." He paused and lowered his head until she felt a puff of breath right at the sensitive point where the angle of her jaw met her throat. "...feed on them." His tongue flicked out to scald the thin flesh under her ear. She jerked. Her nipples brushed against the slick silk covering his chest. Something inside her loosened and flooded her belly with heat. Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if it deafened him. He lifted a hand to run a long finger over the edge of the sports bra, just touching the delicate skin of her breasts swelling over the fabric. "But in your case, I think that would be a waste of an opportunity," his voice was low, rumbling at a register she seemed to feel in her bones. His crisp English accent had thickened into a Slavic purr. "Considering what your family has done to every woman I've ever loved, I think it would be much more ... poetic to make you a slave to my cock." "Why bother?" she growled. "You've been raping me in my dreams for years." "But that was a dream." He hooked a long finger in the bra between her breasts. "I didn't actually get to taste you. Besides, I haven't come into your dreams in years. If you've still been seeing me there...." With a skillful tug, he jerked the bra down, freeing both her nipples but leaving the fabric cupping her. "...That's your doing." The finger left the conquered fabric and traced upward over a full curve to one desperately hard pink tip. Idly, he stroked the sensitive flesh. "Have you been dreaming about me, Anika?" he asked, nuzzling her throat. "About being tied for my hands and mouth while you pay for your family's sins? How does your dream Dracula punish you?" "Fuck you," she snarled. He laughed, a dark rumble. "Eventually. At the moment, though, I'm in the mood for discipline." He ran his fingertips over the slope of one breast across to the next. Gently, he squeezed its hot rose tip. "And judging from this hard little nipple, so are you." She jerked against her bonds and gritted inventive curses. His fingers tightened on the tiny erection with a grip just short of pain. "Darling, a slave does not use that kind of language to her master." Wood rasped. Anika jerked her head around just in time to see a cabinet slide open. Something small and golden lifted into the air and zipped across the room into Dracula's waiting hand. He held it up in front of her eyes. It was a small gold clamp. She jerked involuntarily, knowing what he meant to do with it. Dracula smiled down at her, mocking and male, his fangs flashing white. Slowly, he closed one big hand around her breast, forcing the nipple to pout. With the other, he caught the needy tip between the clamp's shining jaws and let them close. Her back arched at the sensation. The clamp wasn't strong enough to really hurt, but the pressure made her gasp. "Ah, the look in your eyes," he said softly, leaning more of his weight against her. She felt his cock press hard against her belly. "Making you pay is going to be so sweet. I can't wait to hear you plead for mercy." He lowered his voice to a hot whisper that sent the breath surging against her ear. "I can almost hear you. 'Don't, Dracula. No more, please." He caught her lobe between his teeth and gently bit down. "'It will never fit.'" Her mouth was dry as sand, her captured nipple radiating hot pleasure through her breast. "Don't flatter yourself. This isn't the nineteenth century, and I'm not a virgin." She set her teeth and lied. "And you're not that big." He chuckled, a rich and wicked sound. "That sounded like a challenge. Rash of you." He sent his hand drifting down the line of her tight abdomen, brushing the skin left bare by her top, then down over the snug fabric of her bicycle shorts. "And as to your virginity ... I doubt your experience is quite as wide as you'd like to believe." Long fingers pressed between her thighs at just the spot to send pleasure zinging
through her system. "But by the time I'm through with you, it will be." Dracula stared down into her hot, defiant eyes. Her body may have driven her to him, but her mind wasn't ready to submit. He would have to force her to confront her hunger for his dominance. He felt a dark smile spread across his face. He knew it would be one of the most delicious things he'd done in the last hundred years. Strip her first, he decided. He wanted her to feel the vulnerability of being naked and at his mercy. Besides, he hungered to see her lush nudity again. Stepping back, he ignored her venomous glare as he looked her up and down, making the stare as deliberately possessive as he could. He thought about cutting her clothes off, then decided ripping them would be so much more dramatic. He moved closer again until his heavy cock brushed her satin skin. Her eyes widened, reading his intention, but he ignored her panic and caught the cups of her bra in each hand. He jerked. Fabric gave under his strength with a snarl as she jumped. Dracula gave her a small, taunting smile and held up the ripped halves of the bra in either hand. "You're not going to need this." He tossed the halves into the corner. "Besides, I've always hated that shade of pink." Looking down at her full, delicious breasts quivering with the after effects of his violence, he smiled and delicately caressed one nipple. "This shade, on the other hand, I like a great deal." Slowly, he lowered his head, giving her plenty of time to anticipate. He flicked the point of his tongue over the tip, tasting salt and woman. Inhaling, he drank in the intoxicating scent of her blood beating just under the velvety surface. He opened his mouth and took her nipple for a deep, drawing suckle. Anika stiffened. "Bastard," she hissed, but her banging heart picked up speed. The gold clamp had gone flying when he'd ripped her bra, but he called it to his hand and applied it slowly to the other nipple, catching the tip between the tiny jaws, letting them close, then pulling back until it snapped free. Only to capture the crest again and repeat the process. Over and over. All the while, he sucked and licked at the other breast until the nipple was violently red and swollen and wet from his mouth. She twisted against him, cursing him in a low, straining voice. He wondered if she heard the arousal in it. Finally, deciding she'd had enough of that particular foreplay for the moment, he drew back and grabbed the waistband of her bicycle shorts. The flesh over her hip felt like fine silk against his knuckles as he fisted his hand and jerked. The nylon stretched and tore. Smiling darkly, he made short work of the tatters that remained until she was completely naked. Her glorious blonde bush shown between her long, strong thighs like strands of gold. He stepped back and gestured. The ropes binding her to the post fell away. "Now I think it's time you learned your place," Dracula said, arousal rasping in his own voice. He gave her a slow, taunting smile. "Suck your master's cock." Anika sneered. "Go to hell." His grin broadened. "Now that was a mistake." He moved so fast Anika didn't have time to react. One minute she was bracing herself to attack him. The next, she was head down staring at the thick, fine nap of the carpet. Her thighs were trapped and immobile, and something wrapped around the base of her skull. It took her a dizzy moment to realize she was draped belly-down across Dracula's lap, her legs clamped between his, his hand holding her head just over the floor. She wondered how he'd gotten them into the chair so quickly. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, and winced at the panic in her own voice. "Preparing to explain your duties and the consequences if you don't carry them out," he told her. He sounded darkly, richly amused, but there was a note of erotic anticipation in his voice as well. It suddenly struck her she was in the perfect position for a spanking. Automatically, she tried to rear up, but the long fingers circling her nape kept her effortlessly in place. Something hard rested against the curve of her hip. Licking her dry lips, she realized it was his erection. "You can take your consequences and shove them right up your...." she began. A crack of flesh meeting flesh with a fiery surge of pain interrupted her. He'd hit her! The bastard had actually slapped her ass! Stunned to silence, she blinked at the intricate pattern of the Persian carpet. "When I tell you I want your mouth," he told her in a low Slavic rumble, "you are to go to your
knees and take my cock down your throat to the balls. When I want your cunt, you will assume the position I direct and meet my thrusts with eagerness. When I lust for your ass, you will spread your cheeks and relax your sphincter for my use." Outraged, she spat a curse, only to choke at another hard impact of his big palm. "If you don't do these things," he continued, silky and implacable, "I will punish you in a way I will enjoy a great deal, and which you will not relish at all. Then I will take you as I please. Is this clear?" "I am not going to become your slave!" She squirmed, trying to escape the warm, muscled prison of his thighs. "If you're going to kill me, do it!" "I don't kill women," he said. To her shock, she felt not another punishing swat but his fingertips tracing gentle, tempting patterns over the curve of her bottom. "It's beneath my honor. Besides, there are so many much more pleasant things to do." "Rapists don't have any moral high ground, Dracula." Her eyes fell on his muscled calf and narrowed. She started to lunge in and bite him there, only to be brought up short by strong fingers wrapping around her blonde hair. The sensuous purr became a growl. "Actually, I think this is merciful of me, considering you tried to murder me in my sleep." Using his grip on her hair, he dragged her snapping teeth a safer distance from his flesh. "And if anyone does any biting here, it will be me." "You...." His hand lifted and fell in a ringing smack that made her jerk. "You will not raise your hand - or anything else - against me again." Another burning swat landed. She squirmed, then stiffened at the tempting sensation of her groin rubbing against his powerful leg. She froze, trying to avoid building her own shameful arousal. But the attempt at self-control was fruitless. For the next minute, he subjected her to a rain of flaming smacks that made the cheeks of her butt burn and swell until she found herself writhing. And each time she twisted against him, she felt that deep, fugitive sizzle of pleasure. Oh, God, Anika thought, looking up the length of her body. Her nipples were as hard as little pink stones, and her sex.... Cheeks stinging with humiliation, she realized she was very wet. Dear Lord, she hoped he didn't know. The rhythm of the spanking broke as he paused. His broad chest moved against her as he inhaled deeply. He laughed, a soft, mocking rumble. "My little slave is juicing nicely. Beginning to hunger for your master's dick, are you?" "I'd rather fuck a snake!" she spat, and yelped as his hand slapped down on her aching ass. "These lies are growing tiresome, Anika." One strong finger slid suddenly into her helplessly wet cunt. "You're far too creamy to pass yourself off as an unwilling victim. Isn't it time you admitted you're getting exactly what you came here for?" Anika clamped her bottom lip between her teeth to hold back a moan as Dracula began slowly stroking in and out of her needy body. She couldn't seem to muster enough self control to spit another curse at him. He added a second finger. "For years you fantasized about being my property, even before I came to you...." "No!" "Yes." He rotated his wrist, twisting his fingers deep as he thumbed her hard, wet clit. "Koenraad and his fool's quest merely provided you with an excuse to surrender yourself to my use." She forced herself to laugh even as she wondered sickly whether he was right. "That ego of yours is as monstrous as your appetites." "Is it?" Dracula withdrew his fingers from her wet, clinging flesh and drove them deep again, three fingers this time, stretching her deliciously. "You knew it was almost sunset when you lifted the lid of my coffin. If you'd really meant to kill me, you'd have come in the morning, when I sleep most deeply." "There were too many people around the mansion walls then!" She shut her eyes against the spiral of pleasure he aroused with every slick stroke. "And a girl smart enough to handle my wolves and my guards couldn't deal with a few inconvenient witnesses? I think not." He withdrew his slick fingers, then drove one of them deeply into her anus. She gasped at the painful pleasure of an invasion she'd never experienced before. "You wanted this, Anika. You wanted to wear my collar and serve my cock." His thumb circled her clit, setting off a wave of pleasure so fierce it was all Anika could do not to come bent across his thighs. She had to fight it, or he'd know his accusations were shamefully
true. And then she'd be truly lost. "I'm a Van Helsing," she said, but the words emerged on a groan. "I want to drive a stake through your fucking heart." Her blazing ass hit the carpet as he dumped her from his lap and rose to his full, imposing height. "The only one who's going to get impaled here is you," he said coldly. "Now suck my cock like the slave you hunger to be." Quivering, she stared at his jutting erection. It was massively thick and flushed, and looking at it, she felt her cunt weep with lust. She wanted to feel it driving into her while he covered her with that powerfully muscled body and rode her hard. Oh, God. He was right. The realization hit her like a punch. She'd come here knowing he'd take her captive and do exactly what he was doing now. Force her to submit to his hunger - and her own. Anika jumped up, but before she could whirl his hand came down on her shoulder and forced her effortlessly to her knees. A big hand wrapped around her hair and dragged her head forward. She stared at the broad tempting length of flesh waiting for her mouth.... And with a little sob, leaned forward and took him as deeply as she could. Dracula's knees almost buckled at the searing pleasure of her soft lips engulfing the head of his cock. He stiffened his legs. He knew he had to drive his dominance home. "Deeper," he said, and stopped to clear his throat. Lust had made him hoarse. "You're not some debutante deigning to pleasure her boyfriend. You're a slave. I expect to feel your chin against my balls." With a shamed little whimper, she worked to take him further inside her wet mouth. The feeling of her slick tongue stroking the underside of his cock almost tore a groan from him. "Not good enough," he said harshly. "More." Her lips worked another inch down his shaft. His balls drew tight and heavy. Unable to resist their driving lash, Dracula began to rock his hips, thrusting into the wet, silken cavern of her throat. She made a choked sound, and he moderated the depth of his entry. A shudder tore up his spine. God, how long he had wanted to fuck her like this, to watch her yield to him with the eager submission she'd shown him in her dreams. How many times had he left her exhausted in her twisted sheets, limp with repeated climaxes while he returned aching to his coffin to seek a lonely relief from his hand? Knowing he could have had her, yet determined not to put her at risk. The dreams had never been enough. Now she was his. She'd delivered herself to him. And he would take ruthless advantage of the opportunity to enslave her thoroughly. With her he could indulge the hunger he'd always held so tightly in control. She would belong to him in a way none of the others had, not his mistresses, not even his wives. Her passion was a match for his, and he meant to drag it from her in honeyed gasps. Sweet Jesu, how her mouth tugged so sweetly on his cock, how her tongue stroked and licked. He felt the pleasure of it gather in his belly, a burning, urgent fire. His eyes snapped open. "Get those hands from between your thighs," he hissed. "I didn't give you leave to come." Anika moaned around his cock but took her fingers away. He could smell her desperate ardor. She'd be more desperate yet before he was done. He shortened his thrusts, feeling his climax boiling, on the verge of bursting up his shaft. He let it roll over him in a wave of flame. "Drink, Anika." His cock began to pulse, then shoot against her tongue. "Drink every drop." And she did. *** Anika sat at Dracula's feet, the taste of his cum bitter on her tongue, her sex so wet and aching she wanted to whimper. She thought if she didn't climax soon, she'd go insane. She'd been so close when he'd ordered her fingers from her clit.... She knew the thought of masturbating while being forced to suck her enemy's cock should shame her, but she burned with such intensity there was no room for embarrassment. But he had already peaked. Would he leave her like this? God, she couldn't stand it if he did. "Dracula," she said hoarsely, looking up the length of his body, placing her hands on the hard muscle of his thighs. "I need.... I need you." He looked down at her, his features cool, faintly amused, as if he hadn't just shot her mouth full of hot seed. "Is that how a slave begs her master?" A sane fragment of her mind protested the term and hated even more the idea of begging him for anything. But her body was far past pride. "Please, master!" She couldn't believe she'd actually said
the words. Couldn't believe a Van Helsing was begging Dracula on her knees. "Please let me come..." A tight smile stretched his sensuous mouth. Before she even knew he'd swept her up, she was cradled in his arms as he carried her toward the bed. Relief made her babble. "Thank you, oh God, I thought I'd go crazy..." "You may yet," he said, and tossed her on the bed. Before she could move, he was on her, his big hands spreading her thighs, wrapping around her knees, his mouth sealing itself over her sex. She felt the stab of his tongue like a knife thrust to over-sensitized nerves. Throwing back her head, she gasped as he ruthlessly suckled and flicked her hard clit. In seconds, he ripped a screaming climax from her. But even as she bucked and screamed, he kept going, licking and nibbling, driving her higher. She wrapped one hand in his long, silken hair and clawed helplessly at the counterpane with the other. No sooner had she tumbled from the crest than he was driving her up another. Mindless, she rolled her hips against his face, smearing her juices over him. When she looked down, she could see his eyes glowing red over her grinding pussy as he watched her abandoned reaction. The sight drove her over the crest again. He drew back then, watching possessively as she struggled to breathe. Releasing her knees, he reached up her sides to stroke the curves of her breasts and delicately toy with her nipples. Just as she was wondering if those two hard, fast climaxes would be it, he lowered his head again. This time his mouth coaxed delicately, playing between her lips rather than directly on her clit, building her heat again. His tongue slipped up her creaming pussy in a long, slow stroke of wet flesh on wet flesh as his fingers toyed with her nipples. Dracula released one breast as she rolled her hips, desperate for more of the delicious stimulation he was giving her. Sliding two fingers into her, he rotated his wrist, screwing her deeply. Withdrawing them, he pressed them to her anus and drove them inside. Her back arched at the burning, relentless invasion of her flesh. "I think I'll have you wear a butt plug," he said idly. "You need to be stretched so I can use your ass more easily." Her eyes widened as she remembered the width of his cock stroking between her lips. Panic made her eyes widen. "You can't!" His fingers pressed deeper. "I certainly can." Trying to find a way to talk him out of it, she began, "I've never...." He grinned. "Good." "But I don't want...." "I don't care." He pushed himself onto all fours with an effortless ripple of muscle and crawled over her. She peered up at him wildly. His fangs showed white in his grin. "You're a slave, Anika. I'll take you as I please." Taking his big cock in hand, he presented it to her wet opening and drove it inside, filling her in a thick, effortless rush. She was still shivering at the breathtaking invasion as he settled himself over her and began to stroke. Deeply. In and out. Gasping, Anika stared up at his handsome, intent face, at the powerful line of his shoulders looming over her. He felt so massive inside her. So good. She shouldn't be doing this. Six generations of Van Helsings must be spinning in their graves. But his eyes were so dark, so endlessly seductive, and his cock pistoned in and out of her, dragging pleasure from her juicing flesh. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the sensation, trying to forget what she was doing and who she was doing it with. Until his voice rumbled in her ear. "Anika, give me your throat." Her eyes snapped open. He was poised over her, staring fiercely down at her. Demanding. His lips were parted, revealing the white length of his fangs. Hypnotized by the threat and promise of his mouth, she stared up at him. She knew he could have simply buried his teeth in her without asking. But that wasn't enough for him. He wanted her to agree to it. To be the first Van Helsing to surrender her blood willingly. And God, she was tempted. Misreading her alarm, he said, "I won't take more than a cup from you." "I can't!" There. She'd refused. Now he'd just take the decision from her hands, and her conscience would be clear. His eyes narrowed. "Are you refusing your master?" Her pride, no longer overwhelmed by the demands of her body, rebelled. "I may be your captive, but I'm nobody's slave." His handsome face tightened, the planes of his face taking on hard, wolfish lines. "I thought I'd just demonstrated
differently. Very well then, your lessons will continue until you admit it." He slammed in a hard thrust, then began to ride her fast, in long, thick lunges that swiftly drove every thought of anything else out of her mind. Her hunger spiraled again, and she surged against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. But his face was cold above hers, implacable, and she realized he had every intention of denying her. With a gasp, she began to grind, determined not to be left behind. The pleasure built, spiraling upward, stealing her breath. She sucked in a gasp, knowing his next thrust would tip her over.... He froze, buried in her to the balls, throwing back his head with a triumphant roar. "No!" Anika gasped. The hot embers of his climax still blazing in his eyes, he gave her a mocking smile. "Lesson two," he said softly. *** Anika lay on the Persian rug at Dracula's booted feet and fought the almost irresistible need to writhe. Crossing his ankles, he looked down at her with a lazily sensuous smile from his padded swivel chair and said, "I think we've got them where we want them, Jack. Push a little harder and they'll fold." He paused and looked toward his computer screen, listening to phone receiver he cradled in one big hand. The dildo buried between her cheeks suddenly expanded, stretching her anus even wider as the clamps on her nipples delicately twisted, manipulated by the vampire's magic. Anika moaned behind her silk gag. Between her thighs, the clitoral vibrator buzzed for a few seconds before it cut off, adding to her erotic torment. It had been an hour since Dracula had held her down and calmly buckled the harness holding the vibrator and butt plug around her hips, and she was rapidly on her way to losing her mind. She was so desperate for relief she'd happily turn to her own fingers, but he'd also put a set of leather cuffs around her wrists and attached them to the back of a collar he'd placed around her neck. Her ankles were cuffed to a spreader bar he'd added when she tried to kick him. Then he'd calmly carried her naked, helpless body up to his second- floor office, arranged her on the floor by his desk, and started making calls to an endless series of overseas businesses. "Tanaka needs to learn who he's dealing with," Dracula said, looking down at her as he leaned back in his chair. His dark eyes gleamed as they studied her breasts, thrust upward by the pillow he'd placed at the small of her back. One of the clamps released its captive nipple, then slowly closed again, not quite tight enough for pain, but more than adequate to send another shimmer of pleasure along a nervous system already jangling. He smiled slowly, that sensuous mouth displaying just the tip of a fang. "I mean to have him begging for mercy before I'm through. Handle it, Jack. I know you're up to the task." He said his goodbyes and hung up, then immediately started dialing the phone again. Anika closed her eyes, wondering how long it would be before she started begging herself. Between her legs, the butt plug rotated in the grip of Dracula's magic, its ridges and knobs tormenting her tight flesh. She was so hot the sensation felt more like pleasure than pain. Opening her lids a crack, she eyed the vampire's crotch as he began a rapid-fire flood of French. Behind the fly of his snug black trousers, his cock was long and rock-hard. It was comforting to know he was aroused as she was, despite the distraction of his business deals. Her eyes tracked upward to the muscled flesh showing between the edges of his open white shirt. The muscles of his abdomen flexed as he spoke. She tried not to imagine the power they could bring to bear, driving that thick cock into her ass. At some point it had become a contest: would she break first and beg him to fuck her there, or would he lose control and mount her before he forced her to plead? She hadn't imagined it would even be a contest, hadn't even dreamed she could entertain a need to feel that thick rod buggering her. More than an hour of lustful torment had taught her differently. She was so hot now she'd moan in welcome if he slammed that phone down and rolled her over for use. Hearing a desperate whimper emerge from behind her gag, she ground her teeth. Dracula growled something in French and dropped the phone into its cradle His dark eyes fell on her and instantly began to blaze. Booming male laughter rolled through the room. "Only you, Vlad," an unfamiliar male voice said. "When vampire hunters attack me in my coffin,
they always look like Jack Palance. You get the Penthouse version of Buffy the Vampire Slayer." Startled, Anika looked up as a handsome blond man strolled indolently into the office. Brilliant blue eyes examined her chained nudity with hungry interest. The gray Armani suit he wore contrasted starkly with the riding crop he held in one big hand. "I heard about your little security breach," he said to Dracula. "Glad to see you have it so well in hand." Dracula sat back with a low laugh. "Well, of course. Did you expect anything different?" "Not really, no," the man said, moving to tower over her. Suddenly his stare sharpened. "By damn. Is that one of Van Helsing's get?" "Yes, actually," Dracula told him. "Which is why I've decided she'll make a good slave. Unfortunately, she wants taming." "As if you mind." The blue eyes were distinctly unfriendly now as they lingered on her breasts. Uneasily aware of that riding crop, she wondered just what her family had done to him. "And you seem to be doing a very good job of bringing her to heel. Judging from the scent, she's about to burst into flame." "She needs to be hot," Dracula said. "I'm getting her ready to take her first cock up that tight little ass." The blond grinned, displaying a menacing set of white fangs. "A virginal female Van Helsing, bound, bent over and greased. I'll bet you can't wait to grind your way into that." He flicked his crop against his calf. "Need any help?" Anika's eyes widened as her heart skipped a beat. Surely her captor wouldn't agree.... Dracula looked down into her pleading expression and smiled slowly. "Why not? I've still got a few calls to make." The blond's menacing smile widened. *** Anika lay arched over the blond's muscled forearm as he feasted slowly on her nipples. His teeth gently nibbled one tip, while with his free hand, he squeezed and rolled the other. Nearby, Dracula's deep voice rumbled as he talked to somebody in German. She didn't even know the blond's name. He had carried her to an ottoman in the corner, pulled her across his lap, and unbuckled the dildo harness before pulling the clamps from her aching breasts. Unfortunately, she had the definite feeling that little bit of mercy was only because he wanted to inflict a more personal torment on her tits and ass. Reaching between her thighs, the blond invaded her butter-slick cunt with a thrust of two fingers. She arched her back and moaned behind her gag. He lifted his head to study the results of his torment and grinned at her smugly. Her nipples were almost as hard as the cock she could feel pressing against the small of her back. "You know, little Van Helsing, you may come to regret having such magnificent tits." As he spoke, a trace of Cockney emerged in the blond's voice, a kind of Cary Grant swagger. "I can think of so many wicked things to do to them. You might not enjoy it - at first - but God, I would." Anika saw Dracula watching them, a dark half-smile crooking his mouth. There was a savage glitter in his eyes that hovered somewhere between anger and hunger. "Unfortunately, I suspect Vlad's feeling far too possessive to let me do the things I'd like," the blond murmured. "Selfish bastard. He's already enjoyed you thoroughly, judging from the feel of this tight little pussy." He withdrew his fingers and displayed them before her eyes. They were slick with a cream even thicker than her natural wetness. "He pumped you quite full, didn't he?" He studied his fingers, and a hot grin lit his face. "Of course, the nice thing about cum is it makes an excellent lubricant." With effortless strength, he picked her up and stood, then turned and draped her belly down over the ottoman. Alarmed, Anika tried to rear up, but he caught one wrist cuffed to the back of her neck and held her in position. His long fingers traced between her ass cheeks to find the swollen entrance the butt plug had left empty. Twisting his wrist, he screwed them inside. She whined behind her gag as her tight flesh resisted, then finally surrendered. He leaned over her and whispered in her ear, "Resign yourself, sweet. Your asshole will be getting a very thorough workout before the night's over. And I'm sure there'll be a lot more cum in here by dawn." Anika moaned in shame as her excitement peaked. That was the really humiliating part of all this -- not only the erotic torment the vampires inflicted, but her own eager response to it. A part of her loved what they were doing as much as they did -- and the sadistic bastards knew
it. "Damn, I wish he'd let me take your cherry," the blond breathed against the sensitive whorls of her ear. "Your little ass is so tight, you feel like a satin vise. I could ream it for hours, listening you beg and whimper." His tongue flicked out and swirled around her earlobe before his teeth closed over it in a nip that made her jerk. He laughed and pressed his fingers deeper. "God, it would be sweet, fucking this Van Helsing ass. Of course, you'll find it painful at first, but I assure you, neither Vlad nor I give a good goddamn. Not after everything your murdering kin have done." He moved closer, covering her with his big body until she could feel the rasp of the fine wool of his trousers against her ass. His erection bulked behind his fly, massive with lust. Slowly, he flexed his hips, making her feel the shaft, forcing her to imagine its burning entry. She whimpered softly, sensing he'd have even less mercy than Dracula. "You remind me of a sweet little senorita I raped three hundred years ago," he purred. "Her father was a vicious bastard who'd captured my second-in-command and tortured him until he died, trying to force him to reveal where my pirate fleet was anchored. I captured one of his galleons in retribution. Imagine my delight when I found Don Carlos' lush little virgin daughter aboard, on her way to be married. It had been six months since I'd had a woman under me, and she knew exactly what to expect when I took her to my cabin, just from the look in my eyes." He laughed. "Then again, it may have been the bulge in my britches that told the tale. She begged me prettily to let her keep her maidenhead. You can imagine what I demanded instead." He took his hand from Anika's ass and pressed his hips against her cheeks. Even through his wool trousers, his cock felt hard and hot with menacing erotic promise. "I tied her to my bunk and teased her in ways she'd never even imagined until she was wet and bewildered by her own hunger. Then I rolled her over buttered her tiny bung until it was slick and ready for mounting." Slowly, he ground against Anika's bottom in long thrusts, simulating his rape of the senorita's virgin backside. "Three hundred years later, I still remember that first, sweet thrust into her ass. Tight, greased silk, wrapping hard around my cock. I rode her for a long, long time, teaching her to find the pleasure in having her asshole reamed. She was the most delicious fuck I've had in all these centuries." Leaning closer, he whispered, "At least until Dracula gets tired of you and gives you to me. I can't wait to chain you for my pleasure. Of course, I doubt you'll be quite as tight by then, after Vlad gets done. But I'm sure I'll find other, equally satisfying ways to make you pay." A chill of fear stole over Anika at the thought. She suddenly knew she did not want to be at this vampire's mercy. He straightened and bent to pick something up off the floor. Twisting around with her hands cuffed behind her neck, she saw it was the riding crop. "In the meantime," he said softly, his eyes narrow and hot as he lifted the crop, "here's a little preview." A big hand clamped around his wrist, stopping the crop in mid swing. "No," Dracula growled. "That's enough, Eric. I won't have her hurt." Astonished, the blond vampire turned to stare at him. "I have no intention of doing any serious damage, Vlad. You know me better than that." Dracula's mouth thinned. "I don't care. I don't want her beaten." Eric stood, pulling his wrist free of the other vampire's grasp. "Since when do you object to a little erotic caning? I've seen you dish them out often enough." "Not to her." "You can't say she doesn't deserve it!" Angrily, he pointed the crop at Anika. "For God's sake, she tried to stake you this morning. And if that's not enough, she's a Van Helsing. She...." He broke off, staring into Dracula's face. "Don't tell me you've fallen for the little bitch!" Dracula drew back. "Don't be absurd!" Eric threw back his head and laughed, but the sound was angry. "You have! She's got you wrapped around her little finger! Oh, that's rich! Count Vlad Dracula, pussy whipped by a Van Helsing!" A dark flush spread across Dracula's regal cheekbones. "She's nothing more than my slave, Eric. But I decide when and how she's punished." "As you will, Vlad." Eric moved to the chair in front of Dracula's desk and grabbed the suit jacket he'd taken off when he'd begun to torment Anika. He shot her a bitter look as he stalked toward the door.
"I'll leave you with your...slave." The door slammed behind him. Wide-eyed, Anika stared up at Dracula, not daring to move. The vampire turned and glared down at her, his eyes narrowing. "Eric doesn't know what he's talking about," he growled. "The only thing I feel for you is lust for that hot little body." Mouth tightening, he moved toward her. "And I'll prove it." *** Draped over Dracula's shoulder, Anika twisted around to watch in alarm as he sent papers and pens scattering from the top of his desk with a violent sweep of one arm. The room wheeled around her as he dumped her unceremoniously on its cool surface. At the last minute, a big hand moved to cradle her head, keeping her from smacking into the hard wood. "You've had enough foreplay," he said, pulling away to unzip his trousers and free his cock.. It looked ruddy and violently erect. He reached over to the other wing of the desk and picked up the tube of lubricant he'd left sitting beside his computer. Anika watched wide-eyed as he squeezed a big dollop of lube into his palm, then started slicking it over his thick shaft. His eyes locked, hot and glittering, on her face. His fangs were bared. "I think it's time you discover why the ladies called me Vlad the Impaler. And it never had a damn thing to do with stakes, no matter what my enemies said." He bent, grabbed the spreader bar that held her cuffed ankles and lifted it effortlessly, elevating her legs with it. Bracing one arm against the bar, he positioned it so that her legs were locked straight, her feet over her head, her ass thrust out. Her back slid over the surface of the wood until her head slipped off the edge of the desk. Her torso arched, both nipples pointing stiffly toward the ceiling. Anika struggled to lift her head and cuffed arms, looking down her body at him. His handsome Slavic face was tight with lust and anger, his eyes blazing, his sensuous mouth snarling around his white fangs. The shirt he'd never bothered to button hung open over the powerful ridges of his muscled torso all the way down to the menacing jut of his cock. Despite her instinctive fear, something hot and dark and eager rose in her as the sensual hunger he'd worked to build sprang to life again. She realized she wanted him to ream her just as he'd threatened, wanted to feel him claim her ass in the alien and painful way Eric had described. Heart pounding, she watched between her spread thighs as he took his cock in hand and aimed it for her asshole. "Have the good sense not to fight, Anika," he growled. The oiled tip touched her sensitive anus. As he started to penetrate, she fought the instinctive desire to tighten her sphincter. Her rectum began to blaze in pain, protesting the size of the shaft inexorably forcing its way into her body. His eyes watched her face hungrily. "A bit too much, darling? Maybe this will help." Dracula slid two fingers into her cunt as his thumb found her clit. A competing wave of pleasure washed up her spine. He smiled and crooned something to her in a language that sounded faintly Russian. The hot, possessive glitter in his eyes told her the words were probably obscene. He withdrew his cock an inch, not quite enough to pop from her, then forced it a bit deeper. Still murmuring in that guttural, liquid language, he drew out, then thrust again, rolling his powerful torso in delicate digs that took him a little deeper each time. Simultaneously, his long fingers played inside her cunt, coaxing a rising delight from a nervous system jangling from the pain of his invading cock. Shuddering in a combination of agony and pleasure, Anika listened to the deep male rumble of his voice. She could feel her body loosening, surrendering, letting him slide deeper on every thrust. Until he was all the way in, the entire thick, burning length buried deep in her ass. He leaned forward between her legs, letting go of the spreader bar as he settled on top of her body. She let her legs drop so the bar rested across his powerful ass. Squirming, she gasped behind her gag at the sensations shooting through her violated rectum. "Would you like to know what I just said?" he asked, reaching up to unbuckle the collar and spread it open around her neck. For a moment she felt grateful - until she realized he was doing it to gain access to her vulnerable throat. Dracula lowered his head until his mouth hovered over the thin skin that covered her banging pulse. "I was telling you how tight you are, how I love the way those smooth, slick muscles grip my
cock," he said, his lips brushing against her as he spoke. "It's so sweet fucking you like this, Anika. You look so lush and helpless, bound hand and foot with my prick buried to the balls in your ass." Opening his mouth, he pressed the points of his fangs against her pulse and held them there. Not biting, but letting her feel how sharp they were against her skin. She flinched. He raised his head and looked down at her throat. And smiled, slow and wicked. "There's a little bead of blood on your skin." Instinctively, she tried to bring her hands around to fend him off, but her wrists were still cuffed to the leather of the collar. All her struggle did was spread the collar open. Dracula licked his lips and lowered his head, flicking away the drop with the tip of his tongue. "Sweet," he purred. Anika swallowed as she stared up at him, her rectum burning around the thick male length impaling it. She realized she'd never felt so helpless - or been so violently aroused. He lifted off her slightly and braced an elbow on the desk as he flexed his hips, fucking her ass. To her shock, she realized the pain was fading, replaced by an strange pleasure she'd never experienced before. His dark eyes were locked on her face. "You're starting to like this, aren't you, little Van Helsing? Being Dracula's slave has its appeal." He drove in a particularly deep thrust and grinned. "I definitely love being your master." He put a hand down and toyed with her clit until the pleasure of his burning possession began to jerk and thrum in her nerves with the building jolts of orgasm. With his free hand, he pulled her gag away from her mouth and lowered his head to her throat. She whimpered as his cock shuttled back and forth in long, slick thrusts that drove delight up her spine. His lips moved against her thundering pulse. "You know what I want," he said, his accent so thick and guttural she thought for a moment he was speaking in his mother tongue. "Offer it to me." "I..." She tossed her head and bit her lip. If she said the words, she really would be his. And nothing she did afterward would change the fact that he'd enslaved her tonight. His next thrust was so hard she gasped. "Offer it to me!" With a shock, she realized she wanted to do just that. Wanted to surrender to him, even to this last thoroughly inhuman possession. Wanted him to take her, just as he had in those forbidden dreams so many years ago. The reckless hunger swelled with the orgasm she could feel blooming around his ass-reaming cock. And burst free. "Drink from me," she gasped. "Take my throat!" With a triumphant growl, he drove his fangs into the soft, thin skin. She jolted against him, feeling his cock grinding inside her. Pleasure and geysered through her body, convulsing her in the grip of his powerful arms as he fed in hungry swallows. He stiffened as his cock jerked hard, pumping out his cum in her tight depths. Dracula forced himself to stop drinking from her far before he was ready. When he drew back, she lay limp and sated in his arms, her eyes dazed, her ass still clasping his softening cock. A little trickle of blood rolled down the side of her throat, and he carefully licked it away. He was not done with her, not by a long shot. He'd made a good start on establishing his ownership of her, but he knew he wasn't finished. She'd yielded to her hunger and his, but he knew it wouldn't take her long to begin fighting him again. His conquest of Anika Van Helsing had only just begun. He hoped she didn't realize her conquest of him was much further along. THE END
Grace opened the front door half-hoping to find Lance waiting for her. She wasn't sure if she'd rather take him to bed or plow her fist into his face. In her current mood, she suspected either would do. Instead she stepped inside to see a dark, hulking shape waiting in her living room. Every muscle instantly knotted. She flicked on the light. The shape resolved itself in a massive chunk of granite with a sword thrust through it. Grace straightened from her instinctive crouch and dropped her hand from her holster. "Okay, what the hell is this?" Despite her irritation, some part of her sang in
anticipation. Count on Lancelot to give her exactly what she desperately needed. She swung the door closed behind her and stalked toward the stone with its embedded weapon. She wasn't at all surprised to see an inscription cut into the granite: Maybe you'd rather be a Champion. Grace studied the sword, adrenaline surging through her blood. The simple cross guard hilt was plain, unadorned, without the gems and runes she'd seen on Excalibur's. It looked exactly like the blunted practice weapons Lance had used to teach her swordplay. Her lips peeled back from her teeth. Without hesitation, she scrambled up on top of the stone until she could get a good grip on the sword. "Want to play, Lance?" she muttered, heaving upward. "Okay, let's play." The blade pulled free of the rock with a slow, sliding sensation, as if it had been buried in peanut butter. The instant the point cleared the granite, light exploded in Grace's eyes, brilliant and cold. Blinded, she was dimly aware of a spinning sensation she recognized as a dimensional doorway. Must be a spell generator in the rock, she thought. When the purple flashes faded from her dazzled vision, she found herself standing in a huge space that reminded her of a medieval castle great hall, complete with arched walls and a curving staircase running up one side. "Jesus," she muttered, turning in a slow circle with the sword still gripped in one hand, "I've been transported into an Errol Flynn movie." A loud, warning creak made her spin warily just as a wooden door swung slowly open. Lance sauntered in carrying a sword just like the one she held and just as she'd thought, it was a practice sword. But he'd never dressed like this when she was sixteen. He wore only a leather loincloth, soft, knee-high boots, and thick straps buckled around his wrists, biceps and thighs. His skin gleamed as if oiled. It was the kind of getup that would have looked utterly ridiculous on another man, but adorning Lancelot's sculpted body, it looked like an invitation to break a few commandments. Grace grinned. "Well, well. If it isn't Leathergod Ken." He smirked back. "I suppose that would make you Bondage Barbie." As she swallowed a bark of laughter, she looked down and realized he was right. She, too, wore nothing but a few strategically placed pieces of hide set off by thigh-high boots. "What is this, Lance?" Grace demanded. "You guys didn't wear this crap." "No." He strolled toward her, a wicked glint in his eyes as he admired her barely clad body. "But then, if any of my opponents had looked like you, I might have been willing to." "Uh huh." She felt a feral smile spread across her face. God,after the day she'd had, she needed this. "What have you got in mind as if I need to ask?" "A duel." He lifted the sword, his sherry eyes lighting with laughter. "Winner fucks the loser." The fury that bubbled under the tight lid of her control turned her smile into a savage grin. "That's what I thought." Leaping forward, she swung her own sword at his head with every ounce of her strength. "Jesu, Grace!" He retreated, lithe as a tiger, his blade shooting up to block hers in an automatic parry that sent a satisfying jolt up her shoulders. In his eyes was a hint of offended astonishment, like a big predator suddenly attacked by something small and delicious that should know better. "Hey, you're the one who wanted to fight." Grace went after him again, hacking at his head, watching those powerful arms lift his weapon to beat hers effortlessly away. She licked her lips, admiring the sheen of torchlight on his oiled skin. "So let's fight." "Actually," he gritted, blocking another attack with a ringing parry, "the operative word in my challenge was `fuck.'" Well, they might get around to that, too. Eventually. But all she wanted right now was to burn off some of the rage roiling in her belly, wipe out her galling helplessness with a good brawl. And Lance could give it to her without getting hurt. She didn't have to hold back. With a happy growl, she banged her blade into his, enjoying the hard impact of steel on steel as he parried with no particular effort. Apparently realizing she needed to work off her anger before he attempted the seduction he had in mind, Lance circled her, testing her guard with flicks of his sword. Still, it was obvious what his primary objective was, just from the hunger in those sherry eyes as he watched her breasts bounce in the cups of her top. A smile
of sensual anticipation curled his lips. She knew she was no real contest for him. He could end it in a dozen ways, either through sheer vampire muscle or his overwhelming experience in gutter fights spanning the sixteen centuries. And when he did.... Grace felt her nipples harden and rasp against the rough hide of her bra. Common sense told her she should throw down her sword and cry off before he claimed his inevitable prize. Each time that big cock pumped inside her brought her that much closer to the Gift. But just as that shaft of sanity penetrated her reckless mood, she saw Lance's gaze sharpen. Predator that he was, he had no intention of letting her get away. He began stalking her. It seemed his every move became a dance of seduction, muscle rippling under gleaming, oiled skin. When she inhaled, her lungs filled with the hot scent of leather and Magus. And her Lineage body responded just as he intended, growing so wet and ready she was tempted to drop the sword and surrender to whatever he wanted to do to her. Instead she lunged at him, refusing to yield, either to her hunger or her common sense. Her sword slammed against his, skated down the length of it until Grace was nose to nose with him. "You do know what I'm going to do to you when I get tired of this?" He flashed his fangs in a dark smile. "The question is," she gritted, "what am I going to do to you?" He laughed and tossed her back with a thrust of his weapon that forced her to scramble to keep her feet. As she steadied herself, he came after her, that smile stretching white and hungry. She danced away, knowing he allowed it. "You know, this would be a good time to consider surrender," Lance drawled. He wasn't even breathing hard, the bastard. That wolf-smile broadened. "Spin it out much longer, and I may have to punish you." Stung, Grace slammed a quick, hard one-two combination strike against his blade, trying to knock it aside. She would have had better luck beating down an I-beam. "You really need your arrogant ass kicked." Lance had the gall to laugh. She used the instant's distraction to snake through his guard. Would have hit him, had not those vampire reflexes carried him neatly out of the path of her blade. He shot her that annoyed predator glower again. "I can think of better uses for all that energy." "I can't." She attacked again, mostly for the sensual enjoyment of watching those powerful thighs bunch as he leaped back. This is stupid, a small voice whispered as she charged recklessly after him. She ignored it. Damn, he didn't think he'd ever seen anything more delicious than Grace wearing nothing but three bits of leather and thigh-high boots. Her hair had worked free of that French braid, long blonde wisps floating around her lovely face. A sheen of sweat gleamed on her thighs and the full curves of breasts that quivered with every attack and parry. God, there was something about a mock brawl with a beautiful woman that got his blood pumping. For one thing, there was the tantalizing prospect of what he'd do for his victory celebration. Lance hadn't expected to take this much time getting to that. He'd intended no more than a couple of exchanges, just enough to get past her wary self-control, then a quick disarm and a segue into seduction. He had to admit, this was much more fun. He wanted to pin her down and redirect all that hot passion toward doing something to him besides taking his head off. Though judging from the way she kept stealing glances at the massive erection behind his loincloth, she was already headed in that direction as it was. Then her recklessness provided him with the chance he was waiting for. When he blocked one of her wild hacks at his head, she kept trying to bull past his guard until she slammed chest to chest with him. Her eyes glittered as she tried to force aside a sword backed by a vampire's strength. "Come on, Grace, you know better than that," he said, and hooked a foot around one of her ankles. She tumbled. He pounced, locking one hand around her sword wrist and pinning her on the ground. Snarling a curse that made his eyebrows rise, she twisted under him, slim and lithe and wild as an infuriated cat. His cock hardened even more as his fangs slid to full extension in his mouth. Still holding her sword arm pinned, he used his free hand to hook one cup of her leather top and tug it down. A sweet pink nipple popped free. It was, he saw as his hunger spiraled, almost as hard and eager as he was. He bent his head to feast. Grace gasped at the sensation of
Lance's wet mouth claiming her breast. At the same time, his free hand roamed down her body to cup her sex through her bikini bottom. One long, strong finger slid under the leather, eased between her lips. Stroked deliciously. She caught her breath and let her head fall back, arching her body under his. He felt so damn big, so damn good. Rock hard and sweaty and strong. And when he touched her, tasted her, the bitterness of the night fell away. Stop him before it's too late, the voice of sanity whispered. But it had been too late since the moment she'd watched him swagger in wearing only a loincloth and a fine layer of oil. Besides, she'd only had him once. And she wanted him again. She fisted her free hand in his dark hair as he devoured her breasts. His middle finger was buried deep in her sex, while his thumb strummed her clit. Pleasure curled and snaked through her veins. Something wild escaped the tight control she'd kept on it. She slid a hand up and jabbed a thumb hard into a nerve bundle in his chest. He jerked away with a gasp. Grace used his momentum to shove him over on his back and straddle his thighs. Having spotted a glint of silver in the top of his boot, she reached back to snatch it free. It was a dagger. And unlike their swords, it was stiletto sharp. She grinned. Sucking in a breath, Lance looked up to see her crouching across his hips with his knife in her hand. "Oooh," she purred. "I wonder what you were gonna use this for?" He lifted a brow. "Surely you don't think I'll tell you?" "You don't have to." A wild-thing smile curled her lips. "I know exactly what you had in mind. Something like...." She slid the knife's sharp blade between the leather cord of his loincloth and his skin. "This." A flick of her wrist cut the cord as she flipped the cloth aside with her other hand, revealing his cock, straining toward his navel. Lance licked his lips. "Actually, it wasn't my clothes I planned to cut off." That wicked smile widened. "Oh. You mean...." She reached down and cut the cord around her own waist at one hip. "...this." The triangle of leather drooped even as a second flick of the knife cut the cord on the other side. She whipped the bottoms off. With the same breathtaking ruthlessness, she sliced the cords holding up her top. Her lovely breasts bounced free, pink-tipped and gleaming with sweat. "And this." He swallowed, taking in Grace's lush body dressed only in leather boots. His shaft jerked against his belly, heavy and hungry. "Yes," he managed, his voice strangled. "I think I did have something like that in mind." "Too bad." She reached for his cock and aimed it skyward as she rose off his thighs. Pressing the rounded head to her nether lips, she sank slowly down, impaling herself. "Because I seem to have won, and we're going to do what I want." God, she felt so hot and tight and wet. Long, luscious thigh muscles bunched as she rose off him and bent forward. Lance was still gasping at the sensation when he felt the cool edge of the knife against his throat. He jerked in shock and stared up at her, about to knock the blade away. But the look in her eyes was more wickedly sensual than threatening, so he stayed his hand. "You're at my mercy, Sir Lancelot," Grace purred. "Are you going to be a good, obedient captive?" He was strongly tempted to roll her over, tie her up with what was left of her bikini, and show her who was whose captive. Instead he arched his hips and slid slowly deeper. "Your wish is my ...pleasure." Her soft mouth fell open at the sensation as her eyelids drifted to half-mast. "Good. Ohhh, good." A pink tongue flicked out to wet tempting lips. She bent until her breasts hung lusciously over his mouth and pressed the knife's cool mock threat to his throat. "Then suck my nipples, captive." With a groan of hunger, he lifted his head and obeyed the rough command, swirling his tongue over and around each hard little peak in turn as he simultaneously rolled his hips upward, driving his shaft even deeper into her slick, clamping depths. His head spun. She felt so damn good. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had turned the tables on him so deliciously. Two of a kind, he thought, drowning in heat as he stroked harder, faster. They were two of a.... Lance bucked against her, his skilled mouth locked on the tip of one quivering breast. The raw, unbelievable pleasure made her shiver. Made her burn. Until she had to have more. Grace threw the knife aside with a flick of her wrist and leaned back
to grab both ankles. Circling her hips, she ground down hard on his thick width. "God, Lancelot," she whimpered. "You make me...." "Yeah," he said roughly, deepening his rolling thrusts. Strong male hands clamped over the tops of her thighs, holding her captive for his cock. His voice dropped to a guttural purr, rumbling an incomprehensible torrent of words in a language that hadn't been spoken in centuries. She could feel her orgasm building, hot and cold and blinding, a corkscrew of pleasure twisting up her spine. Until she heard herself begging in a hoarse, broken voice. "Lancelot, God, please...." "Yessss." A big hand snapped up, wrapped around the base of her skull, and jerked her down. Then his mouth pressed against her throat with the quick, dark pleasure-pain of his fangs sinking into her pulse. She jolted in surprise, but she was caught in those powerful arms, impaled on his shaft. Helpless. He began to feed as he fucked, his mouth moving hot on the thin skin of her throat as his body jolted hers. Burning, prickling waves of pleasure spread from the contact points of his cock and fangs. Grace keened at the furious storm of sensation. Arching his spine, he forced his full length to the balls and held it there, growling out his orgasm against her pulse. Her climax exploded through her body in a shower of hot sparks to burst from her mouth in a helpless scream. "Lancelot!" Long minutes passed before Lance became aware of the press of cold stone against his back and the heat of a limp, sated woman draped over his chest. "Grace?" She moaned but didn't stir. He rolled carefully over with her, laid her down just long enough to rise to his feet. "Floor's cold," she said grumpily. "I know." He bent and picked her up again. She draped an arm around his neck and curled in his arms as he walked through the castle doorway and into his own opulent bedroom. Putting her down on the furs piled in barbaric luxury on his massive bed, he slid in next to her. When he gathered Grace against him, he discovered she was already asleep. It didn't take him long to follow. END SCENE
"Submission" By ANGELA KNIGHT I slammed the car door and turned to peer at the house through the leafy night shadows of the trees. My hands were sweating, and I smoothed them quickly over the thin floral fabric of my sundress. For a moment I gave serious thought to getting back in my little Toyota and going home. But no. This was going to haunt me until I went through with it. Pulling my shoulders back, I marched across the yard and up the stairs of Jake Remington's sprawling ranch house. The door was imposing, a hardwood slab that looked a foot thick in the glare of the porch light. Licking my dry lips, I reached up and gingerly pressed the doorbell. As distant chimes rang somewhere inside, a breeze slipped across my face, bringing with it the smell of azaleas and cut grass. This was nuts. I'd better leave ... The door swung open just before I lost my nerve. Jake stood there with a towel looped around his neck, looking as if I'd interrupted him in the middle of a workout. Involuntarily, my eyes traced the bare, sweat-slicked geography of his chest, then dipped down to the nylon shorts that clung damply to his powerful thighs. "Niki." His dark eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Barbara isn't here." I swallowed. There was a knot in my belly that felt like a brick. "I know. I ... wanted to talk to you about that." Jake's green eyes narrowed. "Yeah? Come on in." He stepped back from the door. I eased past him into the hallway, sharply aware of the way he was studying me. He was big. Taller than I was by a good six inches. I flicked a look at his broad chest again and wondered if he could tell I didn't have on a bra. I'd worn the sundress to show off the hard bumps of my nipples -- but God, suddenly that didn't seem like such a good idea. "So," Jake said dryly, "did she tell you I was a Neanderthal pervert with a secret desire to subjugate women?" His boldness surprised a laugh out of me. "Actually, yes." With a disgusted snort, Jake gestured me toward the living room.
I headed in that direction as he fell in behind me -- not too close, but close enough for me to feel a burn of awareness in the nape of my neck. Then again, I'd been intensely aware of Jake since I'd met him a year ago, when Barbara had staked him out as private property. He was simply too male to ignore. "Want something to drink?" he asked, striding across the pale rose carpet to a cherry cabinet. I needed liquid courage badly, but at the moment I wasn't sure I could swallow. "No, thank you." He shrugged and poured two fingers of Johnny Walker into a cut crystal glass. "So, if you're not looking for Barbara, what are you looking for?" I decided to sidestep that one for the time being. "I understand she was pretty rough on you." He lifted a dark brow and grinned sardonically. "I think I'll survive." "Actually, I'm a little surprised you said what you did to her. You know what a die-hard feminist she is." Jake shrugged his bare, broad shoulders. "We'd just killed a bottle of Crown, or I would have known better." He directed a brooding look into his glass. His handsome, angular face was tight with remembered anger and humiliation. "Once we were nicely buzzed, she started talking about her secret fantasies. So I told her mine. She... wasn't very receptive." "I gathered that." I shook my head. "To tell you the truth, I think she over-reacted a little." "Oh?" He gave me a speculative stare. "I thought you were her co- captain in the fight against the male conspiracy." "What can I say? Sometimes I desert." "Now, there's an interesting admission. Why?" I sucked in a deep breath. "Part of being a feminist is having the courage to go after what you need whether anybody approves or not." "Yeah? Just what _do_ you need?" My eyes skidded away from the calculation in his. Nervously, I began to examine the furniture. That white leather couch looked damned expensive -- and lushly inviting. I jerked my eyes away from it and licked my lips. "You're stalling, Niki." I snapped a look back toward Jake -- just in time to catch him performing a lazy survey of my legs. I felt faintly scorched by that stare. And a bit more confident. "That depends on what _you_ need." He laughed shortly. "Somehow I doubt you're up to it." "Try me." "She put you up to this, didn't she?" Jaw tightening, Jake straightened away from the cabinet. There was something subtly threatening about the movement, and I fought an impulse to step away. "I assure you, Barbara would be shocked if she knew I was here," I said, managing to keep my voice steady, though my heart was lunging its way into my throat. He hissed out a breath through clenched teeth. "All right, I'm going to ask you one more time -- why _are_ you here?" "I wanted to ask you to... That is, I wondered if you'd want to ..." Jake grinned unpleasantly. "Spit it out, Niki." "You said you had fantasies about ... submissives. I want to help you act them out." "How flattering." Humiliation flared through me. "Unless you don't find me appealing." "Oh, I'd love to fuck you -- and you damn well know it." He took a slow step forward. "You and Barbara really must think I'm some kind of gullible asshole." I took a wary step backwards. "No, I mean it. As long as I can remember, I've had these fantasies ...." "Yeah. Right." "I'm serious." "Prove it." His eyes were chill. "What do you have in mind?" "Strip." I froze. To undress in front of him like this ... but I knew if I didn't take his dare, it would be over. He'd never believe me -- and he'd never give me what I needed. Sucking in a deep breath, I reached behind my back, caught the tab of my zipper, and pulled it downward. Jake's green eyes widened. Before I could lose my nerve, I grabbed my hem and pulled the sundress off over my head. Cool air hit my nipples, which hardened in a rush of tingling skin. Hooking my thumbs in my lacy panties, I slid them down over my thighs and stepped out of them, then reached for the tops of my stockings. "Leave 'em." The words came out as a growl, and I looked up nervously. Jake was staring, narrow-eyed, a muscle ticking furiously in his jaw. "Very pretty. The lace garter-belt's a nice touch." It took all the courage I had to keep from grabbing my dress and diving for cover. I started to babble. "When I was fourteen, I found a book under my brother's bed. It was some fantasy thing about a slave girl." I swallowed and tried to shut up, but the words just kept pouring out. "This big warrior
captured her and put her in chains and dominated her, and I masturbated to my first orgasm while I read it. I've fantasized about that ever since, but I never told a soul. Until now." "I must have read the same book." There was a hard, hot glitter in those eyes now. "Get down on your knees." I chewed my lip. I knew he still doubted me -- but then, after the way Barbara had ripped him up, I couldn't really blame him. But I also knew a lot of men would take advantage of an admission like the one I'd just made. I was very, very vulnerable. But what the hell. It was too late to go back now. I dropped to my knees. Jake moved toward me in a slow stalk, and I remembered everything Barbara had sworn he'd said. About what he fantasized doing to a woman like me. I could feel my skin burn in a combination of desire, fear and humiliation, and my nipples started to ache. He jerked down the front of his nylon shorts to free his erection. I gasped. It was as big as Barbara had bragged, back in the days before she'd gotten pissed. Impatiently, Jake pulled it down to the level of my mouth. "Suck me." I parted my lips and leaned forward to engulf him, opening wide for the massive shaft. I took it as deep as I could, until I began to choke a little on its size, then retreated back along its meaty length. Slowly, I pushed forward again. "God, you're really serious," he gasped, sounding stunned and strangled. That amazement gave me courage, and I swirled my tongue over his cock head. It was a mouthful, almost the size of a plum. I could feel myself getting wet. Reaching up, I caught my nipples and began to twist and pluck them as I sucked. I could see the hard ripple of his abdominals over my head, saw them flex as he made a short, involuntary thrust. I pulled back off his shaft, feeling the hard tip brushing my cheek. "Enslave me. Please, Jake, make me your slave." Jake stared down into my face, reading the emotion I knew was naked there, the hunger and the need. His eyes narrowed. Reaching down, he wrapped a big hand in my dark hair. "It will be my pleasure." His grin was savage. Grabbing his cock with his other hand, he slid it into my mouth, then held me still while he began to pump in and out. I tightened my lips and savored his gliding width as I reached between my thighs for my clit. He was almost brutal as he worked me, pumping strokes long enough to make me gag, but I didn't care. This was what I'd wanted, this was what I'd taken such risks for. I barely had time to touch myself before I came. Jake's control was scarcely any better. A moment later, his come squirted down my throat, hot and bitter. I swallowed it with a sense of triumph, knowing I'd at last found the man I was looking for. I wanted him to take me then, but he just shook his head. "If you want to be dominated, I have to be in control. We'll begin tomorrow, after I've had time to get ready for you." With that, Jake tenderly helped me dress and escorted me out the door. All the way home, I kept remembering what it had felt like to kneel in front of him with his cock thrusting between my lips. It was all I could do to keep from driving into a ditch. No sooner had I walked into my apartment and gotten undressed than the phone rang. Sitting down on the bed, I snatched it up off the night stand. "Hello?" "Just making sure you made it home okay," Jake said. "I'll want you tomorrow at 7. We'll have dinner." I closed my eyes, melting at the deep, sensuous rumble in his voice. "And then what?" "I'll do whatever comes to mind." He paused, while I swallowed at the possibilities. "In the meantime, tell me about _your_ fantasies. I know why I want to dominate you, but I'm not sure why you want to submit." A hot tingle raced over my skin. "I don't know. I guess I like the idea of being bound. Helpless." "Go on." It was a sensuous growl. "Well ..." I took a deep breath, gathering my courage to blurt, "The man in my fantasy is powerful -I'm completely at his mercy. And as I lie there bound, I see him looking down at me, and I know he's thinking of all the things he wants to do to me, all the things he _can_ do to me ..." "What sort of things?" "Like fucking me. Or maybe he wants to see me squirm across his lap while he gives me a good spanking. Or puts clamps on my nipples. I don't really like pain, but I like the idea of being conquered. He makes me like it." Jake made a hungry, rumbling sound. "I'll be looking forward to it." That night I lay between cool sheets with my hand busy between my legs, imagining Jake's hands and
mouth and cock, the weight of chains, the descent of a crop across my bottom. Hearing my own gasps and pleas as his deep voice purred sensuous threats. I writhed, so hot my hand wasn't enough, needing something thick and hard, hungry for the feeling of a big, heavy body mashing me into the mattress. It was three o'clock in the morning before I fell asleep, limp fingers still buried in my pussy. I had a tough time concentrating at work the next day. It's damn hard to write a newspaper story about municipal water rates when all you can think about is being erotically dominated by a muscular stud. But somehow I managed to crank the thing out, along with several other stories equally banal, before heading home to get ready for Jake. Wearing my shortest, slinkiest dress, I showed up at his door promptly at 7. He answered the bell looking disappointingly casual in a pair of slacks and a white Arrow shirt, then escorted me into the huge dining room. I hesitated just past the doorway, aware of Jake looming at my elbow. A chandelier hung over the antique mahogany table, shedding warm yellow light over rich wood and delicately gleaming china. Delicious scents wafted from steaming dishes. Jake was something of an amateur gourmet; he'd cooked a truly elaborate meal. Which, I regret to say, was totally wasted on me. I don't even remember what the main course was -- I was too busy looking at his big hands and hard mouth. I could almost feel him moving over me, that muscled body powerful and relentless. But if he planned to dominate me, you certainly wouldn't know it to listen to him. He was flawlessly charming, asking me about my job and my day. I babbled something about a series I was planning on hazardous waste incinerators, and he asked some politely intelligent questions. He also told me a few things about his own day -- he was one of the biggest building contractors in the city -- but for the life of me, I don't remember what he said. I could barely even hear for the thunder of my own pulse. Over a delicious dessert my mouth was too dry to appreciate, I said, "So. What do you have in mind for tonight?" "Actually," he said calmly, sipping his coffee, "I thought I'd tie you up and punish that pretty little ass of yours." "Oh," I said in a tiny voice. "Good." Finally he took me into the living room and repeated the order he'd given me the previous day: "Strip." I took my time drawing the tight dress over my head, watching his stare heat as the hem slid up to reveal my fluffy dark bush. "You've got the most interesting taste in underwear," he said. "What underwear?" "Exactly my point." I dropped the dress and pulled my shoulders back, enjoying the open lust on his face. He took a step toward me, voice dropping into a rumble as he spoke, "Your body is... delectable, do you know that? Those high, exquisitely pert breasts. And those thighs ... You must exercise your ass off to have legs like that." He swallowed visibly. "When you said you wanted to be my slave, it was all I could do not to throw you down and fuck you on the spot." Jake reached out a long finger, brushed it gently against a nipple that instantly tightened into a solid knot of arousal. "Ohhhh, God," I whimpered. "If you knew the kind of fantasies I've been having about you..." He smiled slightly. "You'll have to tell me about them sometime. Right now..." His green eyes narrowed, "I want you to run out that door as if your pretty ass depended on it. Because it does." I gaped at him. "What?" "You said you fantasized about being conquered, overwhelmed. I'm going to prove I can do just that." "Well, that's obvious," I said, eyeing the width of his chest. "You outweigh me by a good eighty pounds, all of it muscle. I wouldn't stand a chance of fighting you off." Jake grinned. "Yeah, you know I'm stronger in your head, but I want you to know it in your bones. Once I do, this may be a game to your mind -- but to your body, your submission will be instinctive and real. And your reactions that much hotter." "You're kidding." "Are you refusing?" Hell no, not as hot as I was. "What exactly do you have in mind?" "You try to get out of the room and I'll stop you." He quirked a brow. "But you'd better give me a fight, or you won't sit down for a week." I stared at him, feeling anger start to rise at the amused confidence on his face. He didn't even expect to work up a sweat. "Okay, if that's the way you want it..." I turned and lunged for the door. By God, I was going to prove to the cocky bastard that it wasn't going
to be as easy as he thought. But suddenly he was right in front of me, and it was all I could do to dodge away from his massive hands. I tried to slip to one side -- just as a strong ankle thrust between mine. His fingers clamped over my arms, then I felt the jerk of his foot behind my left leg. The next thing I knew, I was falling -- only to be caught neatly and carried to the floor. No sooner had I felt the rasp of carpet fibers between my bare shoulder blades than Jake landed on me like a cat on a mouse. He grinned down at me. "Jesus, Niki, couldn't you at least make it interesting?" I snarled into his face and began to fight in earnest, writhing between his imprisoning hands, trying to jerk my own free. At first nothing I did had any effect at all, on either his grip or his mocking grin. But then he lost his hold. I twisted under him and clawed toward freedom. He was astride me again before I could even jump to my feet, crushing my belly into the carpet, clamping my hands to the floor. I struggled, snarling, but he let his full weight press down on me until I could no longer even squirm. "Nice try, Niki," he said into the dark cloud of my hair. "But you lose." Slowly, I became aware that his hips were snugged against my ass -- and his cock was stiff and hard. He began to flex his crotch into my bottom. I subsided resentfully, no longer in the mood. "Let me up, dammit." "I don't think so." Jake nuzzled into my hair until he found my ear. Delicately, he began to nibble at it until a shiver rippled over my skin. "In case you haven't noticed, I won." "Oh, I noticed," I said breathlessly. "Glad you're paying attention." He let go of one of my hands and reached under me to find a naked nipple stirred to hardness by the rasp of carpet fibers. Delicately, he twisted it until a hot tingle snaked its way to my cunt. "Looks like you're at my mercy. Which means you're in serious trouble." "Oh?" I closed my eyes as he continued his skillful torment of my nipple. "Yep. I'm going to beat your lovely little butt until you're rosy and kicking." Jake got off me abruptly, but before I could move, he reached down and scooped me off the floor, then carried me over to the couch as though I weighed no more than a feather pillow. The next moment, I was draped helplessly across his lap, my bare ass ready for his worst. I expected him to start pounding right away, but Jake was a lot more subtle than that; his calloused fingers began tracing lightly over my cheeks instead. I quivered. "You have the most amazing ass," he purred. "Remember when you and me and Barbara went for that bike ride in the park, and Barbara kept bitching at me because I was trailing so far behind? Well, your bottom is the reason I couldn't keep up. I didn't dare. I had a hardon to my navel watching you peddle." I whimpered softly. The first slap was relatively light, a quick, sharp descent of his palm. I jumped, more startled than hurt. "I've had wet dreams about this butt you wouldn't believe," Jake said, caressing me again, slipping his fingers into the cleavage between my cheeks. "Maybe I sensed you were secretly a submissive, but you haunted me. Thinking about what I wanted to do to you. Fantasizing about tying you up and having my evil way with you." WHACK!! I gasped. "Making you kneel at my feet and suck my cock. Making you beg me to fuck you." WHACK!!! "Listening to you promise me anything..." WHACK!! "...if only..." WHACK! "I'd fuck ..." WHACK! "...you..." WHACK! "...HARD." He got serious then, his hand quick and merciless on my bottom. In three strokes I was kicking and squirming, yelping with each stinging impact, but he wouldn't ease up. It should have hurt like a sonofabitch. It was the hottest experience of my life. I was sharply, keenly aware of my nudity, of my skin rubbing against the fabric of his trousers, of the rasp of his sleeve as one hand clamped around my waist, holding me still for his ruthless hand. I knew I couldn't escape his strength no matter how I tried. My ass was his. Then, with an incoherent growl, he stopped and snatched me upright, pulling me around to face him so I straddled his lap. Before my dazed mind quite knew what was going on, his skillful mouth had captured my nipple. I clung helplessly to his shoulders, feeling his cool, silky hair brushing my collarbone as he sucked and licked and bit at me. Blunt, warm fingers closed
over the globe of my breast, kneaded gently. I let my head fall back and moaned in dazed surrender. His free hand slipped under my stinging ass, testing muscle and softness, then sliding between my cheeks. I felt him discover my asshole and pause slightly. Lifting my rump off his erection, I thrust my bottom out. He took the hint, sliding his fingers toward my desperate cunt. "God," he rumbled, "you're so _wet_." With an easy twist of his thick torso, Jake put me down on my back into the soft leather upholstery. His hand sought his fly. I went for the buttons of his shirt, but my lusting fingers weren't up to any task so complicated. Finally I grabbed and jerked. Buttons shot across the room, revealing a long, breathtaking swath of brown chest. With a greedy sound, I reached for him -- just as he came down over me. His strong hands closed over my wrists, pinning them into the cushions as his cock stabbed into my cunt, slid in until I could feel his soft, furry balls against my bottom. And Jake began to fuck me. I moaned, overwhelmed by his stroking width, fired by the way he'd pinned me, by the feeling of his massive body surrounding me. "Got you," he growled. "I've finally got you. And I'm gonna screw you until you can't stand up." "Ohhh, GOD, Jake!" He buried his face in my hair, powerful hips still working over mine in long, slow strokes that shafted pleasure through me in waves. "I'm going to do things to you you've never even dreamed of," he whispered in my ear, still stroking. "I'm going to make you submit to every kinky impulse I've ever had." He stopped, his cock poised just in the entrance to my cunt. I tried to lift my hips, desperate to engulf him, but he eluded me. "Say 'Jake owns me.' Say it." "Jake owns me." I would have said anything. He buried himself to the balls, and I gasped, staring up into his face. It was tight with pleasure and triumph. "Mine," Jake whispered. His grip on my hands tightened, and his mouth came down on mine, sealing in my whimper as he began to ride me as I'd never been ridden before. His strokes were so deep and fast I almost couldn't take them, couldn't take the pleasure that speared me with every thrust. But I couldn't get away from them either -- Jake wouldn't allow it -- and a moment later I came like a wave breaking. I felt him stiffen, heard him groan out his pleasure in my ear. Even then he didn't stop, his prick still hard and hungry in my cunt as he kept screwing me without missing a stroke. Even before I came again, I knew he was right. Jake did own me. And in the next month, he proved it. Jake established his dominance over me in a dozen ways, from brisk spankings to ordering me to dance naked for him, from forcing me to suck his cock to chaining me to the bed for a fast fuck. One night, he'd be so deliciously gentle I felt tears start to my eyes. The next, he was the barbarian rapist of my fantasies, pinning me down in a breathtaking rush of muscle and spearing my hungry cunt with his prick. Not that we were in bed all the time. We also did all the other things couples do -- movies, nights by the fire, dinner, dancing. We argued politics and fought over the TV remote. He tried to teach me to cook and failed miserably. All very normal. But then he'd get that look in his eyes. Before I'd know what hit me, I'd be across his lap, wet and squirming. And I was so happy, it made me nervous. Somehow I had the feeling that all this was a bit too lovely. Something was bound to spoil it. The other shoe dropped at a party the mayor threw for the city's movers and shakers. We went because I was trying to wrangle an interview, while Jake was intent on getting the contract to build the new county library. So we basically went our separate ways once we arrived, Jake wandering off to press the flesh while I stalked my political prey. It took me two hours to corner Mayor Richards into an interview. By the time I'd finished setting up the appointment, my head was pounding and I wanted desperately to go home -- but as I looked around, I realized I didn't see Jake anywhere in the crowded room. I suspected he might be out on the porch, so I started weaving through the mass of tuxes and designer gowns toward the French doors. Escaping outside, I sucked in a lungful of cool breeze and scanned the darkness, grumbling under my breath when I didn't spot Jake. But my lover notwithstanding, there was no way I was leaving that nice breeze to plunge back into the midst of drunken, slightly sweaty humanity. So instead I wandered over to lean on the porch
railing of the veranda. Which was when I heard the voices coming from around the corner. "...been thinking about what I said when we broke up. I was wrong, Jake. I went way over the line. It was just a fantasy, it wasn't like you actually wanted to..." "Don't worry about it." At Jake's reply to that raspy smoker's voice, I straightened as though somebody had goosed me with a cattle prod. It was Barbara. I hadn't even known she was here. But I did know good and damn well I should go back inside, instead of lurking on the porch eavesdropping like the heroine of a romance novel. What the hell. I never claimed to be polite. "I'd like to start over," Barbara said. I clenched my fists. "I'm sorry, but I don't think that's possible." Jake's voice was very gentle. "It's Niki, isn't it?" She cursed, low and pungent. "I knew I shouldn't have told her what you said. I could tell by the look on her face she was practically creaming her panties at the very idea." "Yeah?" He sounded as though he liked the idea. "I had no idea she was such a perverted little slut. I'll bet she lets you do whatever you want." "Just about." "That's disgusting." "No, actually, it isn't." There was a short, stunned silence. I wondered what she'd seen in Jake's face. "You think you love her, don't you?" "I don't 'think' anything. I know exactly how I feel." "But you don't know how she feels, do you? It's just sex, Jake. Call it whatever you want, but that's all it is to her." Hearing her heels on the weathered wood of the veranda, I held my ground. A moment later she stalked around the corner, and I grinned viciously into her startled face. "Having second thoughts, Bar?" I wanted to slap her so badly, my palm itched. "And you call yourself a feminist." Her full lip curled. "And I call you a bitch. I've got an infallible instinct for these things." She shoved past me. I made an instinctive grab toward her teased hair, but a big hand caught mine before I could yank any of it out. "Aren't we being a little juvenile tonight?" A muscle was ticking in Jake's jaw. I knew he was pissed. "Yeah, well, being stabbed in the back brings out my native immaturity." "Apparently. Do you know what happens to rude little girls who eavesdrop?" "They get spanked by hulking male chauvinists?" "Something like that." That sounded promising. "What, exactly, do you have in mind?" "Well, if you must know," he said deliberately, stepping close and leaning down until his lips touched my ear, "I thought I'd fuck you up the ass." That was one variation I'd never experienced -- and never wanted to. I jerked back and gave him a startled blink. "Isn't that a little extreme?" His grin showed every feral tooth in his head. "Actually, it suits my mood perfectly." For a moment I gave serious thought to refusing. But then I took another look at his eyes and kept my mouth shut; there was a deep, brooding anger in there that had nothing to do with my eavesdropping. I wondered what had set him off. Then I remembered what Barbara had said: "It's just sex, Jake. Call it whatever you want, but that's all it is to her." Was he testing me again? And what would happen if I failed? I had no idea. All I knew was that I didn't want to find out. "You're the master, Jake." "That's right, Niki. Keep that in mind." Jake made me wait through two interminable hours while he finished working the crowd. The whole time, my mind kept skittering like a lab rat terrorized by one too many electric shocks. Why was he so angry at the thought that I might be using him for sex? _Did_ he love me? And how badly was it going to hurt when he reamed my ass? Maybe he wouldn't really do it... Finally we said our good-byes and got into his black Porche. I was buckling my seatbelt when he turned to me in the harsh glare of the dome light. "Ever been sodomized before?" I chomped down on my lip. "No." He grinned savagely and swung the car door closed, leaving us in the dark. Once we got home, Jake pulled me into the bedroom and stripped me, peeling off my black cocktail dress and shucking me out of my underwear like an ear of corn. Leaving me to contemplate his king- sized brass bed, he disappeared from the room. I heard him dig around in the storage room down the hall, then later begin rattling bottles in the master bathroom. When he came back, he held a length of clothesline in one big fist and a jar of vasaline in the other. His grin was faintly menacing. Despite my misgivings, I didn't put
up a fight when he started tying me up. I had the definite feeling I should be at my most submissive. Besides, I was starting to get a little hot. It was hard to stay cool when Jake was wearing his dominant-male-about-to-fuck-slave look. He got inventive with the clothesline, bending my legs and snugging my calves to my thighs with a couple of loops. Once I was kneeling with my bottom in the air, he ran the end of the rope up between my legs to wrap around my wrists, which he lashed to the brass headboard. Finally, just to put the finishing touches on the kink, he gagged me with my bra and blindfolded me with a length of silk scarf. And walked out of the room, leaving me tied up in a neat little ready- to-use package. I stared into my blindfold and shivered as cool air blew across my naked ass. He was back a few minutes later. I heard the shift of a cushion, and suspected he'd sat down in the armchair across from the bed. Ice rattled in a glass. I imagined him sitting there, drinking Jack Daniels and staring at my asshole and thinking about how it would feel to fuck it. As a fugitive trickle of heat warmed my cunt, I thought about the size of his cock, how broad it was. Pulling at my bonds, I swallowed. "Worried, Niki?" he said. "You ought to be. I'm hard as a lead pipe." The ice rattled again. I chewed on the lacy cups of my bra. "Remember that barbarian from that fantasy novel, the one you read when you were a kid?" Jake asked suddenly. "Bet that book didn't mention _everything_ he would have done to his little captive. Once he bent her over the way you are now, so he could get a good look at her tiny asshole -- well, he'd just naturally want to see her butt plugged up with his cock." The ice rattled again, and there was a clink, as though he'd sat the glass down on the nightstand. Jake's slow, heavy tread whispered over the carpet, and I tensed. His hands caught my bottom, pulled my cheeks further apart. "Oh, yeah. He'd ream her. How would he be able to resist the temptation?" he murmured. "She's his slave -- it's not as if she can turn him down. And he knows how deliciously tight she'll be." I felt a gust of warm breath on my bottom; he'd leaned in for a closer look. "But most of all, he knows how it will make her feel when that big cock stretches her open. Helpless. Conquered. No matter what happens between them, she'll never forget the night when he first used her ass for his pleasure." Jake's hot tongue slid right into my pussy in a long, slow lick. I groaned into my gag. "Mmm. Creamy. Guess you don't mind the idea of a good buttfuck as much as I expected." He flicked at my clit until my thigh muscles quivered and jerked, then spread my labia further apart and began to lick me with wicked skill. When he sank his thumb into my wet pussy, I whimpered in helpless need. God, it felt so _good_ -- but I needed something bigger. I got it. A moment later, he pulled out his thumb and plugged it right up my ass. I jumped, gasping at the sudden pain. He quit licking to screw into my hole even deeper, giving it enough pressure to make me shudder in a combination of discomfort and helpless arousal. "Oh, yeeaaaaaah," Jake growled. "My cock's going to love it in there." I squeezed my lids tightly closed behind the blindfold as he went back licking my clit and corking my anus. The combination of pain and delight made lust wind into a tight, hard ball in my belly. With a sense of shock, I realized I was hot for the anal violation he's promised. Finally, after I'd begun to make soft, pleading sounds behind my gag, he left off tormenting me and stood. I heard a metal lid rattle, and knew he was opening the vasaline. He took his time greasing me, sliding two fingers in and out of my butt, digging in as deeply as he could, stopping occasionally to caress my clit until I quivered in my bonds. At last Jake said, "Hmmm. Well, you're good and slick. I think you're ready to ream." I shivered, listening to the jangle of his belt, the soft whisper of his zipper. Something that sounded like a shoe thunked to the carpet, followed by another thud as its mate hit the ground. The floor creaked as his weight shifted. The lid of the vasaline jar rattled again. I pictured Jake greasing his cock with long strokes of his broad hand, and whimpered. "God, you look so hot," he rumbled. "All tied up and bent over and greased, waiting to get it up the ass. Sweet and helpless. Every wet dream I ever had." His cock brushed my butt and I jumped. Hard fingers grabbed my
hip, held me still as Jake's prick nosed my anus. His other hand caught my waist, began to drag me backwards. I could feel my hole spreading under the ruthless pressure of his cockhead, and I groaned into my bra. It felt as though I was being impaled on a baseball bat. I heard him hum softly in pleasure as he burrowed deeper. "God, I've never fucked anything so tight," Jake said, when his balls were finally nestled against my cheeks. I made a begging sound behind my gag. "Get used to it, darling. This is going to be a long, slow ream. I'm planning to enjoy myself -- while making sure you, my sweet little bitch, never forget this night as long as you live." He began to pull out, and I caught my breath at the sensation. It was still painful, but there was a certain perverse stimulation to it. Jake leaned down over me and reached between my legs. Caressing my clit, he whispered in my ear, "I've gotta admit, I'm feeling a bit like your barbarian conqueror. You're so hot, and your asshole is so tiny." He began to slide in and out in short, digging strokes as his oiled fingers circled my button. I sucked in a breath, picturing what we looked like -- me, bent and bound, while my muscular tormentor loomed over me, sodomizing me with predatory skill. Instinctively, I shoved my hips up ... and groaned at the way his cock drove in. "Mmmm," he breathed into my ear. "I love a willing victim." He picked up the pace slowly, letting his thick cock stretch my anal walls with each stroke. Pleasure built stealthily in my core, feeding on the painful burn of his buggering. Until it was a blaze of lust, and I was shoving my bottom back onto his cock, begging for every tormenting inch. "That's it, Niki, impale yourself," Jake purred. He stroked in harder. "Never mind, I'll do it for you." He bore down on my clit, and the spasm of pleasure drove me back on his cock. Pain spiked through me at the deeper invasion, but somehow it just added to my hunger. I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned at the thrusts that were coming faster and shorter and harder. Heat built up in me, an erotic bomb ticking toward detonation each time he dug in. "That's right...Niki, come," Jake gasped. "Your master's... about to blow his wad ... in your...hot...little... asshole... ArrrrrAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" He shoved in so deep I thought I could feel him in my throat. And I came, screaming into my gag. We were both so wiped by the sensual explosion that several minutes went by before Jake managed to get me untied. I uncurled, groaning as the ropes fell away, then sighed as he gathered my aching body against his. I felt completely limp and sated. "God, that was incredible," I sighed. "You think so?" There was a funny note to Jake's voice, something that sounded like regret. "Don't you?" He shifted under me, his sweat-slicked chest rising and falling uneasily. "I...went a little over the line. I didn't hurt you, did I?" "I'm not complaining." "Maybe you should." I lifted my head and stared at his handsome profile. There was a tight line to his jaw. "Quit flogging yourself, Jake. You don't like it nearly as much as I do." He snorted. "Yeah, right." A long moment passed while I listened to his heart thud. Finally he admitted, "I let Barbara get to me." "Yeah, I sort of figured that out." I listened as Jake sucked in a deep breath. Suddenly I was reminded of my own attempts to work up my courage, back when I'd come to him. "I love you, Niki," he blurted. "Maybe you don't feel the same way, but I think if you'll give it time..." I smiled into the hard muscle of his chest. "Jake, you've got to quit listening to bitch Barbara. I love you too." He gave me a searching look. "Yeah?" "Yeah. I was attracted to you from the first, but if sex was all it was, I never would have begged you to master me in the first place. I knew we could have something special." I felt him relax under me. "So," I asked lightly, "What's next on our sick and perverted agenda?" "Actually," Jake said, "I thought I'd build a dungeon." "Umm, that sounds lovely. I don't suppose you'd consider investing in some nipple clamps..." THE END
By Angela Knight
Copyright 2001
Her skin seemed to burn, too tight, too
hot, her nipples fiercely erect on the full globes her breasts had become. The ache between her thighs was so maddening she could only twist helplessly on the medical bunk's sheets. She craved Eric Gray's big, hard body like a drug. To hell with his rank and hers, too hell with his vampirism, to hell with everything but need. She imagined how he'd look, how he'd feel as he drove his cock into her creaming sex, all that feral male strength and ruthless hunger finally turned her way. Just as she'd always dreamed. Unable to resist the clawing demands of her changed body, Jayla Carstairs buried two fingers into her pussy with a strangled yowl. The slick, luscious sensation drove her to stroke deeper, faster. As she pumped her hand, a faint whimper escaped her lips. It sounded more like shame than pleasure. She ignored it, too focused on the incredible feelings that were so much more intense than anything she'd ever felt before. But deep in her mind, a small voice wailed, What have I done to myself? Why the hell did I listen to that bitch bloodslave? The thought was quickly drowned in a hot wave of sexual hunger as her stroking fingers shot her toward the climax her body demanded. The cool intellectualism she'd always prided herself on didn't stand a chance against the overwhelming lust raking her mind. As she collapsed panting in the aftermath, images flashed through her brain: Captain Eric Gray, ironwood blade in one hand as he fought the pirates who had tried to board the Starclipper last week, his strong body big and hard and tempting.... One week earlier As the wave of pirates poured into the docking bay from their own vessel, every man, woman and alien on the Clipper grabbed the nearest weapon and ran to drive them back. The entire deck became a roaring mass of shoving, straining bodies. Gray was in the lead, plowing into the invaders with blinding speed and vampire strength. His eyes glowed with a burning, black rage that anyone would dare try to seize his precious startrader. Tanaka Jones was right behind him. Showing his fangs in a snarl, the executive officer drove a punch into the nearest pirate's skull, killing the man instantly. Kerre Farr fought at his side, her exotic mocha skin gleaming with sweat, gold eyes blazing like a berserker's as she punched and kicked any enemy that came into her path. Jayla herself was a science officer, not a fighter, but she'd picked up a stun stick like everybody else and pitched in to help repel the pirates. Instinct kept her at Gray's heels. Not only was it the safest place to be, but she felt a gnawing need to see that he was safe. Jabbing at a pirate with the slick gray rod, she listened to the howls as it jangled her victims' nervous systems. He swung at her, desperately trying to stop the pain, but she ducked his wild attack and kept the stick planted in his ribs. Finally the man's body could take no more, and he collapsed on the deck. Jayla looked up from him just in time to see a strange vampire, an ironwood knife in his hand, closing in on her captain's broad, unprotected back. Gray had his hands full with a pair of aliens, and didn't see his new attacker. Yelling a warning, she threw herself at the pirate, driving the stun stick at his face. He whipped around, his big fist arching toward her head. There was no time to duck. Her last thought before the lights went out was, Damn, the captain's going to be pissed... Jayla regained consciousness an hour later in the Starclipper's sickbay. The ship's med tech cheerfully informed her the pirates had been routed. Half of them had fled back to their ship, while the rest were locked up in the brig. The captain had killed the vampire who'd knocked her out, and the comp techies were working to plug the hole in the computer systems that had allowed the pirates to disable the Clipper's defenses and board in the first place. The captain came by soon afterward with Farr, who needed to have a wound in her thigh sealed. As the med tech worked over the security officer, Gray gave Jayla a royal chewing out, his black eyes hot and snapping in his handsome, angular face. "Whatever happened to yelling, 'Look out!'" he demanded, while she tried not to stare helplessly at his sensual mouth. "You're a tech, Carstairs. You're not equipped to go one-on-one with a vampire." A tiny, impish voice in her mind whispered, Maybe, but I'd love to try. "If any vamps need killing, I'll take care of it," the captain continued, rocking back on his heels as he glared at her. "But
I'd better never catch you doing anything that damn stupid again." She listened to him growl for several minutes more, thinking dryly that there must be something seriously warped about her to find anything sexy about a man who was telling her off so vehemently. Pitiful, Carstairs. Her infatuation with Gray was really getting out of hand. At last he whirled and stalked out, gesturing at Farr, who trailed in his wake with one last long, cryptic look at Jayla. That night, after the med tech finally released her, Jayla returned to her quarters to find Farr standing in the hall beside the door. That cryptic expression was back on the bloodslave's golden face, a curl of secret amusement in the set of her wide mouth as she stepped to meet Jayla. "May I have a word?" Astonished but working to hide it, Jayla summoned her manners and invited her visitor inside. Something about Farr's lush, overwhelming presence made her quarters feel even more cramped than usual. Quickly scooping a stray uniform tunic off her desk chair, she gestured for the bloodslave to have a seat. "What can I do for you?" She wondered if her curiosity showed. She'd served on the Clipper for two years now, and Farr had never paid a visit. In fact, as far as Jayla knew, the security chief didn't socialize with anyone but the captain and Jones. And she maintained a professional distance even with them, at least in public. What she did with her two vampire masters in private was something Jayla tried very hard not to think about. "The captain has granted us all a month's leave," Farr said, sitting back to cross her endless legs the black skinsuit that slicked over every curve. "He's decided the Clipper's computer system needs a complete overhaul, and that's going to take time. We'll be docking at Langella in two days." "I'm sure the leave will be welcome," Jayla said politely, instantly resolving to spend the time exploring the planet's large and thriving vampire community. There weren't many worlds where so many blood- drinkers would be welcome, but Langella had been founded as a vamp colony to begin with. "But I'm a little curious as to why you felt it necessary to drop by and tell me personally." Farr shrugged her elegantly muscled shoulders. "I wanted to let you know I'll be leaving the ship at Langella. My contract's up, and I plan to find another ... employer." Jayla blinked, two thoughts flashing through her head simultaneously: Again, why tell me? and What will the captain do? "Captain Gray, will, of course, begin looking for another bloodslave." Farr studied her with calculation, tilting her lovely head to one side. "I thought you might want to do something about that." Jayla's brows shot up. The term "bloodslave" was a misnomer, of course; they weren't true slaves. Paid submissives, they served a given vampire under a standard two-year contract, providing him with the sex and blood he needed to survive. With a metabolism that mirrored that of the vampires they served, bloodslaves could withstand repeated feedings that would have killed a human. And their hyper-intense sensuality made the feeding more satisfying to their vamp dominants. And, no doubt, to themselves. Jayla couldn't imagine what she could offer Gray that could compete with that. "Me? Why?" Farr laughed shortly. "Please. Don't insult my intelligence. I may be human on paper, but my senses are vampire. Whenever you're in the same room with Gray, the scent of desire rolls off you in waves." Jayla knew she must be turning bright red. "I..." Realizing she was about to stammer, she gathered her self-control and lifted her chin. "I doubt I'm the only one." This time the laugh was genuine. "No, you're not. You are, on the other hand, the only one whose lust is returned." Jayla blinked. "What?" "He wants you," Farr said bluntly. "He's wanted you for months. But you're human, and he's funny about humans, so he's kept his distance. Too, you're crew, and his sense of honor won't let him poach on his own people. But he wants you anyway." "You're out of your orbit." Rising restlessly to her feet, she paced away from the bloodslave, trying to ignore the crazy bloom of hope that Farr was right. "I know after he chewed your little ass out this afternoon, he fucked mine hard and deep," the security chief said crudely. "And I can tell you, he wasn't thinking about me while he did it. It wasn't the first time, either." "Yeah, well, he's never given me the slightest
indication that he's interested." Jayla stiffened, her eyes narrowing as a dark suspicion occurred to her. She turned to stare at her visitor. "This is some kind of nasty little joke, isn't it?" Farr gave her an offended glare. "I don't play those kinds of games." "So why tell me? If you're leaving because you're insulted by his interest in me, why the hell would you do anything to help us get together?" The bloodslave sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Look, I don't really hold you responsible for the way things shook out. The chemistry was never that good between us to begin with. I shouldn't even have taken the job; I knew going in that I'm not submissive enough for him, and he's too dominant for me. But at the time, I needed work." She crossed her ankles and stared, brooding, at the tips of her boots. "In the two years since, I've gotten fond of Gray, despite our differences. I'd like to see him happy for once. There's a sadness about him.... I don't see any reason he should go on wanting you the way he does, with you wanting him just as much, when you could be together so easily. It offends my sense of ... order." Jayla felt her heart begin to beat a little harder. Maybe Farr wasn't playing with her after all. Maybe Gray really was interested. "Okay, so I'll ask him." The security chief shot her an impatient look. "And he'll tell you I've got a bug in my hard drive. Gray isn't going to take you no matter how much you want each other - unless you have the procedure." Her eyes widened in astonishment. "You're suggesting I become a bloodslave?" "Didn't I say so to begin with? You can't tell me you're not dying to do it. You've got a sub streak a kilometer wide. That's one reason you fascinate Gray, bull dom that he is." Jayla shook her head with a laugh she knew wasn't the least convincing. "You really are off your orbit." Farr stood up with a snort of impatience. "Look, do whatever the hell you want. But I'm telling you, if you don't go down there and get it done, you're going to regret it while you lie in that cold, narrow little bunk of yours. Because I can assure you, Gray's not going to go without another bloodslave for very long." She reached into a slit in her skinsuit and pulled out a small plastic disk. "This is an ident chip for the broker he uses. Get in contact with her when we dock at Langella. She's a friend of his. Ask her what he thinks of you." Farr flipped her the chip and stalked out without a backward glance. During the rest of the trip to Langella, Jayla debated mentally about what Farr had told her. Yet the more she thought about becoming a bloodslave, the more the idea tempted her. Unfortunately, that meant she'd first have to endure the process that would transform her body. She'd be injected with a modified form of the vampire virus which would give her the healing ability and strength she'd need to better serve her new master's hungers without injury. And Jayla knew from her research that the transformation wouldn't be a pleasant process. Nor would it be cheap. If Charit Moore agreed to change her, the broker would receive a cut of whatever Jayla made as a bloodslave until the cost of the procedure was paid off. She was nervously aware she'd be in debt for years. Yet she also knew it would be worth it. Farr was right; she'd always fantasized about belonging to some gorgeous vampdom who'd do everything to her she'd secretly dreamed about. In fact, she'd seen more than her share of simmies with that very theme, particularly after meeting Gray and falling under his sensual spell. Hell, that was why Jayla had signed on with him to begin with when so many humans wouldn't even serve under a vampire captain. She'd been secretly disappointed when he'd maintained the same cool, professional distance with her he had with the rest of the crew. So she'd hidden her interest behind her own professional mask, even as she spent her evenings with a vibrator watching pornographic simmies of bloodslave getting bound and fucked by well-hung vampires. Now she'd had enough. She was sick of never going after what she wanted, sick of never taking a chance. She'd do it. Yeah, maybe Gray would turn her down, and she'd end up with a crushed and broken heart. So be it. She'd just have Moore find her another vampdom and rebuild her life with someone else. Better that than pining hopelessly after a man who not only did not return her interest, but who was aware of it and didn't care. Jayla hadn't forgotten
Moore's mocking comment about smelling her desire; she knew with stinging shame Gray was just as aware of it as the bloodslave was. So when they'd made planetfall at Langella and Jayla had received permission to take leave, she'd hailed the first skycab that came along and took it to Moore's brokerage house. Charit Moore, herself a vampire, was licensed to perform the bloodslave procedure on those who qualified. She also provided a sort of compatibility service, matching up bloodslaves and vampires based on their psyche profiles. Jayla had heard Gray speak of her even before Farr had mentioned her; she was apparently a good friend of his. The question was, would she tell Jayla that Farr had played a very elaborate, very ugly practical joke? Well, there was only one way to find out. Heart hammering, Jayla paid the cab off and started up the walk. Whatever she'd expected a bloodslave brokerage house to look like, Moore's wasn't it. The long, low building was built of some glowing white stone that was probably quarried locally. Something about its elegant columns reminded Jayla vaguely of an ancient temple. Swallowing, she gathered her courage and approached its soaring wooden door, which swung silently outward at her approach. A woman in a long, flowing gown stepped out to meet her. A cyberserver unit, judging from the iridescent shimmer of her eyes. Jayla explained her business. The cyberserver hesitated -- probably listening to instructions through an internal com unit -- then ushered her inside down a long hallway to the broker's office. Moore stood with a professional smile as she walked in. Sizing one another up, they exchanged polite greetings. The broker was short and delicate of build -- a result of having been born centuries before, in a time when nutrition wasn't as good. Her eyes were wide and velvet brown in her ageless, heart-shaped face. She wore a red skinsuit that revealed every impressive curve as she gestured Jayla to one of the thickly padded armchairs that stood before her desk. "When the cyberserver relayed your name, I was a bit surprised," Moore said. Her fangs flashed between her lush, smiling lips as she spoke. "Gray speaks of you often." "Positively, I hope." Sinking into her chair, Jayla looked around. An aura of sensuality hung over the room, from the intricately carved wood of the desk to the marble fireplace set in one wall. Flames leaped merrily from the logs. Back on Earth, such a waste of natural resources would have been frowned upon, but out here in the colonies, it was expected. Moore smiled. "Of course. He thinks a great deal of you. Cafa?" She walked to a sideboard and reached for an intricately engraved silver pitcher that stood between two cups. "Yes, please." It would give her something to do with her hands. After Moore had returned to her seat and they were sipping the sweet, steaming beverage, Jayla gathered her courage. "I want to have the procedure done, Ms. Moore. How do I go about it?" "Ohhhh," the vampire said, leaning back in her seat to study her with speculation. "Does Gray know you're here?" Jayla met her dark eyes cooly. "I wasn't aware I needed his permission." Moore blinked. "No, I don't suppose you do. But ... he does talk about you. I just wasn't sure..." She shrugged. "Well, the whole point's moot until we see the results of the psyche tests anyway. I can't Change you if you don't qualify for the procedure." As her mouth went dry, Jayla nodded. "Yes, I gathered that from my research." The vampire nodded briskly. "Then let's find out, shall we?" Moore took Jayla into a small, white-walled cubical that looked far more clinical than anything else she'd seen in the building. After fastening a cyberband around her head, Moore dimmed the lights and left her alone. No sooner had the door closed behind her than the device's computer began flooding Jayla's brain with images so dark and erotic she was soon squirming. Women, bound and gagged in various positions as well- hung men tormented them with wicked, erotic skill. Fangs and cocks sinking into flesh, gasps and moans, pleas for mercy and cries for more. Jayla barely managed to keep her hands out from between her thighs, so powerful was the need to relieve the sexual tension the images created. When the test finally ended, she collapsed in her seat, blinking and pressing her thighs together. A few minutes later, Moore walked in and dropped into the opposite chair to
study her with raised brows. "Well, well. You're definitely a candidate." Fighting not to squirm, Jayla forced herself to meet the vampire's appraising gaze. "And that surprises you?" "Oh, I thought you might be - someone like you wouldn't be here otherwise. I just didn't expect the results to be so positive. According to the computer, you've got some of the highest sub ratings I've ever seen." She smiled slightly. "I sure as hell won't have any trouble finding a master for you. I've got several vampdoms on a waiting list for somebody with your stats." Jayla swallowed and crossed her legs. "I don't suppose one of them is Captain Gray?" The smile became a grin, white teeth flashing against dark skin. "Now that you mention it, he's been on the list for a couple of years. Eric likes his bloodslaves with a deep submissive streak, and you certainly fit that description." "So you think he'd be ... interested?" The vampire laughed. "He's been 'interested' in you for months." Her heart gave a lovesick thump. "Oh?" "He hasn't come right out and said anything, but we message back and forth a good bit, and he mentions you somehow or other in every communique. What project you're working on, something you've done to piss him off. Whatever. He wouldn't do that if he wasn't damned interested." Jayla hesitated, the hot images she'd just seen wheeling through her mind - this time with herself and Gray in the starring roles. "He's never given me any indication he'd want me that way." "He wouldn't. Gray has a ... complicated history. Something happened a century or so back. I'm not sure what, but it scarred him somehow. He keeps his distance, even from the bloodslaves he contracts with. This latest one was a good example." She shook her head. "I told him Farr was too emotionally distant for him, but he said that's what he wanted. I knew it wouldn't end well, and I wasn't surprised when it didn't." Jayla studied her. "So why haven't you gone after him yourself? You seem to have a good relationship." Moore laughed shortly. "Honey, I tried. He wouldn't let me get close. Besides, he's a little too dominant for me. And since then I've found a bloodslave of my very own." Rolling her eyes, she moaned in mock lust. "Oh, baby. Built like an Arabian stallion and handsome as sin. Possessive, too. I think it'll be a load off his mind when I get Gray settled with some hot little sub girl. And you'll do nicely." Which was how Jayla ended up in a medbed that night. The machine injected her body with a modified form of the vampire virus. Over the next few days, the virus altered her cell structure and DNA to give her the enhanced healing ability, senses and strength without quite turning her into a vamp. It wasn't an easy change. In pain, desperately sick, Jayla suspected more than once that it was killing her. By the third day of the process, she prayed it would. While she cursed the obsession with Gray that had brought her to this, the medbed also sculpted her body, giving her a lusher, more voluptuous shape and packing additional pleasure receptors into her erogeonous zones even as it upped her natural hormone levels to make her more intensely sexual. But all that biological tinkering combined with an effect she hadn't anticipated: brutal, mind-stealing lust. On the night of the fifth day, Jayla lay on the medbed, her vampire- sharp senses reacting to every sound, every scent. The room was dark, but it seemed bright as day to her eyes. Worse, her body ached and burned with tormenting need. Moore had pronounced her ready for an encounter with Gray, and she'd gone to set it up. The thought of the captain's big body made Jayla moan in hunger. God, she hoped he'd agree to this, or it was likely she'd rape him, vampire or not. Eric Gray walked into his quarters with a mental sigh of relief. As the door slid closed behind him, hiding him from the eyes of any watching crew, he allowed his shoulders to slump. It had been a rough day. The Langella techs had done their best to screw up the new computer install, and he'd had to ride them hard all day to make sure the job was done right. He was damned if he'd let them put his people at risk with a half-assed job. For a moment an image slashed through his mind - turning just in time to see that bastard vamp pirate backhand Jayla, the sight of her small body slamming into the bulkhead to collapse into an unconscious heap. He'd thought she was dead. In a blind, fear-fueled rage, he'd gutted her attacker. Gray sat down on his
bunk and slumped, resting his elbows on his knees as he let his head hang. He wondered when this inconvenient obsession he had for that girl would fade. You'd think since he never touched her, and she thought he didn't give a damn.... But the attraction only got stronger. It didn't help that she wanted him right back. Hell, even when he'd been chewing her out after she'd scared the life out of him, he could still scent the rich, heady musk of her desire. He wished Farr hadn't quit. At least he'd be able to relieve the physical part of his craving with a hard, deep fuck. Not that the sex had ever really satisfied either of them. Moore, as usual, had been right. They really hadn't been a good match. The computer announced an incoming call with a series of liquid notes. "I'll take it," he told the machine, and lifted his weary head just as a three-dimensional projection of Moore's face appeared. He smiled in genuine pleasure. "Hey. I was just thinking about you. Is this call business or pleasure?" She grinned. "Both, of course." Her acute gaze searched his face. He forced himself to straighten and smile. She must have found him a new bloodslave. He had no idea why that thought made him feel less anticipation than emptiness. "So what have you got?" "The girl of your no-doubt highly kinky dreams, boyo. Practically cherry - one of those repressed types who's finally yielded to her darker fantasies. Hollander rating of - get this - 196. And considering your dom rating is damn near a perfect match...." He forced a smile. "Sounds like the ideal playmate. I'll be down to check her out in half an hour- I'm done here, so I guess I can take a little leave." Moore grinned wickedly. "Want me to put her in the Dungeon so you two can get... acquainted?" "Why not?" Maybe he could work off some of his tension. Judging by that Hollander, the bloodslave would probably love anything he did to her. "What the hell is this?" Jayla asked, staring around at the room Moore had called the Dungeon. Naked and uneasy, she shivered at the sight of the stone walls with their jutting, phallic torches. Two columns stood in the center of the room, a pair of chains dangling from them. By the door stood a wooden table covered in a wide array of sex toys clamps and crops, ball gags, dildos. The whole place looked as if it had popped right out of one of her darker fantasies. "A playroom," Moore told her. "Gray wants to give you what we'd have called a test drive a couple of hundred years ago." She frowned. "I'm not sure I did the right thing in not telling him who you are, but I was afraid he'd refuse to come." Jayla stiffened. "I thought you said he wanted me?" "He does. Unfortunately, Gray has a tendency to deny himself anything he wants that badly. Particularly if the desire is sexual." She shrugged. "Whatever happened all those years ago really did a number on him. I hope he's not going to be pissed." Her eyes slid to Jayla's cold-stiffened nipples. She smiled wickedly. "Though I'm sure one look at those will put him in a better mood even if he is. Let's get you ready." By the time Gray landed his personal shuttle on Moore's pad, he was in the mood for some very dark games. The thought of Moore's mystery bloodslave and her 196 rating had awakened the Hunger, and it was more than ready to be fed. He hadn't played really hard in a couple of years; Farr hadn't been the type. Her Hollander had been 82, barely high enough to qualify for the procedure. As a result, some of the pleasures Gray liked to enjoy with his partners didn't do a damn thing for her, so he'd foregone the roughhouse in order to do whatever would get her off. Next time, he'd damn well listen to Moore's advice. She met him personally at the door with her usual sisterly kiss, but he thought she seemed oddly nervous. "So where's this new bloodslave you found me?" he asked, partly to put her at ease, partly because the Hunger was snarling. If anything, Moore looked more nervous. "In the Dungeon, just as you requested." He held up the long, thin pack he'd brought. "I need to change before I go in. I want to set the mood, but I didn't want to scandalize the crew in the process." Her grin was fleeting as she eyed the pack. "Something in leather, I imagine." "Or a reasonable facsimile thereof, anyway." She led him to a dressing room and he changed into the psudeoleathers. He felt just slightly silly in all that gleaming hide, but given the Hollander ranking, he knew the bloodslave
would probably love it. When he was dressed, he strode down the hall, his bootheels clicking on the marble. Moore trailed after him, coming as close to fluttering as he'd ever seen her. He eyed her warily. "What's with you, anyway?" Moore glanced away. "I just want you to like this girl." He grunted. "With that Hollander, I'm sure that won't be a problem." The thick wooden door swung open with a theatrical creak at their approach. He stepped through, already hardening with anticipation. The bloodslave stood in the middle of the room, her lovely arms chained over her head to the pair of pillars she stood between. Dancing torchlight lit skin the color of cream, glowing on the high, full curves of her breasts and an endless satin length of thigh. Her nipples were tight, rosy buds that made him think of the clamps in his pocket. The scent of her desire filled his nose and mouth with the taste of raw sex. Some nuance in that sweet musk told him her Change had been very recent. His cock jerked in lust; the little bloodslave would be desperate to be ridden. He wondered why Moore hadn't mentioned that delicious detail. As Gray started toward her, he finally looked into her face and stopped dead in shock. Jayla swallowed, staring at her captain with a mix of terror and desire. She damn near hadn't recognized him. In place of his usual staid blue uniform, he wore tight gleaming leather pants and thick, knee-high buckled boots. His massive chest was bare, all its magnificent muscle on rippling display. She'd had no idea he was so intensely beautiful. In one big hand, he carried a riding crop he tapped restlessly against his booted ankle. His dark eyes glowed vampire red as they tracked up her body, pausing at her pussy and breasts. Then they reached her face. For an instant, they widened with delighted lust.... Then the delight faded, replaced by rage. He wheeled toward Moore, who took an instinctive step away. "Change her back!" The broker blinked in shock at his rough, grating tone. "You're kidding." His lips peeled away from his fangs as he gritted each word. "Change. Her. Back." "She just Turned, Eric...." "And she can Turn back," he spat, almost vibrating with fury. "I'll pay for it, if that's what's worrying you. Hell, I'll pay for both procedures. Just...." "No." Jayla blinked, surprised at the low, threatening growl in her own voice. The captain spun, his eyes narrowing. "What did you say?" Some part of her gibbered in shock at what she was doing, but the new Jayla was in control, the one that had been born from the vampire virus and two years of helpless need. She lifted her chin. "I chose to become a bloodslave. It's what I want to be, and I'm not going back." He actually sneered at her. "You want my cock that bad? Tough. You're not getting it." He looked at Moore. "Cure her." "If you don't want me, fine. There are other dominants." For a moment, Jayla wondered what devil had seized her vocal cords, but as she listened to the words coming out of her mouth, she realized she meant them. She looked at Moore. "Please com the next male vampdom on the list." Gray stiffened. "What list?" Moore bit her lip. "The one for the high Hollander subs." He recoiled. "Jayla, any vamp on that list would have a Dom rank to match - which would make him damn near a sadist." She lifted an eyebrow at him. It felt good. "Aren't you on that list?" Gray's eyes narrowed. "As a matter of fact, I am." He studied her, a dark calculation entering his gaze. Moore shifted uneasily. "Gray...." He ignored her, focused totally on Jayla as a feral masculine hunger grew in his glowing eyes. "Maybe I should give you a little taste of what you could expect if you decide to go through with this." His laugh was just slightly sinister. "I'll have you begging Moore to turn you back in fifteen minutes." "Anything you can dish out, I can take," Jayla flung at him, something dark and hungry unfolding deep in her at the thought. "I really don't think this is a good idea, Gray." Moore said. "You...." "Get out, Charit." He started toward Jayla with predatory grace. "Don't come back until she screams for you." Moore stiffened. "Jayla...." "Go, Ms. Moore," Jayla said, staring defiantly into her captain's eyes. "You won't be needed." When she still hesitated, Gray whirled on her, snarling like a tiger warning a rival away from his meal. She fled. With a nasty little smirk of satisfaction curling his lips, he turned and stalked toward Jayla again,
looking her up and down. Her eyes widened, arousal curling and tightening low in her belly. He didn't stop until the crisp curling hair of his chest was a whisper away from her nipples. She stared up at him, knowing he was trying to intimidate her by looming over her like that, emphasizing his male width and muscle against her smaller, lighter body. His glowing crimson eyes mocked her, his wide, lush mouth curling in a taunting grin. "So you've got a little crush, and now you think you want to be a bloodslave." She lifted a brow, determined to give the mockery right back to him. "I haven't had a crush on a man since I was fourteen." "Bullshit, baby." It was the first time she'd ever heard him swear, and despite herself, her lips parted in surprise. "I've known you were hot for me since the minute I let you sign on. You and your collection of vampdom simmies." At her indrawn breath, he laughed nastily. "You think you could smuggle something like that on my ship without me knowing about it? I don't think so." While she fought an instinctive rush of shame, he began to circle her like a drill instructor reaming out a particularly stupid cadet. "You're thinking, what? I'm gonna tie you up with silk scarves and recite poetry to your rosy little nipples? You don't need a vampdom, girl, you need a fucking boyfriend." He packed that last word with so much scorn it was all she could do not to squirm. Instead she stiffened her spine and forced herself to look him right in those mocking red eyes. "I know exactly what I need, Captain, and it's not a boyfriend. And I am definitely not a 'girl.' I'm a bloodslave, and I've got the Hollander to prove it." He shoved his face an inch from hers. "If you had a single brain cell in that pretty little skull, you'd want me to see you as a girl. Because darlin', I'm a predator, and right now you look a hell of a lot like prey." Jayla blinked, startled. He took a step back and looked her up and down. This time when he began to circle her, he reminded her of a tiger contemplating a staked gazelle, lazily deciding where to take a bite. "Charit did a good job on those tits," he purred, his tone shifting from captain-dealing-with-idiot-subordinate to a menacing masculine rumble. "Round and firm, with nice long nipples. You know why bloodslaves have long nipples?" He smiled slowly, wickedly. "So they can take a clamp better." Suddenly he lifted a broad hand and stroked his thumb across one tight, hard pink crest. The sensation was so intense she gasped. She'd forgotten the way her bloodslave nervous system felt pleasure more acutely. "Sensitive, too. I wonder what kind of clamps Charit's got over on that table back there?" He caught the peak between thumb and forefinger and pinched gently. Leaning down, he murmured in her ear, "I'd like to put you in a pair of old-fashioned alligator clips and watch you squirm." Moving closer until her naked back was pressed against his broad, hairy chest, he cupped her newly full breast in his left hand and began to squeeze and stroke. Still holding the crop in his right hand, he ran the smooth, hard shaft down over her belly, then between her thighs to press against her clit. "Then, while your pretty breasts are still aching, I'd take my crop to that perfect rump and give it a half-dozen pink stripes. By then I'd be rock hard and ready for my meal." He leaned closer and gently bit her earlobe and licked the straining cord of her throat. "Ever taken it up the ass?" "No." The word emerged as a squeak. He purred. "Perfect. I'd grease you up and force my big cock right up that tight little backside while you whimpered for mercy. Then as I reamed you hard and deep, I'd sink my fangs in this soft, white throat and drink your sweet blood." Gray stepped back and smiled down at her tauntingly. "So. Do you really want to be at the bottom of the vampire food chain?" Despite his dismissive tone, his eyes blazed crimson with heat, and his cock was a long, thick shape behind the tight leather of his pants. Sensing her moment, Jayla lifted a mocking brow. "You talk a good game, Captain. Are you actually going to do any of that? Because you've got me creaming, and if you're not really going to play, I think I'll ask Charit to call someone who will." Recklessly, she sneered. "You can jerk off while you watch." The old Jayla mentally wailed at saying such a thing to her captain, but the new Jayla watched defiantly as Gray stiffened. One big hand shot out to encircle her breast,
long fingers curling around the soft flesh. She winced in expectation, and he smirked, eyeing her with calculation as he gently toyed with the velvety globe. "I had no idea you had such a mouth on you, Carstairs. I'm tempted to shove my cock between those rosy lips and teach you something else to do with it. But there are a couple of other orifices I want to explore even more, so I guess that'll have to wait." He deftly slipped his hand through the loop attached to his crop handle, and let it dangle from his wrist as he reached into his pocket to pull out something that gleamed silver in the torchlight. His left hand squeezing her breast so the long pink nipple jutted, he extended the little silver thing toward it. The object was a clamp, Jayla realized, and braced herself. Its tiny jaws closed over her stiff flesh with a force just short of real pain, and she closed her eyes and arched her back at the rush of hot sensation. Gray started playing the clamp skillfully, opening and closing it several times so that it nibbled on her hard nipple until she writhed. "Oh, yeah," he purred. "You do like that, don't you? Want the other one?" Unable to speak, she could only moan. He grinned and pulled out the second clamp to apply it to her other breast. She bit down on her lip and whimpered. "Mmmm," he rumbled. "I do love that sound. There's something about a woman moaning helplessly that makes me hard as a rock. I start imagining what kind of arousing little noises you'll make when my prick begins reaming your tight little ass." He gave her a dark, taunting grin and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "It's going to huurrrrt, Jayla." She licked her lips and made herself give him a stare that mixed sensuality with I-dare-you defiance. Even as she taunted him, Jayla was acutely aware of the way her wrists were chained over her head, putting her utterly at his mercy. "If you expect that threat to scare me into running, you really don't know me very well." Gray circled around behind her, his head still lowered to a spot just above her pulse as he moved. "You'd better be giving it some thought, pretty prey. Because the time when I'll let you run is rapidly running out." One big hand stroked down her sensitive spine and slipped between the round globes of her cheeks. She stiffened in a combination of nervousness and arousal as one long finger sought her anus, found it. Penetrated slowly. Jayla sucked in a startled breath at the sensation. His finger felt three times as thick as she knew it to be as it entered the tight channel. "Mmm. Too bad, darlin' -- I think your window of opportunity just closed," Gray said with a low laugh. "You won't be walking out of here a virgin after all. Your asshole is just too tempting." He caught her earlobe between his teeth and gave it a gentle bite as he rotated his hand, screwing deeper. "My cock is twitching at the thought of stretching it nice and wide. And since I'm going to ream you, I might as well enjoy some of my other favorite pleasures too." She gasped. "Pleasures?" "Oh, yeah." He chuckled, dark and rumbling. "I never feel I've really fucked an ass unless I put a dozen pink stripes on it first." Licking her lips, she quivered helplessly in arousal and alarm. Oh, God, what have I gotten myself into? Gray stared down into Jayla's wide, dark eyes as he savored the sensation of her tight bottom clamping around his fingers. He couldn't wait to mount her and ram deep. The part of his mind not drowning in the Hunger sent up a rumble of protest. He knew he had no business indulging himself with Carstairs like this. She was far too delicate to withstand the dark side of his nature. Hadn't Jane proved what happened when he ignored the vulnerability of innocents? And yet ... she was also stubborn as hell. If he let her go now, she'd just find another vampdom who wouldn't take her innocence into account - who would, in fact, enjoy despoiling it. At least if Gray took her, he would let her go when she cried off. At least, I will once I'm finished. I don't know if I can turn her loose now, admitted a voice in the back of his head. She was too tempting, too hot, and he wanted her far too long. Hell, he thought recklessly. Might as well teach her a lesson - and enjoy myself thoroughly in the process. "Before I indulge, I'm going to have to prepare you," Gray said, withdrawing his thick finger from her anus. She shuddered in dark arousal. As Jayla watched with a blend of desire and fear, he strolled over to the table Moore had set up along one
wall. He contemplated the selection for a long, nerve-wracking moment. "Not that one, I think. Don't want that delicate little channel scraped up before I enter it. That's not long enough. That one? No, too thin. Ah." Gray chose something black and shinny and retraced his steps, examining it as he came. "This should do. It'll stretch you for me by degrees. And it's got its own lubricant." He held up the four-inch long object, which began to shine as drops of oil appeared on its black, slick skin. "Let's see, what setting should we start out with?" He pressed something on the base of the dildo, and it expanded between his fingers. "That'll do, I think." His gaze shifted to meet hers, and he smiled wickedly. "I'll expand it little by little until I'm ready to fuck you." She swallowed nervously. "It looks pretty thick right now." His laugh was deliberately sinister. "But not nearly as thick as I am." Involuntarily, Jayla's eyes tracked to his crotch. The bulge under that tight black leather was indeed much broader than the menacing little dildo. Gray stepped around behind her and crouched. She felt strong fingers part her ass cheeks, then the press of the cool, rounded head of the butt plug. Slowly he began to insert it. Feeling her muscles protest, she squirmed helplessly and moaned. It was wider around the middle than it was at either end to make sure it wouldn't slip out. As he pushed the dildo deeper, the sense of being stretched increased, and she arched her back and gasped. "You have no idea how arousing you sound," Gray purred. "That's the thing with fucking a predator. The more helpless you feel, the hotter I get." Suddenly two strong fingers stroked the lips of her sex and eased between them to slide deep into her creamy pussy. The stark pleasure of that penetration contrasted deliciously with the discomfort of the dildo. "Ooooh!" "I see I'm not the only one getting hot," he rumbled. "Damn, but your cunt is almost as tight as your virgin ass. It must have been awhile." Two years. Not since she'd come aboard the Starclipper and become infatuated with her handsome captain. The hunger that had retreated into confusion in the face of his predatory lust suddenly blazed into life. God, she had to have him. "Fuck me, Captain!" She rolled her hips against his hand, humping his fingers. "For God's sake, don't make me wait anymore! I'm going crazy!" "Eric, goddamn it. My name is Eric." He stood in a rush of snapped control and stepped around to face her, unsealing his pants with a single, impatient pass of his fingers. She gasped in joy as he swooped her into his arms. Her breasts hit his hard chest. The nipple clamps went flying as big hands closed over her thighs and dragged them wide. Before she could suck in a breath, Gray drove his thick, hard cock all that way into her slick cunt. She threw back her head and yowled in pleasure. "Oh, yeah," he rumbled. "Like fucking a buttered vise." He withdrew, the slick sensation of his shaft sliding along her channel wringing another delirious whimper from her lips. "You feel so incredible," she gasped. "You're so thick, so long....Oh, God!" Gray laughed. "Wait until I take your ass." He lunged deep, sending a corkscrew of pleasure twisting up her spine. The dildo picked that moment to expand, stretching her rectum and rubbing against his cock through the thin membrane separating the two channels. She convulsed helplessly in his arms. "I've fantasized about doing you," he said in her ear as he rammed hard into her cunt. Each stroke was delicious, a ravishing assault on her nervous system so intense she found herself hanging helplessly in his arms, unable to move as he pounded her. "I tried not to, but whenever I'd see you bend over your station, I'd imagine what it would be like to walk up behind you and take down those tight uniform pants. And fuck. And feed. Your pussy. Your ass. Your throat." "Yes," she said, and quivered. His long, strong hands dug convulsively into her thighs, holding her pinned against him as his powerful torso rolled, shafting her over and over. "God, I wish I could keep you," he gritted between his teeth. "I'd tie you to the bunk so I could have this creamy pussy whenever I want. Keep your tight little ass greased too. You wouldn't be able to walk by the time I let you go." "God, yes!" Jayla gasped, wildly excited. Starbursts of light exploded behind her eyes as he lunged against her. She curled her calves against his muscled rump as her thighs
began to twitch with the climax that built with every ruthless thrust. Squirming helplessly, she fought to get that last little bit of stimulation on her hard clit. Then the dildo expanded in her backside again, and the rough pleasure kicked her over. She threw back her head and screamed. "Eric!" "Yesss," he snarled. "Now you're mine!" His mouth clamped over the throbbing pulse in her throat as the tips of his fangs pressed her skin. Then he bit deep, sending a sharp, quick pain radiating up her spine as he began to drink in greedy swallows. The startling sensation drove another spike of dark delight into her overloaded nervous system, and Jayla screamed again as her orgasm spiked even higher, even harder. She jerked and twisted in his arms as he feasted, his powerful hips shafting her without mercy. Until at last he stiffened, growling against her throat as his cock began to jet cum deep in her clamping cunt. By the time he drew his fangs from her throat and his dick from her delicious pussy, Jayla hung limp in her chains. But energy zinged through Gray's system, and he realized he wanted more. More being her ass. "Hmmm," he purred in her ear. "That was a nice appetizer. Just nice enough to take the edge off." Her eyes snapped wide. A grin tugging at his lips, Gray set her on her feet, instinctively steadying her when she swayed. When he sensed she could stand on her own, he dropped back into vampdom mode and stepped away to smirk down at her. "After that, I ought to be able to give your asshole just what it deserves." She gulped, her eyes dropping to his sated cock. Lifting a brow, she grinned impishly. "The spirit may be willing...." He laughed. "Oh, the flesh will be hard." Deft with long practice, he caught the crop that still dangled from his wrist by its strap and lifted it. "Especially once I put a half-dozen pink stripes across those pretty cheeks. Nothing puts me in the mood to ream a slave like watching her squirm under good caning." This time he actually heard the gulp The expression on Gray's face was downright diabolical as he walked around behind her in a slow, panther-silent stride. Watching his big body move, his cock hardening with every step, Jayla felt her head grow light. His shaft looked so brutally long and powerful. And he was going to drive it into her ass. Stepping in close behind her, he reached out a hand to give her bottom a testing squeeze. "Mmm. Nice and firm. Just begging for the crop." Between her cheeks, the plug chose that moment to expand, stretching her tight hole and reminding her just what her fate was to be. She bit down on her lip as arousal spread through her in a hot, honeyed tide. Jayla twisted her head to watch in spiraling fear and desire as Gray stepped into position like a dancer, one big hand bringing the crop back. Even in her instinctive fear, the play of muscles in his chest and powerful arm struck her as beautifully erotic. The crop whistled as it snapped forward and landed with a snap. She bounced onto her toes with an instinctive shriek. "Oh, come on, Jayla!" Gray said, laughing. "I barely hit you." And he hadn't, she realized. Her flesh stung lightly, but that was all. Even as that perception penetrated, the crop swished again, painting another stinging line across her butt. She jerked and shot a look over her shoulder at him. His grin was broad and hungry, showing the full length of his fangs. His rock-hard cock jutted from his open fly, and his glowing eyes were locked on her ass. He stepped forward in a ripple of muscle.... WHAP!! She sucked in a gasp. This blow had been a little heavier than the others, but still well within her ability to withstand. Yet something about it, about what he was doing, the wild, dark hunger in his eyes made her hotter than she'd ever been in her life. Gray sent the crop whistling toward Jayla's tempting ass again, controlling the blow so it would land as an erotic sting more than true pain. This was more a symbolic caning than a real one, designed to establish dominance and turn her on. And it was succeeding. There was a breathy quality to her gasps, and a salty tang intensifying in the air that told him she was growing richly wet. He licked his lips and laid the crop across her ass again. She jumped, the long line of her body twisting, round, beautiful cheeks flexing. Three faint pink streaks marked them as her butt began to redden and glow with engorging blood. He changed the angle on the crop and came up with an underhand blow that bounced
her onto her toes with a yelp. Her ass spread as her hips rolled up, and he glimpsed the butt-plug. Judging from the diameter, it was fully expanded, stretching her little anus deliciously. He was going to stretch it a lot more. The Hunger, sated briefly from his earlier feeding, roared back to life. Jayla writhed, her backside stinging both inside and out from Gray's caning and that demonic plug of his. "How does it feel, darlin'?" he rumbled. "It hurts," she groaned, panting and shivering. "Yeah....." WHAP! "But do you like it?" "God, yes!" She was, in fact, amazed at how erotic the whole thing was. She didn't think she'd ever been this hot in her life. "In a minute I'm going to take that plug out," he purred. WHAP! STING! "Know what I'm gonna do then?" "Replace it with that huge cock?" Jayla writhed, squeezing her eyes closed. "Oh, yeah. Right to the balls." WHAP! STING! Fire shot through her bottom, and she jerked. "Damn, Eric, that hurt!" "Not as much as it's going to when I start fucking your ass. And you're going to love every minute of it. Which is a good thing, since it's a bloodslave's job to bend over and offer her master her ass whenever he wants it." When she glanced warily over her shoulder, she saw him take the single long, hungry stride it took him to reach her, his big shaft swaying, flushed dark with lust. She stared down at it and shivered. It looked huge. He laughed, a dark rumble. "You'd better quiver, darlin'. It's been a long time since I've given a slave a good caning, and it's made me hot as a rocket thruster. And the fact that it's you.... Well, you may not be able to walk for a couple of days when I get through." As his cock jabbed her butt, he reached around her body and down between her thighs. She moaned as his long fingers slid into her cunt. "Damn, you're wet," he purred in her ear, giving her a few leisurely thrusts that made her whimper in pleasure. "I pumped you full, didn't I?" Jayla licked lips that were as dry as her sex was creamy. "Yeah." "And your asshole's next." Gray's fingers left her cream-drenched sex and roamed around the curve of her hip and down between her cheeks. He caught the dildo and began to withdraw it. Jayla gasped at the sensation. "Oh, I think you're in trouble, sweetheart. I don't believe this little plug stretched you enough." He laughed darkly in her ear. "Especially not as hard as I am right now." She quivered as he dropped the plug with a clatter on the stone floor and started working two fingers into her anus. Even after the plug, they felt so thick she whimpered. "Well," he rumbled in her ear, "you're good and slick. And very, very tight. You're going to be a luscious fuck, Jayla. And after putting all those pretty stripes on this round little ass of yours, I'm definitely in the mood to ream it for you." Jayla squeezed her eyes shut at the sensation of his long fingers twisting deep. "I'm sure you are... AH!!...you sadist." He laughed. "Exactly." Gray released her breast and stepped back to crouch behind her, simultaneously catching her cheeks in both hands. She felt him spread them, could almost feel the burn of his eyes as he examined the vulnerable opening between them. "Damn, you are tiny. Particularly compared to the diameter of my cock." "And I'll bet you can't wait to ram it deep," she said, shivering. God, she was hot. The idea of him invading her this way, his ruthless intentions ... It was unbearably arousing. "Oh, yeah. In fact, let's get started." Leather creaked as he stood and stepped in close. Something hard brushed the sensitive target of his lust as he positioned the massive head of his cock for entry. The shaft settled against her, the pressure slowly increasing as he pushed hard, inexorably digging in. Fire exploded along her nerves as the tiny opening began to yield. She moaned. "It hurts!" "I know." He sounded more predatory than sympathetic. "And it's going to hurt a lot worse. But if you concentrate on relaxing these exquisite little muscles, it'll get better. Eventually." He pushed in another ruthless inch, then another. The fire blazed higher, and she writhed helplessly. Just when she was about to scream, he reached around between her thighs and began to play with her clit, his long fingers devilishly skillful. The pleasure melded with the pain of his tunneling cock as he continued his merciless invasion. Until finally he was in to the balls. "God, you're tight," he growled, circling her clit with his thumb as he stroked a finger into her cream-drenched cunt.
"Damn, the idea of being your master is tempting. It'd be tough to decide between your juicy pussy and snug little asshole." Slowly, he began to withdraw, pulling his big shaft an inch at a time back up her channel, tormenting the tender flesh even as he fingered her cunt and clit. Jayla whimpered. Being fucked this way was overwhelming, intense. And darkly erotic, despite the pain. He felt so damn big - his cock, the powerful body plastered against hers, torso rolling as he pulled out, then slid deep again, reaming her with ruthless, lingering strokes. "God!" "That's right, relax," Gray crooned. "You'll start to love it soon. Any slave with a Hollander like yours discovers the appeal of a buttfuck pretty fast." He was right. As the instinctive clamp of her muscles loosened, a strange, dark pleasure grew with every thrust. Until she could only hang in her chains and moan as he used her with delicate brutality, her body battered by pain and delight. She'd never felt so utterly at a man's mercy, so intensely fucked. She felt like a slave, as if he was driving home his claim each time he drove his cock into her desperately stretched rectum. And the man doing the claiming was Eric Gray, the captain she'd fallen in love with an never expected to have, the heart of so many dark fantasies. Jayla realized suddenly she was rolling her hips back at him, taking his cock as deep as she could, impaling herself. The dark ecstacy of it surged through her, and she knew she was about to come. She'd begun responding just as he'd known she would, meeting his thrusts hungrily, driving her asshole back onto his cock. Her moans and whimpers of pleasure were as tempting as her tight, slick flesh. God, he wanted to keep her. The idea of owning Jayla, having her bound and ready for his use anytime he wanted her .... He slammed his hips forward and listened to her ecstatic yowl even as his cock luxuriated in her tight, greased grip. Why not? he thought suddenly. She was a high-Hollander bloodslave who found his dominance wildly arousing. Why shouldn't he collar her, fuck her lushly tempting body's every orifice, feed from her throat... Enjoy her bright wit, listen to talk about her day.... His, dammit. She was meant to be his. Forgetting mercy, forgetting everything but the need to claim, he began to drive hard and deep, shafting her tight asshole. He heard her startled yelp at his suddenly violent possession, but there was as much arousal and pleasure as pain in the cry, so he didn't stop. Within three thrusts, she was writhing as the merciless use shot her into a climax. Her pleasure kicked his own lust higher. He felt his lips pull back from his fangs and leaned down toward the delicate throat he'd already tasted. As she came, he simultaneously buried his cock to the balls and sank his fangs deep. He heard her scream as he shot and shot.... And drank, his head spinning with the brutal pleasure of possessing Jayla at last. Finally, Eric drew his fangs from her soft throat. Her head lolled back on his shoulder, two sets of bites marking her neck. He eyed them in satisfaction, remembering the pleasure he'd taken with each. He'd done a very thorough job of making her his. And she'd loved every minute of it, judging by the way her eyes were closed in an expression of dreamy pleasure. Then he frowned. Something about the position of her head, the way her body hung slack in the chains.... The rough hemp rope circled Jane's throat, digging deep into the skin where his mouth had played the night before. Her eyes bulged in her gray face, tongue blackened and protruding.... Eric jerked away from Jayla with a muffled exclamation of horror and swung toward the door. "Charit! Charit, get your ass in here and prepare this girl for the surgery!" "What?" Jayla demanded behind him, sounding like a woman jerked unexpectedly from a pleasant dream. "What's going on, Eric? You...." "Moore!" he bellowed, ignoring her. He wouldn't have her on his conscience too. "Do me the courtesy of talking to me, dammit!" she snapped. "I thought you understood!" "You're the one who doesn't understand," he snapped over his shoulder at her. "Then explain it to me! Tell me what the hell happened to you!" She sounded so furious, so completely unlike the sweet, unassuming woman he knew, he had to turn and look at her. "Look, you may think you want to play the game, but you don't. You won't be able to deal with it." Jayla jerked at her chains in a gesture of rage
and frustration. "What the hell are you talking about? Aren't you the man that just beat and fucked my ass? At what point did you hear me beg you to stop?" "You feel that way now, when your heat's up, but what about later?" He whirled away and began to pace. "I won't be responsible for the damage." "The only damage I'm in danger of suffering is from your rejection." She glowered at him. "Who was she, Eric? Because I know's a woman somewhere in this mess." He had never told anybody about Jane, but if it would help her understand.... "All right, yes. There was a woman. But it wasn't her fault. It was mine." "So what happened, Eric? How did she fuck you up?" His shoulders slumped. "I fell in love with her." The anger drained from her eyes. "I thought it was something like that." "She was so much like you. Bright mind, sensuous. Funny. Beautiful. I fell in love with her. She had learned of what I was, knew of my ... needs, had read things." "She wanted a vampdom." "Or thought she did. And I wanted her so badly, I obliged, even knowing that she was an innocent. And it was..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Wonderful. I made sure she found the full extent of pleasure, as, God knows, I did." "But she wasn't able to process it." "No," he said, putting a hand to the back of his neck and trying to ease the knot of tension gathering there. "The guilt.... She couldn't accept what we'd done. Couldn't accept finding pleasure in it." Gray took a deep breath, blew it out as he fought the rise of pain. "She...hanged herself." Jayla winced. "God, I'm sorry. I can imagine how you...." She broke off, frowning. "Eric, what year was this?" Startled, he looked up at her, not understanding why it would matter. "1972." "Which explains a great deal, if you stop to think about it." He frowned. "I don't follow." "Think about it, Eric. You were there, you should know that time better than I do; I only know it from books. But from what I've read, that was an era when women were experimenting with sex, but they'd still been raised to be 'good girls.'" He nodded. "And Jane certainly had been. Her father was a Baptist minister." Jayla rolled her eyes at him. "Damn, what did you expect? Back then, most people thought vampires were figments of the imagination at best, or some kind of demon at worst. She killed herself the next day?" He glowered, wishing she'd drop the subject. "Look, I would rather not..." "Did she?" Knowing she'd keep harping at him, Eric said reluctantly, "Yes." "Did it ever occur to you that whatever went wrong with her had been going wrong for a long time?" She stopped as if something had occurred to her, then asked suddenly, "Did she let you tie her up?" Gray shifted on his feet, frowning, wondering what one thing had to do with another. "She insisted. I didn't really want rough play with her, but she demanded it." He thought back. It was hard to remember those days, to think back beyond the horrifying moment when he'd found her hanging dead. "There'd always been an aura of sadness about her, a sense of some deep pain. I wanted to save her from it, not inflict more." Jayla met his eyes and said gently, "Eric, she expected you to kill her." "What?" He stared at her. "No! I loved her! I would never have hurt her." "Of course not, but she didn't know that. She deliberately slept with a vampire in 1972. She didn't know you don't drain people. I'd bet money she was clinically depressed, and had been for a very long time." She shook her head. "She wanted you to end it for her." As Jayla watched, Gray staggered to the closest pillar and leaned against it, looking dazed. "Suicide by vampire," he murmured. "In the early days, we all run into people who... I never dreamed she was one of them. But the signs.... The sadness. She had a drug problem. I wanted to help her with it, but she was Kith, and she wouldn't let me into her mind. And she couldn't beat it. I was so worried about her...." Her heart ached. This Jane had been dead three centuries, and he still grieved for her. "Stupid bitch." His head snapped up in shock and outrage. "What?" "You loved her like this, and she threw it all away. Hurt you this bad. I'd give anything if you loved me a tenth as much as you do that dead idiot." Gray laughed shortly, "Oh, Jayla, I love you a lot more than that. Why do you think I've fought this?" She froze, unable to believe her ears. "What?" He pulled away from the pillar and moved toward her, his eyes locked on hers. "I love you, Jayla. I've been in love with you
for months. But I've shielded myself for so long....I was terrified you wouldn't be able to handle what I wanted from you." "I'm not that fragile, Gray," she said softly. "I'm not some twentieth century virgin. I'm a ..." "Bloodslave." The smile that curved his lips was so slow and hot she felt arousal bloom low in her belly. "Which is pretty damn convenient, since I seem to be in need of a bloodslave right now." Jayla grinned at him as a crazy, giddy joy rolled over her. "That is convenient." "Mmmmmmm." He shuttered his glowing eyes. "You know, I've never had a high-Hollander slave before. The possibilities are endless. Tanaka's going to be really disappointed." Her eyes widened. She hadn't thought of his vampire second-in- command. The two of them had always shared Farr. The idea of both of them.... "Why? Doesn't he like me?" He loomed over her, lowering his head toward her mouth. "Oh, he likes you a lot. He's told me for the past year I ought to approach you about becoming a bloodslave." He brushed his knuckles across one breast as he reached the other hand down toward her cunt. "That's why he's going to be so disappointed. Because I'm not sharing. He'll have to get his own sub. I find I'm very ... possessive where you're concerned." She closed her eyes as he skillfully twisted her nipple. "Oh, I don't know. I might enjoy both of you at once." He nipped her ear in retribution. "Oh, darlin' - I think you're going to have your hands full as it is." Gray smiled slowly, seductively. "And that's not the only thing that's going to be full." "Mmmm. I can't wait." He reached for her and proceeded to make her wait very short indeed. THE END
THE TEASE By ANGELA KNIGHT Steve first met Carol in the elevator. It wasn't the most auspicious way to meet a beautiful women--panting and streaming sweat from a five mile run, dressed only in sopping wet nylon shorts and cursing the August heat. Granted, Steve looked better than most men would have in that situation--three hours pumping iron in the gym every day saw to that. And his blond good looks, complete with a square-jawed face and cheerful green eyes, generally made him the sort of man most women wouldn't have minded sharing an elevator with. Even sweat slicked and panting. But this woman eyed him nervously from behind the cardboard box she held in her arms as the doors closed them in. Steve, huffing, sent her an embarrassed smile as he rubbed his chest with the t-shirt he held, uncomfortably aware he must smell like a goat. She looked away and shifted the box in her arms. He hit the button for the fifth floor. She was pretty, Steve noticed, as the elevator started up, a long- legged redhead dressed in fashionably ripped jeans and a yellow t- shirt, hair tied into a long silky pony tail with a rainbow scarf. His writer's mind ticked off details--oval face, big gray eyes, pert nose, hint of sensuousness in the lips. A thoroughly lovely woman. But nervous, very nervous. Steve sighed. He had two effects on women: they either gazed with lascivious curiosity at his 6'2" body-builder's musculature, or they cowered as if afraid he'd rape them at any moment. His elevator companion was evidently the type to expect assault. Steve, who could bench press 350 pounds but wouldn't have dreamed of hurting a soul, decided to prove he was perfectly tame. "Moving in?" he asked brightly. Her gray gaze skittered toward him, then away. "Yes." "Need any help?" Steve deliberately struck a parody of a bodybuilder's flex, grinning his best boyish lopsided grin. "I'm REAL good with furniture." She looked toward the muscle bulging in the bend of his arm and swallowed visibly. "No, I can handle it." "I'm Steve Kent," he said, refusing to give up. He stuck out a huge, callused hand. She shifted the box, trying to free one of her own. The carton started to fall, and he automatically caught it with his left hand. "Uh, thanks," she said, as they juggled it together. "I'm Carol Peters...Well, this is my floor." The elevator jerked slightly, stopping. "Really? It's mine, too. Are you sure you don't want help with that?" "No. Thank you." She
scuttled out. Steve, following more slowly, sighed. When he'd become a bodybuilder, he'd had no idea some women would feel so threatened by his size. But really, if he'd done nothing to keep in shape but pound a computer keyboard while grinding out SF novels, he would soon have resembled an egg on toothpicks. And though some women wouldn't have found him as menacing, they wouldn't have been overcome with lust, either. It was your basic no-win situation. Rounding the corner, Steve glimpsed a disappearing red ponytail as Carol closed the door to her apartment. It was right next door to his own. Oh, well. Maybe she'd soon realize he didn't bite. Well, not hard, anyway. *** Steve ran into Carol several times in the week that followed. She still looked nervous each time, but he noticed that she also began to watch him when she thought he wasn't looking. Evidently, Steve thought, there was some attraction there after all. Then she fired the first salvo in what was to become their private little war. It was a Monday. Steve ducked through the lobby and onto the elevator, back from his five mile run at precisely 5:45 p.m., the same time he always finished it. Carol sauntered in after him. He looked up from punching the floor button and felt his jaw drop. She was dressed in a black knit dress that revealed every inch of her long legs...and seemed on the verge of revealing even more. It also clung to her high, lovely, obviously braless breasts, tenting over the intriguing little bumps of her quite hard nipples. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw his hand reaching for one of those tempting nipples as if of its own volition. He dropped it and stepped hastily back against the elevator wall. God, he'd known she had a nice body, but not THAT nice. Suddenly she stumbled on her high heels, dropping the shoulder bag she held. It hit the floor with a clatter, spilling pens, lipsticks and assorted odds and ends out onto the elevator floor. Automatically, Steve stooped to help gather them up, but Carol stopped him with a single chill look. "I've got it." He straightened with a jerk, stung by the cold hostility in her tone. What the hell was wrong with HER? Folding his arms in offended disgust, he watched her as she picked up the purse's contents and dropped them back into her bag. She was bending from the waist, legs stiff. Involuntarily, Steve's eyes tracked up the intriguing muscled contours of her calves, then along the endless length of her thighs. To make a fascinating discovery: Carol wasn't wearing any panties. And that dress had crept up until it no longer even pretended to cover her ass. He could see her labia, sprung open by her bending position, revealing the pink tempting delights between them, all of it nested in soft red curls. And above that was the crinkled dimple of her asshole... Forcing himself to act like a gentleman, Steve dragged his eyes away. Didn't she know her skirt was riding up? She had to feel it, the knit hem almost at her waist, the cool air on those white, perfect cheeks... Of COURSE she felt it. And what was she doing running around with no underwear on, anyway? Steve's eyes slid back toward the tempting view. Oblivious, Carol went on slowly picking up her things and putting them in the handbag. His cock hardened. She knew, she had to know. She was doing it deliberately. "Carol, I was wondering," Steve said, his voice throaty with arousal. "Would you like to have dinner? There's a really nice Italian place in town, serves the best lasagna you've ever tasted..." She straightened, swinging the bag onto her shoulder. Slowly, she turned to look him up and down in a long, insulting scan. Her eyes stopped at the thick, visible hardon outlined by his thin shorts. Deliberately, she pulled her skirt down and looked back up at him. "I don't think so." "Why not?" Steve demanded, feeling his jaw setting at the contempt in her voice. He felt his erection melt as his rage swelled. "Frankly, I don't think you've got what it takes." The elevator jerked to a stop. Carol strutted out between its opening doors. Rigid with fury, Steve stayed where he was, counting to 100 once, then again, as he fought the urge to go after her and do something that would get him locked up. That encounter, as mortifying and enraging as it was, proved to be only the first in a serious of deliberate taunts. During the next few days, it seemed he saw her everywhere--in the
hallway, in the elevator, down in the basement laundry room. And she was always dressed in something to heat his blood and harden his cock, even as she froze him with insults and the sort of feminine contempt guaranteed to drive any man to blind rage. Yet somehow Steve managed to hang onto his self control. He suspected the bitch was trying to goad him into something she could charge him with, and he was damned if he'd give her the satisfaction. But the night in the laundry room he almost lost it. It was after 2 a.m.; he'd waited that late hoping to avoid her. But he's hardly got his first load in the wash when she sauntered in, dressed in a long black velvet bathrobe and giving him a contemptuous stare. Hell with this shit, I'm out of here, Steve thought. But before the impulse could become action, the idea of running from a little tart in a bathrobe stiffened his spine. No, damnit! He was not going to let the bitch drive him away from his own underwear. He'd just ignore the slut until she got bored and left. At first he thought it was going to work. She seemed as intent on ignoring him as he was her, fussing with her clothes basket and detergent box. For a good fifteen minutes, he sat holding a paperback, his face like stone, waiting for her first attack, but she said nothing at all. Finally, he began to relax and get into his novel. Hearing his washer hum to a stop ten minutes later, Steve looked up. And instantly wished he hadn't. Her robe had fallen open, and she was wearing nothing but a black bustier, garter belt and silk stockings. She was standing in front of the basket he'd left on one of the washers, a pair of his briefs in one hand. "What the hell are you doing?" Furious, Steve sprang out of his chair and stalked over to grab the underwear away from her. Carol lifted a disdainful brow. "Slinky. Somehow, I had you pegged as the boxer shorts type." "Really?" Steve snarled. "Well, I have a pretty damn good idea what YOU wear--or don't wear. You've made that real clear, haven't you?" "And the very thought gives you a hardon." she sneered. "Too bad you can look but never, ever touch..." Growling, he shot out a big hand and fisted it in her long red hair. Used it to jerk her toward him, ignoring her gasp at the pain of his grip, distantly aware of how silky that handful of hair felt. Nose to nose with her, Steve glared into her widened eyes. "STOP IT." The fear drained out of her face, leaving cool mockery behind. "Or you'll do what?" "You. Don't. Want. To. KNOW." But HE knew. His mind provided all the images. He would throw her down across one of those washing machines, force her belly against the cold metal, shove his cock into her taunting, tempting cunt. Then afterwards, he'd ream her asshole while she begged for mercy... And he could do it too. She couldn't stop him, it was late, nobody would interrupt. He could take her the way he had in his nightly fantasies, make her regret every nasty word, every insult, every contemptuous glance. Drive her to her knees and force her to suck his cock with that soft, vicious mouth. He'd do it NOW... "Jesus!" Steve shoved her away from him and ran from his own brutal lust, lunging out of the room, leaving his clothes behind. He had to get away from her before she had him doing time for rape. In his bed at last, he lay staring into the dark, his cock hard, fighting the violent fantasies that kept creeping into his consciousness. Why was she doing this to him? Didn't she realize what he could do to her? What he WANTED, with growing brutality, to do to her? And he could so easily do it, too. She'd have no chance against his strength, against his hard, hungry body. She might fight, but it wouldn't do her any good. He'd take her down, pin her, force her legs wide... Carol moaned in pleasure. Almost without his awareness, his hand moved down to his cock, rigid and throbbing against his belly. Closing his fist over it, he began to pump slowly, lost in his erotic dream. Hearing her moans, her whimpers. Listening to her plead. Something thudded against the wall. Steve started, his hand pausing in its pumping. There was a squeak of bedsprings, filtered through plaster. And Carol's voice, faint but clear through the thin apartment wall, "Oh, yeah. Deeper. Oh, GOD. It's big, so big..." The bitch was fucking somebody. A wave of jealous rage rolled over him. He'd kill the bastard. She was HIS, goddamnit. His to fuck, his to ride in the dark. He was the only
one who should make her moan like that. HE was the one she was torturing, damn it... God, he was really losing it. He had to get a grip on himself. Someplace other than his cock. "No," Carol moaned. "Oh, no. Not there. Please, it's too big, too hard, it'll never fit. Not in my ass, not in my pretty little asshole..." Another thud as the bed hit the wall again. Steve's hand froze on his prick as his imagination seized the image. Her beautiful behind, lifted and spread for the big cock that approached it, nuzzled its tiny puckered opening... "Aaaaaahhh!" she groaned, her voice spiraling. "It hurts, stop, oh stop..." He began to stroke himself again, harder, pumping his cock, imagining it, picturing her impalement. Aching to be the man who loomed over her, forcing her to take him there. "Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh, God, it's huge, it's...Ohhhhhh! Ah! Yes, yes, that's it, that's right! Harder, make me feel it, fill me, yessssssssssss. I'm cumming! I'm cumming! Pump my asshole! Oh, GOD...STEVE!" He felt his breath catch. She'd called his name! God, that guy was going to be pissed...Steve waited for the explosion of masculine rage. And heard nothing. "God, Steve, you're so big, you're so good, I can't stand it..." Why didn't he hear him? How could any man pumping into her be so quiet? Without gasping, without moaning, without so much as a panting breath? "Steeeeve..." And then he knew. No man could, because there was no man there. She was pretending. She was doing it to him again. Torturing him. Teasing him. Goddamnit, he wasn't going to take it anymore. He'd had enough. She was going to get exactly what she'd been asking for. Now. Steve just barely had the presence of mind to grab a robe before he tore out of his apartment and up the hall toward hers. In his rage, it didn't occur to him to be surprised that her door was unlocked. The layout of Carol's place was exactly the same as his own, he saw as he stalked in through the half light provided by an open hallway door. Passing the door, he glanced in to see the bathroom he expected. Several pairs of stockings draped over the shower curtain rod. He swept into the tiny, closet-like room and grabbed a handful of silk, then jerked them down and started for her bedroom again. For a moment, he stopped in the doorway to her room, staring in at her as lust scalded its way through his veins. As he'd expected, she was alone, naked, lying in the tangled sheets of a king-sized brass bed. One hand still held a vibrator buried in her cunt, buzzing among her soft red curls as she looked up at him, eyes wide, fear on her face. "Why settle for fantasy," Steve said with soft menace, "when you can have the real thing." He was on her before she could move, shoving one of the stockings in her mouth, grabbing her wrists as she lifted fists to beat at him. In seconds, he had both her hands bound with another stocking and tied together to the brass headboard. Finished, he rocked back on his heels, gazing down at her naked torso clamped between his hard thighs, at the lovely breasts that jiggled so beautifully as she fought to pull in enough air through her nose. Her eyes were huge, and he took a perverse pleasure at the fear he saw in them. Yet there was desire in their gray depths, too... She made a protesting sound behind her gag. "Shut up," he told her. "You've been after me to do this for two weeks. It's what you wanted all along, isn't it? You kept waving that pussy under my nose, waiting for me to take the bait, to take you. Goading me with your constant insults, knowing no man would put up with that shit without doing something. Well, now I'm doing something." He leaned down, putting his face inches from hers. "But we're playing your kinky little game by MY rules now." Deliberately, he grabbed the breasts she'd taunted him with, his hands rough, fingers pinching and rolling her nipples. They were hard, those sweet pink nipples, aroused. As hard as her breasts were soft. He swallowed, and his hands gentled of their own accord. "Nice," he said gruffly. Slowly, Steve ran his hands along her body, trying to be taunting about it, yet disarmed by the softness of her skin. She was like silk, so smooth and tempting. So hot. He shifted his weight off her so he could reach her pussy. So he could plunge a thick finger into her. She gasped behind her gag, and he savored the sound even as he pushed deep, loving the creamy tightness of her cunt. His cock throbbed, the
edges of his robe falling open to reveal its length and eager thickness. Groaning, he bent to shove his face against her cunt. Began to lick and tongue the wet folds of her pussy. The smell maddened him, the salty taste, the pure distillation of feminine lust that pearled on her lips...God. Steve reared, moving between her thighs as she spread them for him. Throwing off his robe, he pushed her legs even further apart, wanting her wide open, completely vulnerable. When she was spread as far as she could go, he settled down onto her, savoring the sensation of damp curls brushing his prick. Then, finally, Steve made his first thrust, shoving through Carol's hot, soft lips, forcing his big cock into her tight cunt. Helplessly, he moaned at the sensation. So did she. He began to pump, his powerful back and buttocks working as he shafted her, wanting to get as much of him into her as he could. Carol moaned, sounding deliciously helpless. Voraciously, he sought out one of her long, pink nipples. Began to bite and suck. She writhed under him, but she couldn't get away from his mouth, his hands, his cock. And, listening to her pleasure moans, Steve knew she didn't really want to. Abruptly her muscles clamped down on him, and she arched, whining in pleasure behind her gag. Coming. Steve watched her face, loving it, loving the way she surrendered so completely to her orgasm. To him. He shuddered, knowing he was about to come himself. No. Not yet. Not until he'd made sure she knew she'd been fucked. And he knew just how to do it... Steve pulled out of her, hearing her soft moan of disappointment. A moan which became a startled gasp as he drove his middle finger brutally between her perfect cheeks and up her ass. He grinned, feeling how unnaturally slick she was. "Why, Carol, your asshole is all greased up. For me?" She stared up at him, eyes huge. And nodded. Pure lust jolted through him. He grabbed one of her thighs and flipped her over, then found a pillow and shoved it under her. Elevating his target. Mouth dry, Steve parted her cheeks with both hands, dying to thrust into her. Remembering her voice, begging through the wall: "Not in my ass, not in my pretty little asshole..." Oh, yes. He set his cockhead against her tiny dimpled anus and began to push. Small, she was so small, but he was strong and ruthless, and his cock began to sink in, inch by throbbing inch. She keened behind her gag even as he groaned himself at the searing pleasure of her impossibly tight asshole. Then, as he forced his cock deeper, she began to relax, loosening her muscles, surrendering. Until he was in to the balls. Steve shook his head convulsively, shuddering and gasping at her tight heat. He could hear her desperate breathing through her nose, her whimpers around her mouthful of silk. Slowly, he began to drag his cock out of her. It slid more easily now; she had yielded to him completely, her well- greased asshole becoming a sheer delight to fuck. Grinning in triumph, he braced himself on his palms and began to ream her, taking it slowly, making her feel every inch. "Do you like that?" he said into the soft cloud of her hair. "Do you like the feel of my cock up your ass? Who's not man enough for you now, hmmm?" She made a strangled sound. Taking pity, Steve reached around and pulled the wadded stocking out of her mouth, never stopping his steady stroking. "Better?" he purred. "Oh, God...Ohhhhhhhh, Steve, I...You're so HARD..." She was bucking up against him now, lifting her ass for each thrust, taking every inch of cock into her behind. Steve was starting to lose it. He could feel the hot well of his orgasm beginning to gush to the surface. Gasping, he demanded again, "Am I man enough for you now?" "Oh, God, yesssssss. Haaaaarrrrderrrr! Your cock feels soo...good in my ass...ah ah ah AHHHHHHHH!" Growling, he thrust into her with all of his strength, ruthless, driving up her asshole over and over. Until he began to peak, shooting stream after stream of thick, hot cum into her bowels. Carol screamed in raw pleasure, the sound mixing with his own howl of ecstacy. *** Later, much later, she explained as they lay in the damp, hot sheets. "When I met you that first time in the elevator, you...well, you looked so big. So male. And I couldn't help but think you could do anything you wanted to me, and I couldn't stop you. But you didn't, of course." "Of
course not," he said, indignant, as she stroked her fingers along his thick bare biceps. "I don't jump women in elevators. Or anywhere else. Before tonight, anyway." "But I couldn't stop thinking about it. Picturing what you could do to me, every time I saw you. You didn't do anything, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Dreaming about it. Then I realized I wanted you to take me like that. Rough. I wanted you to...rape me. Just thinking about it made me hot." And it HAD been hot, Steve thought. But dangerous. "So I started to taunt you. I thought you'd do it that first time in the elevator for sure. You looked so big, so angry. But you didn't. So I kept after you, but you wouldn't do it no matter what I did or said. I didn't really MEAN any of those things..." He snorted. "You could have fooled me. I thought you were the world's biggest cock tease, getting off on torturing me." "I was torturing me too, Steve. Tonight...Tonight I couldn't take it anymore. I started masturbating, thinking about you. And then I realized how thin the walls were..." She shivered deliciously. "When you burst into the room, I didn't know whether to die of fear...or come. And then you jumped me, and you were so strong, so rough. Just like I imagined. And it was wonderful. Wasn't it?" He eyed her, eyed her sweet bare breasts and tousled hair. "Yeah, it was wonderful. But I think we'd be better off keeping this game just between the two of us. I'd hate for you to go looking elsewhere for rapists--and I certainly don't need to be looking for other victims." She grinned, puckish. "Okay. Want to rape me again?" He grinned back. "Haven't you heard? You can't rape the willing."
TEMPTING AMANDA By Angela Knight Amanda turned onto her back, spreading long legs wide, rolling her hips in a single languorous upward thrust. Under her white lace teddy, the nipples of lush breasts slowly hardened as her closed eyes tracked the unseen. Restlessly, she turned her face into the chestnut hair that clouded her pillow, and slid deeper into the dream ... There was something in the room with her. Though she couldn't see it, Amanda could sense the erotic threat of its presence, its ancient patience and slow hunger. And it, whatever it was, wanted her. She felt her heart speed with terror at the thought, but underneath the fear was a thin quiver of excitement, a perverse longing to see just what it meant to do. Fighting that longing, Amanda tried to sit up. Her body refused to move. After several terrified seconds she realized she was paralyzed on the cool sheets, unable to make so much as one muscle twitch. Then there it was -- a shadowed triangular head with pointed ears, moonlight glinting on white fangs as it reared at the foot of her bed. The mattress gave with its weight as it leaped between her helpless legs. It was a wolf. Its furry head lowered, and Amanda felt breath gust against her belly, a tongue swipe her in a single sampling lick. She fought to roll away, but still she was helpless. The wolf licked at the silk crotch of her teddy in a leisurely way, but his ice pale eyes watched her as if knowing her fear ... and enjoying it. There was something almost human in the expression of those eyes, something intelligent and aware; not the flat stare of an animal at all. And then the wolf's silhouette begin to shift, wavering, changing ... Becoming muscled and broad and human. Becoming a man. But the eyes that watched her were no different. The tall blond man continued to lick Amanda through her teddy, though the silk was soaked now from his mouth. The sensation of his tongue tracing the line of her cunt lips through the slick material began to heat her nerve endings. And with each long swipe, her fear began to ebb into growing lust. Abruptly he pulled away to drop to his knees on the floor, and she felt him wrap his fingers into the crotch of her teddy. A powerful twist of his wrist ripped it as his free hand seized her by the thigh and dragged her to the edge of the bed. Then, brutally, he drove one finger up her cunt and another into her constricting asshole. And bent his head to eat her again. Amanda came halfway off the bed,
gasping in mixed pleasure and pain. His other hand seized one breast, rolling its nipple with the perfect pressure to send delight flaming into her cunt. After several minutes of his hot skill, she gradually became aware that he was no longer eating her, just reaming her cunt and ass. Still, the hard, driving strokes of his thick fingers made her back arch as she quivered on the edge of climax. He met her glazing eyes and smiled. And in his mouth were the teeth of the wolf. *** "I don't know why the fuck you're so surprised," observed Camille the next day. "Jesus, you write that shit for a living -it's no wonder you dream about it." "Yeah, but it was so vivid," Amanda said, stirring her iced tea with a long forefinger and watching the granulated sweetener spiral to the bottom. "I've never had a dream that...intense." "Sexual deprivation," Camille announced, narrowing her chocolate eyes, "will do it to you every time. Girl, it's been so long since you've had any, your body's in revolt." She flopped down on Amanda's chic gray couch, folding lengthy legs under her. "It hasn't been that long, Camille." "Bullshit. You wouldn't recognize a cock if one came up to you, dove into your mouth, and started searching for your tonsils. That's how long it's been." She grinned at her own joke, white teeth brilliant against the deep rich cocoa of her skin. "I've been working. I don't have time for anything else." "Working? Christ, girl, you've got a best seller -- what the fuck do you want?" She thumped a hand down on the thick hardback book lying on the glass topped coffee table. Its black cover read "Shadow Master" in red gothic letters, with "Amanda Scott" scrolled in white at the bottom corner. Glowing between the two were a pair of yellow eyes. "Look, I really need to write. You should understand that -you're an artist..." "Yeah, baby -- but I never let a tube of paint come between me and something a little more... ah, warm." "Riiight," Amanda said, grinning. "Anyway, don't make such a big deal out of it. It was just a dream..." *** Amanda's eyes snapped open. He loomed over her, moonlight from the window falling across the edged planes of his face, glinting almost white on the blond hair curling down across shadowed eyes. He was holding her wrists pinned over her head. Absorbing that fact, she started to struggle. His sensualist's mouth took on a sadistic curve, and he bent his head to bite a bare nipple. She'd been dressed when she went to bed, but she was naked now. He licked her, very slowly, until her breasts peaked and Amanda felt herself begin to cream. As if sensing that, he ran his free hand down the length of her arching body to insert two fingers into her cunt. Lifting his head, he smiled. "You like this." Shamed, Amanda admitted it to herself -but she was damned if she'd say that to him. But then his fingers began sliding in and out of her pussy, and she moaned without meaning to. Through a pleasure haze, Amanda felt him shift, moving over her, spreading her legs to form a cradle for his hips. He rose to all fours, and she looked down her body to see his cock, a thick silhouette pointing at her cunt. She watched hungrily as he thrust forward, finding her opening and sliding into it against the resistance of its tight muscles. It had been months since Amanda had felt a man's shaft, and his felt huge in her, stretching her cunt deliciously. She threw back her head and groaned. As she did, she saw him bare his teeth in a parody of a grin. His incisors were white, sharp -- and fully an inch long. Amanda froze, then instinctively bucked under him, losing her arousal in terror. He held her easily, smiling as if savoring his strength and her helplessness. Then, taking his time about it, he lowered his head as she shrank back into the pillow. And with exquisite slowness, he sank his teeth into the underside of her jaw. She screamed in absolute terror. Her fear was so insane and animal it took her several minutes to realize that she felt no pain from the bite, only a sense of pressure, of pulling. At the same time, his cock was sliding in and out of her as he fucked her with long, hard strokes. He growled in pleasure against her jaw. Amanda shuddered. It should have hurt like hell, but it didn't. Instead the delicate tugging sensation at her throat was sending hot pleasure along her nerves just as his driving thrusts rammed ecstasy into her pussy. She felt a volcanic climax
building... And, gasping, Amanda woke up. She looked around the room wildly, but there was nothing there but darkness. Fumbling, she reached across to her nightstand and flipped on the light. With the burst of illumination, she could see the familiar bulk of pine colonial furniture, the rose bedspread bunched at her feet. And the cream lace negligee she wore... Which hadn't been there a moment ago. She rolled out of bed and stumbled to the mirror over her dresser. Throwing her head back, she feverishly examined her throat. No bite. It had all been a dream... Turning, she collapsed back into bed, breathing hard from disbelief as much as anything else. God, that dream had been so real. So hot... She reached between her thighs, feeling rich wetness between her cunt lips... Helplessly, she began to masturbate. *** "I'm cracking up, Camille," said Amanda morosely. "I don't need a lover, I need a therapist." "Look, will you get a grip?" Camille said as they waited to catch the bartender's attention. "You just had a couple of nightmares, for God's sake." "No, Goddamnit, I have not -- I've had seven nightmares, one for each night of the fucking week." "So what -- they're just dreams. It's not like you're hearing voices or something..." "They're driving me nuts, Camille." "So get fucked. I'm tellin' you, you'll sleep like the dead." Amanda didn't even dignify that with a reply. Instead she began to stare, brooding, at the mirror over the bar. "Bottoms Up" was crowded tonight, smokey from a hundred cigarettes and loud with rock from the club's amplifiers. The clientele was a college crowd, cocky and vocal with the joy of being young. Amanda, all of 29, felt positively ancient. And looked like hell, she thought, studying her own reflection. There were faint shadows under her wide brown eyes from lack of sleep, and the skin over her high cheekbones was so pale, she could have been a vampire from one of her books. Sighing, she searched for Camille in the mirror, but the artist had disappeared into the crowd. Probably looking to get laid, Amanda thought irritably. She took a pull off her banana daiquiri and turned her head to scan for Camille again. And looked directly into his eyes. "Running screaming from the bar," he said in a conversational tone, "would not be good strategy. Who knows what I might do out there in the dark?" Absolutely not, she thought in pale shock. It is absolutely not the man from those nightmares. No. It's a coincidence, a wild, godawful coincidence. Or else I'm dreaming again... "No, it's not a coincidence and you are definitely not dreaming," he told her, blithely reading her mind. "I'm exactly what you think I am. And my name is Beau Gabriel ... You're going to break that." He reached over and pried her fingers away from the glass she was clutching so hard cracks were beginning to form. Amanda was surprised to note that his hands weren't cold. "Oh, please," Beau said, giving her a disgusted look out of the corner of one eye. She realized he was reacting to her thought again. "Spare me the vampire myths. Look over there..." He pointed at the mirror. She swiveled to see herself sitting next to a tall, blond, muscular man dressed in a loose black shirt tucked into blue jeans. "See -- I cast a reflection just like everybody else. Nor do I sleep in coffins -- I prefer beds. With women in them..." "And what do you do with those women?" The minute the question was out of her mouth, Amanda winced. It sounded so coy, and she was completely serious. "You already know the answer to that," he said, lowering his lids over pale eyes. "That's what I've been showing you all week." Her dreams... He smiled. "My idea of foreplay." "Oh, come on!" said Amanda in sudden revolt. "This is some kind of gag. Camille put you up to this, didn't she? She found somebody that looked like..." "You're not making sense." "Look, I told her all about..." "Did you also tell her I made you beg?" Amanda felt her face go cold as the blood drained from it. When she could speak again, her voice was dry and faint. "Why have you done this to me?" He leaned an elbow on the bar and smiled, showing not a trace of fang. "I'm of the opinion authors should always write from personal experience." "Thanks, but I'll pass." "That's your choice -- if you think you can resist the temptation." Before she could tell him she most definitely could, Beau continued, "You know, I really objected to that vampire in your book. He was nothing more than a glorified
rapist -- no imagination at all, and he was lazy as hell." "Lazy?" Amanda snapped, with the knee jerk defensiveness of a criticized writer. "Lazy," Beau said firmly. "Jumping out at women from bushes -- Jesus, where's the challenge in that?" He paused, and suddenly his face changed, shifting from the pleasant expression of a man arguing books to something more harsh. Something predatory. "The challenge comes in telling a woman exactly what you're going to do to her, and bringing her to the point of surrender anyway." "No!" Amanda exploded. "I won't -- I'll go to the police, I'll..." "And tell them what?" Her mouth closed with a snap. Beau let her think about it for a moment. Then he said, "Actually, you're quite safe. There's one vampire myth that is true -- we can't go where we're not invited. And I have no intention of taking you outside your own apartment." "Why?" she heard herself ask. "I have found," he said softly, "that the things that are the hardest to obtain are the things I savor most." He put out a hand and brushed his palm across the bust of her red silk dress. She felt her nipples instantly peak. Amanda looked down at them, then up into his eyes, ancient and hungry. There was an arrogance there, as if he knew he had her and was patiently waiting for her to admit it. There was really no point in fighting him... "No!" She lunged off the bar stool and ran, forcing her way through the startled, drunken crowd, hardly aware that people were cursing her. Camille saw the flash of her red skirt as she darted by. "'Manda, where the hell are you..." But Amanda was already pushing through the doors. An instant later, Camille saw her blue Datsun 280 Z tear by outside. The artist frowned, then looked up to smile at the wiry dark man she was talking to. "Well, it looks like I'll need a ride home..." *** Amanda huddled on the gray couch, clutching a pale blue pillow against her chest and thinking about the vampire. Fear and despair vibrated along her nerve endings as she wondered what she could do to escape. The logical thing, she decided, was to take a plane someplace -- any place. Go to Hawaii or Europe, or somewhere else that was comparably safe. Then again, she thought, on an edge of hysteria, at the moment Lebanon was looking comparably safe. No wild-eyed, fanatical terrorist could possibly be as dangerous as Beau Gabriel, with his wholesome American face and predator eyes. No wild-eyed terrorist could make her nipples hard, for one thing. Amanda was still mulling the implications of that when she fell into an exhausted sleep. *** She awoke to the sensation of being picked up and dropped. The padded arm of the couch drove into her belly, and her brown eyes flew wide in shock. Her arms had been pulled behind her back, and a hard hand gripped her wrists. "Running only delayed the inevitable," Beau said into her ear as he wrapped a fist in the back of her dress. She felt a tug, heard the sound of ripping silk, and winced. He reached up under her body and caught one bare breast in his hand. Began to knead it, to pinch and roll its nipple until she shivered as it grew hard. He'd lied, Amanda thought. He could come in uninvited... She whimpered. It was over, it was out of her hands... Beau released her breast to press his hand against the bulge of her pussy. He shoved two fingers into her, and they slid in easily. "You're already creaming for me." She groaned in helpless lust. He pumped them in and out of her a few times as she sprawled across the arm of the chair, automatically thrusting her hips. Then Beau withdrew from her cunt, to stab his index finger against her asshole. Amanda's back arched as he forced it into her. "I think I'll fuck your ass while I feed," he growled. "I suggest you find a lubricant." His tone implied that if she didn't, he'd sodomize her anyway. Amanda rolled off the couch and staggered across the room and down the short hallway to the bathroom. At the medicine cabinet she paused, peering into the mirror. Her face was flushed, her eyes glittering. Swinging the door open, she started to grope inside, her hurried, careless hands knocking bottles and tubes rattling. Normally anal sex had no appeal for her -- it had always seemed like something men did to women to prove a point. But now the thought of Beau's cock invading her asshole made her hands shake. She spotted a bottle of baby oil and grabbed it. When Amanda walked back into the room, he was standing naked beside the
couch, his hands on his narrow hips and his prick thrusting at her. She swallowed. "Why don't you do the honors?" he said. Amanda had the feeling he was amused. She ran her tongue over her lips, then impulsively crossed to him and dropped to her knees. Lifting the bottle, she squirted a stream of oil down his cock. Catching her breath, Amanda closed one long hand around it. God, he was thick -- her fingers couldn't close completely around the base of his shaft. Almost reverently, she began to smooth the oil along it, thinking about how it would feel thrusting hard up her. Beau locked a hand in her long hair and pulled, forcing her to let go of him and stand. Amanda looked up and saw that his fangs, like his cock, were fully extended. He bent to her mouth, and she flinched as his teeth nicked her. He lifted his head again, looking down at the blood she could feel beading on her full lips. His eyes heated, and he quickly leaned down to suck them, his tongue licking the thin cuts he'd left. When he pulled away, he was breathing hard. The vampire grabbed the back of her neck and shoved her down on the couch, forcing her belly against the broad padded arm. "Spread your ass." It was a snarl. Gasping, Amanda reached back with both hands to catch her own smooth buns. She pulled them apart, and a moment later felt something hard pressing against her anus. Slowly, he forced his cock past her tight muscles. She whimpered. Big, he was so big and so hard, stretching her channel brutally. He kept pushing until his hips cradled her violated ass. "Your hair. Move it." She reached shaking hands to sweep her hair off to one side, baring the slender column of her neck. And waited for his bite. But instead he began thrusting in and out of her ass, slowly reaming her. She groaned, slitting her eyes at the hot, thick pleasure with its spice of pain. Suddenly Amanda wanted to feel his teeth enter her just as his cock did, wanted to feel the drawing pleasure of her dreams. Yet he made no move to take her throat, though she twisted her head back in invitation. But she wanted it, needed to feel that extra piercing as he fucked her ass. She needed... "Beau," she breathed. "Getting hungry, Amanda?" he growled in her ear. "Yes." He licked her throat, tracing his tongue along the curve, but still he held back. "Damnit, Beau, don't tease me." Another agonizing minute went by as he licked and buggered her. Finally unable to take it, she begged. "Please, Beau. Please..." Without lifting his head, he bit deep. Amanda screamed, a long cry of overwhelming lust and ecstasy. The vampire was fucking her hard now, shafting her ass so strongly that her belly ground into the couch. She felt her climax building... And woke up. Amanda shook, her mouth dry, her nipples hard, her cunt richly wet. Her hunger and frustration were so great she wanted to scream. Goddamnit, Amanda, she thought, he's a vampire. He could kill you. You're lucky he isn't here, because if he was he'd... The thought trailed off in her mind. She got up off the couch to slowly move for the door. And then she opened it. Beau Gabriel was standing there as she'd known he would be, straight and patient and hungry. "Come in," Amanda said. The End?
The Dark One By Angela Knight It was night when I left the city, my bedroll slung across my back, my wages a weight of gold at my belt. Behind me I could hear feminine screams, triumphant male bellows, the crackle of burning buildings. The sack of Trovan's capital had begun. I had fought for this victory as hard as any mercenary in milord Britar's service, but I had no taste for the spoils. Nor have I ever had such a taste; I feel far too much sympathy for the women, warrior maid that I am. Sympathy -- and perhaps something else. For among the conquerors this night is Kaska, taking his dark pleasures in the name of his dark god. Kaska, who for a year was my sword brother, though in all logic a Maid and a follower of the Dark One could never be anything but enemies. It's said, after all, that the god of conquest loves
nothing so much as the moans of a defeated Maid; I would have expected Kaska to challenge me at the first opportunity. Yet we fought side by side for six months before I learned what he was. When I asked him why he hadn't called me out, he told me, "We are contracted to the same master; in honor, I couldn't deprive milord Britar of one of his warriors." Then he gave me a slow, white smile. "But if I'd met you on the field of battle, the Dark One would still be savoring the nightly sacrifice of your cries." Ignoring a trickle of heat at the thought, I tossed my head. "More like your god would be savoring the acid gall of disappointment." His smile had merely broadened. Now I suspected he'd only been kind, perhaps sensing my feelings for him. How could it be otherwise? I would have known if he'd felt something deeper for me; Kaska was too bold to hide his desires. For months we'd watched each other's backs, fought shoulder to shoulder, even shared a tent, yet never had he made the slightest advance to me. Now, trudging away from Trovan's burning city, I suspected he'd simply felt no attraction at all. Warrior that I am, almost as tall as a man -- though not so tall as Kaska himself -- lean muscled and combat toughened, I bear no resemblance at all to the petite blonde captive he'd enjoyed three days before. We'd been ranging in advance of the army at the time, just the pair of us, when we'd caught her sneaking toward the city carrying a report of milord's troop strength. Evidently she'd been posing as a camp follower. She broke quickly enough, telling Kaska everything he wanted to know before he even had a chance to begin interrogating her. I suspect that disappointed him; the Dark One's warriors are said to relish such opportunities. But if so, he hid his disappointment well, stripping her slim body and binding her hand and foot. I started to slip out of the tent then, but he looked up at me. "Stay, Matia. Though you're a warrior indeed, this is one pleasure of conquest you'll never know." Nor, in truth, did I have any desire to know it. Yet then he began to strip, and I was caught. Kaska, though he could be as shameless as any other warrior, was modest around me. True, I'd secretly admired the width of his muscled shoulders, the strength of his powerful thighs, the rippled muscle of his abdomen, but I'd never seen the bare, hard thrust of his cock, and the prospect intrigued me. I was not disappointed. His flesh blade was every bit as thick and long as my secret dreams; the spy whimpered a bit as he turned back toward her, the sound mingling fear and anticipation. I half expected him to fall on her and begin thrusting like the bull his cock suggested, but I'd underestimated him. Instead, Kaska went about seducing his captive, sipping delicately at her small, pert breasts until my own much larger ones ached. A big hand slid between her thighs, stroking her pink petals and fingering her bud until they began to glisten with her passion. She moaned, tossing her head, fine blonde hair swirling around her face. Suddenly I realized my own hand was rubbing against my mound, the other brushing one breast. I swallowed. Abruptly Kaska rolled the little spy over on her belly. Looking up, he locked his crystalline blue gaze into mine. "There is a legend among the Dark Warriors," he said, in a voice as rich and hot as whisky. "When the Dark One made women, he gave them two openings. One, he told the first brothers, was for pleasure and the getting of children. But the other was forbidden to the common run of men. Do you know why?" I licked my lips. "No." "Because he wanted to make sure his Dark Warriors would have tight virgin holes to enjoy after a conquest. To this day, the symbol of victory in our language is derived from the image of a kneeling bound woman." Using both big hands, he spread his captive's pale, narrow cheeks. "Look at her. So lovely, so female. So helpless. She knows she's soon going to feel my hard cock in her ass, and there's nothing she can do about it. It's my right as her conqueror." Extending a big forefinger, he touched her tightly furled anal bud. Slowly, he began to press. She moaned as it sank in a bare fraction. He looked up and smiled into my eyes, his own burning and bright. "Oh, she's tight, Matia. She's going to be a delicious fuck." And she was. He greased her well with a jar of butter, taking his time, describing to me all the while how hard his cock was, and
how tight she would feel around him. Then, as I watched dry-mouthed, he mounted her and pressed the thick, round head of his flesh blade to her backhole. He entered very slowly, the tiny pink anus stretching desperately to accommodate his size, until he looked as though he'd split her open. And indeed, her moans and whimpers sounded as though he was doing just that. But as he rocked in her, I heard the tone of her cries change, taking on a note of shamed hunger. Finally I saw her begin to lift her hips for his entry, until she was thrusting hungrily up at the cock that was so brutally reaming her. She screamed out her climax just before his bellow of triumph. My heart was pounding hard as I turned to find to my own pallet, but he called my name before I could crawl into it. He'd withdrawn, and was holding his limp victim's cheeks apart. Her abused anus pouted, red and swollen from the hard fucking he'd given it, glistening with butter and pearly drops of male cum. "After we take Trovan," he told me softly, "every pretty woman in the city will end the night like this." At last I escaped to my pallet. But though Kaska and his spy were soon deeply asleep, I tossed and rolled, remembering the way his massive flesh blade spread her to splitting. And, may the goddess forgive me, in the depths of my heart I wished that brutalized backhole was my own. I would have expected Kaska to keep the little blonde spy for his own use, but the next morning he found another dark warrior in milord's service and gave her to him. The fellow gave me an odd, amused look and took her away. Now I puzzled over that. Perhaps Kaska expected to find other captives during the sack of Trovan. "Matia." I felt a leap of joy at that deep, familiar voice, and turned with a smile. "Kaska. I expected you to be buried to the balls in someone's ass by now." He drew his sword. "Oh, I will be soon enough." My jaw dropped as I stared at him. He'd cleaned away the sweat and blood of combat, and his long black hair was swept back and tied neatly. There was a white grin of anticipation on his handsome, sharply cut face. From the way he held his blade, I knew he was serious. "You're challenging me? But I thought ...." "You are no longer in Lord Britar's service, Matia. And neither am I." The light began to dawn. "All this time, you've been deceiving me." Rage surged through me, burning away the cold shock. My hand flew to my side, and I jerked my sword from my scabbard. "Your god will taste disappointment today." His blue eyes widened as I drove at him, swinging my blade in a wide, deadly arc. His surprise was such that he barely parried my attack in time. "Such astonishment," I snarled. "Did you think that after pretending friendship all these months, you'd be safe from me? Did you expect me to go to my knees and spread my own cheeks for your pleasure? The god fuck you, Dark Spawn!" He recovered quickly, meeting my hard, slashing attack with his own steady blade. "Our friendship was never pretense," he grunted, deflecting my wild swing at his head. "Yes, perhaps at first. When I came upon you fighting those brigands, I meant to challenge you after we killed them." "But you didn't. Did you think I'd be too much for you?" I swung again, but he parried it with an insulting ease that demonstrated just how foolish that idea was. "You were hurt in the fight, if you'll recall," he said coolly, blocking a thrust at his groin. "I could hardly have challenged an injured Maid; the god would not have been pleased. And then, as I was tending you, you told me you were in Britar's pay. After that, challenge was out of the question." "But why deceive me for all these weeks? You could have hunted me down after I left Britar's employ; it wasn't necessary to lie." "I never lied." I could see the first flares of temper in his eyes. "I protected you as tenderly as any man protects his woman." Realizing I couldn't get through his guard, I pulled back and began to circle around him, looking for an opening in his guard. "Now I have a question," he said, his eyes blue and watchful. "You stayed with me, even shared a tent with me, even after I let you know I was one of the Dark Brethren. Yet you know how we prize the Maids; the Dark One prefers their sacrifice over any other, because you serve Jitai, goddess of the night. The conquest of one of you puts her at his mercy. Yet knowing that, you stayed. Why, Matia?" "You were my sword brother," I said bitterly. "I did not think
you would treat me so." "Then you deceived yourself. I warned you the only thing that kept me from taking you was our mutual service. Yet you stayed. Days ago I even demonstrated what I would do to you with that little blonde, yet still you stayed, though you knew you'd be leaving Britar's service, and would no longer be exempt from challenge." "I knew nothing of the kind," I snarled. "You did know." He smiled slowly. "And what's more, I think you want it. The idea of being bound and helpless while my cock tunnels up your virgin ass makes you burn." "Bastard!" "Did you think I didn't see the look on your face as you watched me spread that girl? Did you think I didn't notice your hands between your thighs as I forced my shaft into her untouched backhole?" I sung my sword in a singing arch, but he parried it with ease. "She was so tight, Matia," he purred, "so hot and well-greased, and she gripped my cock so hard. Yet the way you watched me drill her was what truly made me burn." I hacked at him, but he danced aside. "You wished it was you, Matia. I could see it in your eyes." "I'm going to kill you, you son of a whore!" I lunged at him. "You wanted me to forget her and fling you down and ram my hard cock right up your hungry little backhole..." Rage made me slow. This time, when I trust my sword at him, I was too late pulling back. He caught the blade in the quillions of his own weapon, twisted, wrenched upward. The sword flew out of my hand and landed fifty feet away. I was still staring at it when his muscled arm snapped around my waist, jerking me against every hard inch of him. I felt the cold steel of his blade brush my throat. Dragging my head around, I looked up into his eyes. Up into lust and hot male triumph. I froze, all my strength draining away. "How many nights have I dreamed of this moment," he said, his voice rumbling. "How many nights have I watched you as you slept, staring at your high, round breasts, your long thighs. Watching you roll over, seeing the way your muscular little butt curved in sweet invitation. And I'd grab my cock and fist it hard, dreaming of this ..." With a wrench of his powerful shoulders, he spun me around and began to force me face down on the ground. Dazed, I struggled weakly. Was he going to take me now? Here? Where anyone could see? He caught my arms, brought them behind my back. Twisting, I watched him pull out a length of rope and began quickly tying my wrists. I knew I should fight -- if it had been anyone else, I'd be struggling like a hillcat -- but instead I lay still, paralyzed. "The night after I took the blonde, you got very drunk. I'd never seen you drink like that; I wondered what you were trying not to think about." He was roping my ankles now. "You passed out. I'd had a bit to drink myself, and when I looked over and saw the way you lay on your belly, tunic pulled up to bare an ass clad only in a rumpcloth, I couldn't resist. I went to you and pulled the cloth away, and looked my fill at that round, tight little butt. "I smelled something, a hint of female musk. When I reached between your thighs, I found you hot and wet. And tight, so tight, tight as maid indeed. God, I was tempted. My cock was hard as a sword. I couldn't resist spreading your cheeks for a look at your other opening. My fingers were creamy from your pussy, but still your tiny anus resisted my forefinger. You were tighter even than the blonde. With my other hand, I took hold of my aching rod and began to seek relief while I explored your backhole. Sliding my finger in and out, watching the way you pulled and sucked at it, I imagined you were bound and waiting for me to take you. So there I was, fisting my cock and fingerfucking you, when suddenly you moaned my name. "I froze, cold sober, wondering how I was going to explain this to you. But then you lifted your hips so that my finger slid even more deeply into your backhole. 'Kaska,' you whimpered. I knew then what you were dreaming of that had made you so wet and hot." He straddled me and deliberately pressed his hips into my rump. Feeling how thick he was, I fought a moan. "So I began to finger your rectum in earnest, rubbing your clit with my thumb while I stretched you with long strokes, first one finger, then two, then three, jerking hard at my cock while I watched your anus struggle to take me." I barely suppressed the urge to grind up into his menacing hardness. "And all the while you kept pumping your hips, taking my fingers and groaning. You had to have been awake, yet the
next morning I could tell you didn't remember any of it." "I thought it was a dream," I whispered, shivering. "Even when I felt the soreness, I thought I'd imagined it." He laughed, a liquor-hot purl of sound, and lifted off me so he could turn me over to face him. "Well, you certainly won't be imagining your sore little backhole tomorrow. You'll be lucky if you can walk." Kaska's eyes were fever bright as he looked down at me; eyes that owned me and savored that ownership, anticipating the possession to come with frank lust. "I gave you your first anal orgasm that night. I could feel you squeezing my fingers as you came. And then, Matia," He crouched low over me until his face was inches from mine, "...And then I withdrew my fingers and held your cheeks apart so I could look at your swollen bung as I climaxed. And I made sure I hit that tiny pink virgin target with every single jet of sperm, until my cum ran down your crack in a white stream. "But tonight it all goes in you, as deep as I can reach, every single drop. Tonight anything that rolls down your ass will be leaking out of a well-reamed hole." Then his mouth dropped down to mine, and his kissed me, hard, deep, hungry, a kiss of conquest and ownership. Helpless, limp with desire, I opened my lips and let him take me as he would, accepting each deep thrust of his tongue, moaning as he bit delicately at my mouth. All I could think about was the image he'd created; Kaska, looming over me in the darkness, examining and penetrating my backhole, masturbating as he planned to take me prisoner and ream that virgin orifice with his enormous cock. When he suddenly got to his feet and bent to throw me over his shoulder, I didn't struggle, though I knew I must look like some helpless female captive on her way to be raped by her conqueror. That was, after all, exactly what I was. He carried me back into the city, caressing my bottom and thighs as he walked. I shivered, too dazed with lust to do anything else. Finally I roused myself enough to ask, "Where are you taking me?" "There's a Temple of the Dark One here. The Brethren in Britar's service have appropriated it for our own use." At that I shivered again. It was said that any woman who went into the Dark One's temple came out as a warrior's slave. I'd suspected that was the fate Kaska intended for me; now I knew. I considered, briefly, putting up a fight. Then he caressed me again, and the feeling of his hand stroking my bare thigh sent such lightning arching through me I knew there was no point. I'd been Kaska's slave for months. I just hadn't realized it until now. The Dark One's temple lay in the Temple Quarter, a brooding, black marble building with thick stone columns topped in rounded capitals. Looking at them over Kaska's shoulder, I realized they resembled nothing so much as erect cocks. Still, it was a surprisingly sedate building, for such a den of sex and blood. At least I thought so until he carried me inside, when it became all too obvious just what kind of god the Dark One was. Near the entrance the black walls were sculpted and brightly painted with scenes of battle; depictions of warriors hacking their way through the ranks of lesser men, splitting skulls and ripping bellies. In the center, they stormed a great city, and rode triumphant through its gates. From there on, the walls depicted raw sexual conquest; bound women writhing under the cane, having their nipples tortured, being fucked and sodomized, submissively sucking hard warrior cocks. And at the center of it stood a statue of the Dark One. Carved in black ebony, he stood naked and massively muscled, his twin cocks thrusting outward, one set below the other. In his right hand he carried two severed male heads. In the other, he held two ropes, each tied loosely around the neck of a naked female captive. The first one knelt beside him, staring up at him in supplication as she lifted her bare breasts to him in offering. The second crouched with her head down and her curving ass in the air, holding her rump spread with her hands, looking over her shoulder at him with a pleading expression. Yet the idol's attention seemed focused on the alter before him, where a very living woman lay, bound bottom upward. Charmar, one of Kaska's comrades in arms, was slowly driving a double headed dildo in and out of the woman's anus and pussy. I noticed that her buttocks were stripped, as though Charmar had just finished caning her. Yet she was moaning in shamed pleasure,
writhing helplessly in the grip of an approaching orgasm. Looking up, Charmar saw Kaska walking toward the alter with me slung over his shoulder. To my embarrassment, he grinned. "I see you finally took the little warrior. And wonder of wonders, neither of you have lost a limb in the process." Kaska laughed, his broad chest vibrating. "She was so furious at my deception she didn't fight with her usual skill." He sobered. "The Dark One was with me. I was afraid she'd force me to hurt her." "Good fortune indeed. I'll admit I didn't see how you'd ever capture the little hillcat in one piece." He drove the dildo deep, and his victim gasped out a strangled cry. "That's it, my captive. Come on the Dark One's cocks." She screamed and climaxed, her eyes squeezed shut, her face contorted. "Finally," Charmar muttered. He pulled his knife and cut her free, leaving the double dildo in place. Dragging it out at last, he pulled her to her feet, then guided her over to kneel at the statue's feet. She looked dazed, well-fucked indeed. "Say the words as I've taught them, little prisoner." Swaying, the naked redhead licked her lips and looked up at the Dark One's idol. "Your Dark Warrior, Charmar, has taken me captive, but it was my own torment and pleasure that made me his slave. With my every moan and scream, I will thank you for giving me to such a master." Charmar grinned up at the idol. "My gratitude for your lush gift, Dark One. I hope my sacrifice of her gave you as much pleasure as it gave me." Catching his captive's head by the hair, he pushed it into the idol's stone groin. "Show him your submission now, Amria." Obediently, the girl opened her mouth and sucked first one, then the other of the thick marble cocks. Then Charmar pulled her to her feet. "Come, slave. It's time to get your backhole split." Picking her up, he swung her over his shoulder and rolled his eyes at Kaska. "I vow, I'm hard as the Dark One's marble rods. She rolled her rump most delightfully under her flogging." He grinned suddenly, eyeing my butt. "Yet still I find myself envying you." Kaska laughed. "Go ream your slave, Charmar. I'll take care of mine." He didn't even wait for Charmar to leave the room before he lowered me to the cock-shaped altar, cut my bonds, and started tying me spread eagle to the rings that hung from its side. Dry-mouthed, I offered no resistance at all. Once I was securely lashed, he went to work on my leathers, cutting away my breastband and loincloth until I lay naked. The air was cold on my nipples, and I shivered. The Dark One's idol stared down at me, its carved features wearing an expression of lustful enjoyment. The look on Kaska's face matched it. "My gratitude, Dark One," he said softly. "At first I didn't understand why you'd send me such a prize, then make it impossible for me to take her for so long. Yet the pleasure of this moment would have been so much less had I enjoyed her a year ago, and I would never have known the courage that lies under these ripe breasts." He licked his lips, staring fixedly at them. "And such breasts. Long pink nipples begging for a man's teeth, tilting and saucy as they ride her white mounds. Below them, the sable silk of her pussy hides her creamy rose lips, just as the tight, round curve of her muscled ass guards that virgin bung. Long fighter's legs, and strong slim arms, big dark eyes that shimmer so brightly with her passions. Soft pink mouth designed to suck a man's cock, sable hair swirling to her waist. Surely you have never gifted a warrior with a slave so lovely ... or so tempting." His blue eyes narrowed. "Tonight I'll thank you properly for your gift, Dark One." Breathing hard, I watched as he stripped his leather tunic from his muscled torso, then untied a large pouch from his belt. From it he drew a familiar length of wood, topped with three strands of braided silk, each no more than three feet long. I blinked, recognizing it. He'd made the thing a couple of weeks ago, whittling the butt and braiding the silk as he sat in our tent. I'd asked him what it was, and he'd told me it was a ritual tool. He'd made several such items, as I recalled. Uneasily, I wondered if he intended to use them all on me. Then Kaska unlaced the flap of his breeches. His rigid cock sprang free. I felt a burst of heat. Was he going to take me now? Instead he took up a place by my shoulders and lifted the carved wooden butt. "It's time to dance for the Dark One, Matia," he said softly, in a voice
like brown velvet. He snapped his wrist. The braided cords swished down, curled around one stiff pink nipple in a stinging bite. With a gasp, I arched my back. A second snap, this one hitting the other hard point. "Kaska!" I cried, writhing. "That's it," he purred. "That's a dance to make even a god hunger." With that he began to torment me in earnest, cracking the light little whip at each breast in turn, painting fire over my skin. The lashes were so thin and delicate they didn't cut me, but the sting was ferocious, and I twisted and gasped under it. All the while, Kaska watched, his cock hard and purple, bouncing with every snap of his arm. Suddenly I became aware of the idol's stone face looking down at me. Its black eyes were no longer empty, but burning red. As my stiff, pointed nipples swelled under Kaska's whip, I thought I could sense a presence there, something powerful and dark and alien. And very, very male. Kaska paused to admire my breasts with a conqueror's satisfaction. "You know, the night I worked on this whip, you were wearing that loose cotton tunic of yours, sitting between me and the fire, kneeling as you polished out a spot of rust on your armor. The firelight silhouetted your tits, and they bounced as you worked. I braided the lash and imagined the way they'd jiggle when I whipped your nipples." Then, lips curving into a lustful grin, Kaska proceeded to make them jiggle indeed with a series of skillful snaps that took my breath away. Only my warrior's disciplines kept me from screaming as he tortured the pointed red peaks. At last he tossed down his whip and moved to stand between my thighs. Before I knew what he was about, he lowered his head and thrust his face against my mound. I jerked. A hot, wet tongue pushed between my lips, stroked the tender flesh. Then, as my nipples stung from his skillful torment, Kaska began to suck and nibble my sex with a skill that was even greater. And while he licked so delicately at my clit, his big, rough hands stroked my thighs, my belly, my hips. Finally they found my aching breasts and soothed them with gentle caresses. In moments I was writhing again, but with delirious pleasure, pleasure so great that even the burn of my abused nipples was nothing but a luscious counterpoint. It seemed the idol's eyes were glowing even brighter. Kaska gently inserted a big finger into my cunt. It slid easily inside, slipping through the hot cream of my arousal. Twisting his hand, he began to screw in and out with a penetration that kicked my delight even higher. Then he slid in a second finger -- but this one went up my ass. Slowly, thick and burning. I arched my back and screamed with the first waves of orgasm. Sensing surrender, Kaska caught my clit in his mouth and began to suck hard, simultaneously thrusting his fingers in and out. I convulsed. Lifting his head, he locked his eyes with mine and jammed deep and hard inside me, holding his fingers there as I shook and screamed. In the aftermath, I was barely aware of being untied, lifted, turned bottom upward, and retied. This time the whip Kaska pulled from his pouch was much heavier, and his target was my helpless rump. The first hard blow bit even through my languid pleasure, and I howled in shock. Yet my sword brother showed me no mercy. Again and again he struck, painting first one cheek and then the other with molten stripes. Still, even in the chains Kaska forged for me, I remained a warrior. I knew pain, knew how to embrace it, how to ignore it or use it as I pleased. And so I turned the tables on my sword brother to inflict my own kind of torment even as he flogged my burning ass. Deliberately, I slowed the instinctive plunge of my hips, turning it into a seductive roll that kept time with his lash. Kaska had said he loved my rump, and I made sure he had a good look, lifting it high, flexing my thighs, knowing the pose would reveal my sex. I heard him growl in lechery. Slowly, I lowered my pelvis, though the whip stung my skin like a wasp, over and over, as if to spur me on. Deliberately, I began to grind up and down, side to side, feeling the tip of the lash strike faster and faster, as though I was driving him into a frenzy of lust. I shuddered with pleasure, imagining what he was thinking, imagining his hunger. *A fitting sacrifice indeed.* I blinked, breaking rhythm, as the dark male voice rolled through my mind. *In all the years since my race came to your world, I have never seen a captive
embrace her fate with such eager heat. Nor have I fed so well on a sacrifice.* It was the god. You might have, I thought, a little dazed, had any other captive had such a captor as Kaska. *An unusual warrior,* the dark one agreed. *I find myself admiring his self-control. See how you tempt him ...* Suddenly I saw a gloriously naked woman lying belly-down before me, straddling the Dark-One's cock-shaped altar. With a sense of shock, I realized it was myself. I could see my own ass, spread by my posture to reveal my cuntlips, visibly wet with my lust. My backhole looked impossibly small and pink, tightly puckered. In his mind, Kaska was imagining watching that hole slowly dilate as he drove his cock into it -- the way the strong muscles would fight him at first, then yield slowly as he worked his way deeper. He could almost hear my gasps ... I could see the memory of other lush prisoners, lying bound and helpless in a variety of positions as he fucked them, celebrating his victories in their virgin bungs. And I realized suddenly that to Kaska there was no pleasure like chasing down and capturing some lovely maid, binding her tight and well, then savoring each slow, grinding thrust into her anus while he brought her to reluctant orgasm. Yet never before had he felt such hunger, such violence. Kaska wanted to ram my backhole, fuck it hard and mercilessly while he listened to my helpless cries of pain and desire. He'd fantasized about raping me for months, even as his warmer feelings grew. Now his mind was such a confused tumble of lust and love, he was afraid he'd hurt me in truth. I could feel the whip vibrating in his hand as he fought his darker impulses. "Do it, Kaska," I cried. "Take your pleasure ...." His control didn't so much break as explode. An instant later I felt the whip crack hard against my anus, and I yelped in true pain. Twice more he struck me there, then again and again and ... And I heard the whip hit the opposite wall with a clatter. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him stride to his pouch and pull out the double-shafted cock that symbolized the dark god's. He smeared it with butter, turned -- and drove it into both my orifices like a twin- blade knife. It should have hurt, but such was the lust he'd built in me that the shafts slid in smoothly under his strength. At the same time, he sought my clit with the thumb of his free hand and circled it as he ground the double dildo in and out. I whimpered as the brutal pleasure roared through me. "Enjoy her cunt and backhole, Dark One," he growled. "I promise you, I will." Both shafts began stroking, sliding faster and faster in and out of my holes as my clit flamed. The dildo in my cunt was delicious, but though I knew the cock in my bung was much shorter and thinner than Kaska's, it still felt huge, overwhelming, a brutal, tunneling presence. "The one in my ass," I moaned, my thighs constricting with the first waves of orgasm, "it feels like a broadsword ...." "Good," Kaska said. "You need the stretching -- because you're going to get something a lot larger than this." And he rammed it in. I came. Dimly I heard the god say, his rumbling mind-voice amused, *I think it's time to lubricate you for your new master ....* Deep in my ass, the shaft representing the god's cock began to spurt gush after gush of thick oil. A lecherous miracle; the dildo was solid wood. I was scarcely aware of being untied, lifted, and deposited on my knees before the Dark One's idol. "Say the words, Matia," Kaska rasped, as though fighting for control. I blinked hard and tried to remember what Charmar's slave had said. "Dark One," I began, and had to stop to clear my throat when my voice cracked. "Dark one, your warrior Kaska has defeated me in battle, bound me, and sacrificed me on your black altar..." Those weren't exactly her words, but I didn't care. "But it's my own lust for him that has made me his slave. With my every cry of submission and delight and anguish, I will thank you for sending me to defeat at his hands." "Dark One," Kaska said hoarsely, "I do not know what I have done to deserve such a slave, but my thanks for guiding me to her. And thank you as well, for making her rage so hot that I was able to defeat her without hurting her." Suddenly I realized that his thanks may have been justified. My eyes widened. The god, of course, read my thoughts. *He still would have defeated you, but he would have had to injure you badly to do it. And I wouldn't have enjoyed this
luscious sacrifice for weeks.* Shaking my head, I bent forward without being told and took the idol's smaller cock in my mouth. Rolling my tongue around it, I sucked the cold marble as though it were hot flesh, caressing the thicker cock below it the while. Then I drew back and lowered my head for the second flesh blade, having to tilt my head a bit to accommodate it, and took it as deep as I could. Finally I sat back. "I hope you suck my cock that well, slave," Kaska growled, just before he reached down and jerked me to my feet. He swung me onto a broad, hard shoulder and turned toward one of the doors off to the side. "My thanks, Dark One!" For a moment I could only lie limp, watching the gleaming, sweat- slicked muscles work in his back as he carried me. My rump burned ferociously from his whip; I would be sore tomorrow. Probably from injuries I did not yet have. "By the Dark One's Double Cock," Kaska grumbled. "You aren't the first captive I've spread across his altar, but never have I had so much difficulty controlling myself. It was all I could do not to ram right up your little backhole after that flogging." I smiled. "I know." "Gloat now, slave," he said, giving me a stinging slap on my well- whipped rump. "You'll sing a different tune when you feel my big shaft splitting your virgin pucker." "Where are we going ... master?" I gave the last word a certain mocking servility. "Why, the Fuck Chambers ... slave." A moment later I realized what he meant as he carried me into a long hallway lined with closed doors. Even through the thick wood, I could hear gasps and cries of pleasure and surrender and pain. "The Dark One's Warriors are busy this night," I muttered. "The rewards of conquest." There was laughter in his voice. "Speaking of which..." A door banged open under his kick. Kaska carried me to a strange platform in the center of the room. On it was a wooden bench set before a small idol of the Dark One. He put me down and told me to kneel on the a padded projection that ran between the bench legs, then urged my thighs apart and circled each of them with a tough leather cuff. My hands he roped behind my back. Then he bent me over so I was draped across the bench's padded seat. Barely long enough to support my hips and lower torso, the bench was inclined so that my rump was lifted higher than my head. I suddenly noticed two thin chains hanging from a pair of rings in the idol's hands. Each chain was no thicker than a lady's necklace, and ended with a narrow metal wire looped in a circle. Kaska picked up the loops and caught my nipples in them, pulling the metal circlets tight enough to bite. The chains were so short they pulled my stiff points out from my breasts, exerting a pressure just brushing pain. I didn't dare struggle; I knew the chains would jerk my breasts brutally. I was completely immobilized. Ready to have my backhole violated by Kaska's big cock. Turning my head, I watched warily as he stood back and began to strip away his leathers. Even in my nervousness, I couldn't help but admire his burnished masculinity -- the broad, sculpted muscle of his chest, pelted in curling dark hair, the bulging strength of his arms, the long powerful legs -- and his cock, a thick, purpled truncheon of flesh visibly throbbing with his heartbeat. His balls were drawn up tight to his shaft, swollen with the seed he was so hungry to pump into me. And his eyes ... I didn't need his god to tell me what he was thinking. I'd never had a man look at me like that, with blue eyes flaming with such unrepentant lust and anticipation. The bones of his face stood sharply etched under his brown skin, as though with starvation. And I was the only meal that could sate him. I was glad for the bench. Without it, my strengthless knees would have dumped me in the floor. "Are you afraid of me, Matia?" he asked softly. "Yes." It was something I'd never admitted to a man in all my life. He smiled. Slowly, Kaska moved toward me. I jerked in my bonds, wincing a little at the resulting yank to my nipples. He stretched out a big, dark hand, brushed his fingers down the sensitive small of my back. I shuddered, my mouth dry as sun-burnt leather. "Luscious Matia," he whispered. "Do you know how hard I'm fighting to keep from ramming up your ass?" I nodded, unable to speak. His rough fingertips drifted down to my bottom, then ghosted down the sensitive cleavage, not pushing between, just teasing. They traveled lower until they
slipped between my trembling thighs. Dipped between my lower lips, gently sampling. "You're wet, Matia," Kaska said. "And you're shaking. Are you remembering that little blonde spy I fucked for you?" "Yes," I croaked. "What were you thinking when you watched me take her?" The feeling of those fingers pumping inside my pussy was slowly driving me mad. "I was thinking ... how big you were. How you stretched her ... I thought she wouldn't be able to take your width. I wondered if you'd stop if she couldn't ..." "And?" "I think .... I think you would have made her take it. You would have made her love it. Even that." He smiled. "But can you take me?" "It doesn't ..." I had to stop to whimper. "It doesn't matter whether I can or not." His smile grew darker. "You're right." With that he abandoned my dripping pussy and sought the hole the Dark One had so thoroughly oiled for him. I felt him part me. For several long moments he did nothing, just staring until I could feel my very backhole start to burn. Then, finally, he spread his fingers and put his thumbs on either side of my anus. Exerting pressure, he forced the hole to open. Again he studied it as I quivered in helpless anticipation. At last he slid his thumb inside, rotating his hand to screw it in. He gave it several slow, leisurely thrusts. I squirmed as my bung began to burn in protest. "Do you feel like a slave, Matia?" he asked suddenly. "Yes, master," I moaned. "Good." He pulled out his thumb and ruthlessly pulled me open as far as he could, then caught his cock in one hand and aimed it for my tortured bung. It began to enter me like a burning sword, a slow, endless, hot impalement, I jerked, only reduced to stillness by the pressure on my captive nipples. "By the Dark One's Double Pricks, Matia, you're tight..." he growled. And he was bigger than anything I'd ever felt, slowly stuffing me to bursting. So slowly. Kaska took his time with his anal conquest, only working his way forward by molten fractions as though intent on enjoying each bit of rectal territory he invaded. I had never felt so fucked, so overcome by male strength and male flesh. His cock felt like a column of solid fire inside me. I could only surrender. Yet even after my muscles relaxed, Kaska moved no faster, keeping his invasion slow and relentless as he slid in and out, stretching me wide. "That's it, Matia," he purred, bending to find my clit with his rough fingers. "Yield to my big cock. Taste the pleasure of enslavement, the dark delight of submitting to your master's rod. And I am your master." "Yesssss," I moaned. He began to pick up the pace ever so slightly, torturing my rectal walls with his broad shaft. "You've been dreaming about this for days, Matia, about the pain and ecstacy, about being vanquished and tied and reamed..." "Yes..." "And I've been dreaming about it too." Harder thrusts, going deeper, faster. "Dreamed of laying you on the cock altar, of seeing you dance for the whip, of bending you over and forcing your virgin backhole with hard strokes. Just...like...THIS." He was fucking me now far more brutally than he'd taken the blonde, as if too heated for any thought of mercy. But I didn't care. His stroking fingers were teasing pleasure from my clit, and his every withdrawal was a dark delight to match the pain of his inward thrusts. I began to lift my hips for him, savoring it all, ecstacy and agony in equal measure. "Am I hurting you, Matia?" he growled. "Yes..." I whimpered. "And you love it anyway." "Yes!" I could feel my thighs begin to twitch. "Oh, yes! Harder, Kaska!" "Yes!" And he began driving hard, fucking my ass deeply and mercilessly, until all I could do was buck and scream. My orgasm rolled over me in burning waves that matched each pitiless thrust, and I convulsed, my scream spiraling into screech. "Now..." he gasped, "now I'm going to...pump...you...FULL!" Dimly, I felt him ram to his full length. With a roar like a hunting hillcat, he began shooting jet after jet into my violated rectum. It was an hour later. Feeling stiff as an old lady, I bent slowly in front of the mirror in one corner of the Rape Chamber and craned my head to access the damage. Bright pink stripes crisscrossed my ass, and my anus was dark and swollen. Just as Kaska had promised, his come leaked from it. "You're a cruel master, Kaska," I said. But there was a wicked smile on my face. "Am I? Perhaps I'd better inspect." The smile on my conqueror's
lips was equally wicked. Reaching up from the pile of furs on which he lay, he tumbled me across his lap. "That is a delicious set of stripes," he said, stroking them delicately until I wiggled in a combination of pain and arousal. "It occurs to me, master," I murmured throatily, "that there are orifices of my body that have yet to experience your conquest ..." "Indeed?" He dipped his fingers into my sopping -- and thus far unfucked -- cunt. "I do believe you're right, slave. I'll have to do something about that ...." Sighing, I settled into the furs, preparing to be vanquished. From the corner of one eye, I thought I saw the black marble eyes of the Dark One's idol. Glowing bright red. I smiled. THE END
The Pirate's Slave Copyright: Angela Knight, 1998 I stood naked, the collar riding my throat like a lead weight, each of my wrists bound to the opposite elbow in such a way as to pull my shoulders back and thrust my bare breast southward in lascivious display. It was very cold in the room, and the chill drew my nipples shamefully hard. Yet my cheeks were blazing hot. I could almost feel the hungry gaze of my male audience slide over me like acid, burning my bare skin, stripping away my pride. Odd. Of all the fates I'd envisioned for myself, this hadn't been one of them. Death, yes, I'd seen my death a hundred times -- shot by the pirates, mercenaries or gun runners I hunted, blown to quarks in my patrol ship by some lucky enemy, knifed by a fleeing prisoner. Even, given events lately, murdered by my own side. But never this. The auctioneer grabbed one of my nipples and twisted it viciously. I didn't reward him with so much as a flinch. "A month ago she was Captain Rayna Kinkaid of the Stellar Patrol -- but that was before she was found guilty of taking bribes from the very pirates she was supposed to hunt." He leered, his round face taking on an evil cast. "Which of you gentleman wants to be the one to punish her for her crimes?" Grabbing my arm, he spun me around, then caught the chain that dangled from my collar and jerked it, dragging my head down. "Just look at that ass, men." He smoothed his plump hand over it. "See how round and firm it is. And pale. It begs for stripes, doesn't it? It begs to be caned until she screams for mercy." Roughly, he grabbed my cheeks and pried them apart. "And then, when you're hard and she's begging, there's this tight cunt, or maybe this rosy little asshole. It would be your choice. "And she'd deserve it, wouldn't she? Every stroke of the whip, every thrust of your cock. She betrayed the honor of her Stellar Patrol uniform. The court says she deserves the worst you can do to her. She's at your mercy." Staring at the back curtain, I curled my lip and fought the impulse to slam my foot back into his crotch. It would only earn me another caning. He kept me bent over like that through the bidding, spurring it on when the bids began to flag by thrusting a fat finger into my anus and reminding the crowd of my former rank. After all, it wasn't really the chance to punish a convict that appealed to them; it was the opportunity to fuck and torment a female Stellar Patrol captain. My back was aching from the enforced position by the time he finally decided to give the crowd another view of my tits. I don't know why he thought he could drive the bidding any higher; it had already reached astronomical heights as it was. In fact, all the men had been forced out except for two relentless bidders, dueling for my favors with outrageous sums. Not realizing, apparently, that whoever bought me would be buying his death. I'd sworn to kill my new master and escape by any means necessary. But then, looking out over the crowd as the auctioneer mauled my nipples, I recognized one of those bidders. And my heart stopped. Armand Deguere. Those with a poetic bent called him The Black Lord of the Stars; we in the Stellar Patrol simply called him pirate. Or rebel. Or bastard. And sometimes, in our deepest hearts, we'd called him brilliant, ruthless, elusive ... Or at least I had. I'd hunted Armand Deguere for five years. More than once I'd expected The Black Lord to be the architect of the death I'd known
would come. Yet now it seemed he had another fate in mind for me entirely. He stared at me from across the room, his handsome face set in hard lines, expressionless save for an icy sort of determination. Odd, that. I'd have expected gloating enjoyment. Here I stood, naked in chains, being auctioned off to the highest bidder for use in the most humiliating way possible. And he apparently intended to be that bidder. Though if the Patrol had known he was here ... It was fortunate for him that Slave Mart was a planet outside the Patrol's jurisdiction; the brass had set it up that way in order to turn a blind eye to some of the violations that went on there. In the end, I wasn't really surprised when my other would-be master surrendered, and Armand strode toward the front to claim me. In all my years of pursuing the Black Lord, I'd learned he generally got what he'd wanted. And the few times he hadn't, it was because I'd thwarted him by some combination of luck and trickery. Still, I'd never managed to have the final victory of putting him in chains. Now it was he who took my leash from the auctioneer. And in that moment, when I saw his hard brown fingers close around the chain, I felt a sense of inevitability. As though this was the moment I'd been heading for all along, as though I should have known all those years of combat and pursuit would end like this. "Congratulations, sir," the fat man said, giving me an oozing look. "You'll find taming this one an enjoyable challenge." "Shut your mouth, you vile little prick," my enemy snarled. The auctioneer's mouth fell slack. His shock was such almost dropped Armand's credit chip when the Black Lord tossed it to him. I was still blinking in equal astonishment when Armand swirled his cloak off his massive shoulders and wrapped it around me. "After what I paid, I don't want anyone else leering at my property," he grunted to me. But just as I was thinking my relentless foe had a softer side, he wrapped a big hand in my leash and pivoted on his booted heel. "Come, bitch. You and I have a long night ahead of us." I almost fell at the hard jerk he gave the chain. Gagging, I hurried after him. God, it was ironic. Once, in the days before the Star Patrol had betrayed me, I'd dreamed of the opposite scenario. In my fantasy, I'd captured Armand, testified against him in court, seen him sentenced to slavery -- and bought him myself. I'd dreamed of keeping him a deliciously handsome prisoner at my family villa. Of resigning from the Patrol to devote myself to rehabilitating him with loving applications of my tongue and hands and creamy cunt. Now it seemed the slave collar was on the other neck. Armand dragged me down the length of the room, pausing only when he noticed the other patrons leering because I couldn't hold the cape closed with my arms bound behind me. Impatiently, he reached out a muscled arm and folded it around me, holding the cloak closed as he pulled me into his side. I was suddenly, vividly aware that the top of my head barely reached his armpit. For the first time, I had a gut realization of how very big he was. Odd that I hadn't noticed it before -- not even the night I knife- fought him in that Rigel bar. Hell, he'd actually defeated me that time; only the arrival of my backup saved me. I could hold my own with Armand in ship-to-ship battle, but hand-to-hand I'd never had a prayer. He was simply too strong, too skillful, too quick. It was as that uneasy thought crossed my consciousness that I looked up and saw the mural we were passing. It showed a chained, naked blonde being slave-fucked -- sodomized -- by her massively endowed master. A superimposed image behind them showed her asshole stretching impossibly wide around his enormous cock. It was an erotically violent painting, and it reminded me uncomfortably of the times Armand had threatened me with just that fate. There'd been a moment on Rigel when he'd had me pinned under him, and I could feel size of his erection as he ground it against me. In a voice that rasped with lust, he described how he was going to take me back to his ship, collar me like a slave, and give my virgin asshole the traditional auction night ream. I never told anyone that when my backup burst through the door, I felt a moment's disappointment. But this really was auction night, and there'd be no Stellar Patrol backup to save me. Hell, the Patrol had practically delivered me to him with its blessings. He could do everything to me he'd ever promised, and there was no way I could
escape. I just wished I didn't feel quite so ... intrigued by the idea. "If I had known you were so easy to buy," he gritted suddenly, his arm tightening painfully around my shoulders, "I would have done it a long time ago and saved myself a great deal of frustration." "I wasn't up for auction before," I snapped back, shrugging against his hold. To no avail. He shot me a burning, black-eyed look. "Not according to the Stellar Patrol's prosecutors." I stiffened. "Imagine my shock when I heard that the ever-virtuous Captain Kinkaid had been taking bribes all along." His handsome lips took on a contemptuous curl. "A thousand credits? Come on, Rayna. Not only were you corrupt, you were cheap." I didn't bother to deny it, though my jaws had to clamp against the words. He'd never believe that I'd been framed. No one else had. "The thing that amazes me is that you apparently feel no shame at all. After all those sanctimonious speeches to me about how the law is the only thing that separates us from the abyss, you let Will Tucker buy you off for a thousand credits." He shook his head. "And then, a convicted felon, you stood on that stage while that auctioneer bastard mauled your breasts, and your face was as cool and your back was as straight as though you were standing on the parade ground at the Stellar Academy. You have a lot of gall, lady." I lifted my chin and held my tongue. Suddenly he wheeled on me, his big body lunging into mine, forcing me back against the corridor wall. "So expressionless," he growled. "So icy. I wonder if you'll be able to hold onto all that pride when you feel my cock ramming your little asshole. Then again, maybe you're used to it. Maybe Tucker's fucked you there already." I stared up at his blazing dark eyes, struggling to hide my astonishment at his hot rage. "Jealous, Captain Deguere?" He jerked away from me as if he'd been scalded. "Hell, no. It doesn't matter if Tucker's fucked you a thousand times. He's never touching you again." "I'm insulted you think I have so little taste." I was sharply aware that the cloak he'd given me had fallen open over my thrusting breasts. He was staring at them hungrily. "Oh, I'm sure you taste absolutely marvelous. And I'm going to find out. Come on." Dragging me back under his arm, he quick marched me to the shuttle port. I was barely aware of the thundering noise that filled the huge hanger as cargo was loaded onto the shuttles for ransport to orbiting ships overhead. I was far too busy mulling Armand's amazing jealousy. He hustled me aboard his own shuttle -- it was scarred with a laser burn I suspected I'd made myself -- and directly to its tiny bridge. Before installing me in a crash couch, he unlocked the manacles binding my wrists to my elbows. I bit back a scream as my stretched, abused muscles felt the full flow of blood again for the first time in hours. Armand swore beneath his breath and gently began to massage my cramped arms. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked gruffly. I shrugged. "I'm sure I'll survive." His dark eyes narrowed, his handsome face taking on a stern expression. "Don't bullshit me. If you need medical attention, tell me now. I can have you at a planetary hospital in three minutes." I forced myself to give him a mocking grin. "Why, Captain -- I didn't know you cared." "I don't care," he snapped. "I just have other plans for those long hands than dropping off from gangrene." With that, he threw himself into the pilot's chair and began to ready the craft for liftoff. I eyed him. "Aren't you going to 'cuff me again?" "Why bother?" His big, brown fingers glided over the console, stroking the ship to readiness. "I doubt you can move your arms enough to be dangerous." I studied my hands. They lay limply in my lap, burning viciously as circulation returned. I tried to lift one and couldn't. "You have a point." He was silent through the takeoff -- which was remarkably smooth; Armand was a hell of a pilot -- and stayed that way until I felt called upon to prod him. "Where's the Blackbeard?" He flicked me a look. "A day or so out. I wasn't about to bring it in close to any planet where there might be Stellar Patrol ships." There didn't seem to be anything to say to that, so I fell silent. In my exhaustion, it wasn't long before I dropped into a doze. I awoke to Armand's hot mouth biting and sucking my nipples. The sensation rolled over me slowly while I was still asleep, burning me, arousing me. Until, by the time I was fully aware, my cunt was creamy and
my breath was short. I moaned and tried to lift my hands, only to discover he'd chained me to the crash couch. He looked up from my glistening breast, one rough, dark hand toying with the other rigid pink peak. His eyes were as black and demonic and tempting as Satan's himself, and his smile was slow and white. "If you'd waited much longer, you'd have woken up with my cock in your pussy. Or possibly your ass. I was still trying to make up my mind." I snorted. "Who are you trying to kid, Armand? When you decide to slave-fuck me, you're going to want me awake for every thrust." He laughed softly in a velvety curl of sound that caressed my senses. "You know me too well, Rayna. I've been waiting to get my hands on you for five years, and I'm not going to let you miss a second of the humiliation, suffering or pleasure I've got planned." I licked my lips, watching in uneasy fascination as his hot stare wandered across my bound body. "You always were a black-hearted bastard, Armand." He glanced up at me, a corner of his handsome mouth quirking. "Darling, you have no idea." His thumb teased one nipple, stroking its hard little peak. "The thing is," he said absently, staring at it in absorbed speculation, "you offer a black hearted bastard such a wealth of erotic possibilities. Take these magnificent breasts, for example. Look how round and full they are, yet they manage to thrust even when you're lying down. And they're so exquisitely sensitive." He feathered his fingers over them with a touch so light I caught my breath in pleasure. "I have a delicate little cat o' nine tails back at the ship. The lashes are quite short, designed strictly for use on a slave's tits." He looked up at me, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. "I hope you don't expect me to resist the temptation." I barely managed to suppress the hungry roll of my hips. "So much for your reputation for treating enemies honorably." Anger flared in his eyes. "I have always treated honorable enemies honorably. Unfortunately for you, your own Stellar Patrol has already established you have no honor." I bit back a hot tirade of self-defense. "Besides, the rules have always been different between you and I." He stroked a hand down my naked belly. I would have closed my thighs, but my ankles were bound to the legs of the couch. "You, with those neat little traps you set for me, or the way you were always divining what my plans were and how to beat them ... You made it impossible for there to be anything between us but heat." "I wasn't the only one setting traps," I gritted. He'd discovered the soft tangle of hair between my thighs. "Remember that ambush on Argilia?" He laughed. "I almost had you that time. I was so sure I'd have you bent and spread by the end of the day I had a hard on during the entire battle." I shifted uneasily in my bonds as he traced the soft line of my nether lips. "Why did you let us go, Armand?" "Your ship's engines were still on line, though you were too badly damaged to fight. I knew if I attempted to board, you'd blow the engines -- and you with them." I nodded. "True. But there was nothing to stop you from destroying us yourself." "And miss the pleasure of this moment?" He slid a thick finger deeply into my cunt. Feeling my cream, he grinned like the pirate he was. "I knew I'd get a collar on you eventually. Though frankly, I'd prefer to have enslaved you in some more dramatic way. I've always fantasized about spreading your cheeks on the bridge of your own ship." He began to thrust his stiffened finger deeply into my helplessly wet pussy. It was all I could do not to moan. "After a pitched space battle, perhaps, followed by a bit of hand-to hand combat -- you'd be hopelessly outclassed, of course..." "Of course," I snapped, stung. Though he was right, damn him. "Then, after all that, I'd peel down those tight gray uniform trousers and grease you up for a slow, leisurely buggering." He drew his wet forefinger from my sex and sought my anus, just barely pressing. "I've fantasized about watching my cock slide up your ass a thousand times." Slowly, he began to enter. I gasped, instinctively arching my spine. Eyes molten with lecherous enjoyment, he smiled down at my breasts, thrust upward by my position. His finger felt huge, burning, as though it really were his prick he was raping me with. Bending his head, he began to lick and suck my hard nipples even as he continued reaming my virgin bottom. The sensation was like nothing I'd ever
felt; overwhelming, painful ... Yet there was something about it that was wildly erotic. My most deadly foe was exploring my untouched asshole in preparation for sodomy. And it made me hotter than I'd ever been in my life. "Poor little Rayna," he purred, withdrawing only to enter again with two stiffened fingers. I sucked in a breath. "Such a tight rectum. I can only imagine the pain you're going to be in when I slave-fuck you. I'm afraid I'm rather well-endowed, so the fit will be somewhat ... brutal." "And you can't wait," I gritted, as his fingers burrowed deeper. He smiled slowly. "I'm counting the seconds. I hope you're not expecting mercy." "Not from you." "Smart girl." Suddenly he dragged his hand away and stood up in a rush of muscle. With a single, violent gesture, he opened the fly of his black trousers and pulled out his cock. My eyes widened. His crack about his size wasn't an idle boast; his prick was so thick I doubted I could close my fingers around it. Swinging a leg over the crash couch, he straddled my naked body, one hand grabbing a handful of my black hair. I gasped. He aimed the big plum head at my mouth. "Open up, Rayna. It's time to suck your master's prick." I licked my lips and obeyed. In a moment, he thrust his hard length deep into my mouth. Closing my eyes against the blazing triumph in his, I began to suck. He was more than a mouthful, bigger than I could comfortably accommodate, but he didn't give me a choice, so I took him anyway. The head of his organ was velvety, tasting deliciously of pre-come and Armand's own male scent. I swirled my tongue over it, savoring the heat, the taste, the texture. Savoring the way Armand loomed over me, his big, muscled body dominating mine. He began to pump in and out between my lips, fucking my mouth, both hard hands holding my head still as he used me. I groaned in pleasure. "Yes, bitch," he hissed. "God, I've always wanted to see that mouth wrapped around my cock. So sweet. So submissive. Just the way you were meant to be." He shuttled in and out, driving deeper and deeper as I fought not to gag. "That's it." He threw his head back. "You're mine at last, Rayna. Mine to fuck however I want. Mine to chain and torment. I'm going to put nipple clamps on those pretty tits and stripes on that lovely ass. I'm going to take you in every possible way. I'm going to dominate you ..." His hands tightened painfully on my hair as his strokes increased in speed. Eyes screwed shut with the violent pleasure of fucking my mouth, he gasped, stiffened, his back arching. I felt his cock began to pump sperm, bitter and hot on my tongue. Armand's eyes snapped open, and he stared down at me with a savage light burning in his eyes. "Swallow it," he growled. "Swallow it all." Shivering, I did. The Blackbeard was a heavily armed frigate, fast and manueverable -- so much so the Stellar Patrol had never been able to defeat it in battle. I'll admit to feeling a certain clammy apprehension when we docked in the frigate's great hanger; I wasn't sure how the crew would react to the sight of a collared, naked Stellar Patrol officer. Ex-officer. Particularly one who'd tried to blow them out of space so many times. I needn't have worried. Armand's crew was too well-trained to show any reaction as I hurried along in the curve of their captain's muscled arm -though I did catch a glimpse of sadistic satisfaction here and there in the eyes of some of the men. Probably anticipating the torments I'd soon be suffering at Armand's skilled hands. The thought made my mouth go dry. He led me directly to his quarters -- and straight through them. I barely got a glimpse of a dark, ruggedly masculine decor before I was guided into a large connecting room. Slave quarters. Many civilian ships had them, usually off the captain's quarters; rank hath its privledges. The room was surprisingly tasteful, the furniture heavy and expensive in quality, all appointed in blue and dove gray. The bed was huge, covered in a thick blue comforter -- though it was obvious the rings on the head and foot boards were more than simply decorative. A tall oak armoire stood in one corner, a mirrored bureau against the wall, and a variety of small tables held pieces of bronze sculpture. The only indication that the room was intended for a dominant's pleasure was the presence of a number of rings inset in the floor, ceiling and bulkheads. "I'm going to have to leave you for a bit," Armand told me as
I walked cautiously into the room. "Ship's business." "Don't hurry on my account," I muttered. He laughed. "I assure you, Rayna, your time will come." With that, he left me alone. I didn't even bother to check if he'd locked me in; I knew he had. At a loss, I started exploring. That's when I discovered those bronze figures were a lot less innocent than they looked at a distance. The statue on the small round table in the corner portrayed a medieval knight. Dressed in chain mail, he held his sword at a threatening angle. A woman knelt at his feet, gowned in fine robes, a crown on her head. She was sucking the knight's cock, his mailed hand fisted in her hair. The bronze on the bureau was a burly Viking, his lips drawn back in a grin of triumph. Over one shoulder he carried a woman, naked, bound and gagged, her lush body twisted in fruitless struggle. In the third bronze, a U.S. Calvary officer pinned an Indian maiden to the ground. Both her hands were locked in one of his, and he'd spread her legs wide with his muscled thighs. He was sucking one bared breast as he drove his cock deeply into her cunt. The forth statue was a seventeenth century pirate holding a writhing woman bent over a cannon as he sodomized her with a massively hard prick. Like all the victims, the woman had my face. Like all the rapists, the pirate had Armand's. Staring at the bronze, I realized I was breathing hard. I dragged down a swallow and sat on the bed. I should be disgusted. Appalled at the way the bronzes, with their portrayals of ancient rape, suggested that I was fated to be lush female prey to Armand's dominant male predator. I was a Stellar Patrol officer, dammit, a captain. In honor, I could not, would not, submit. Suddenly I realized that I lay on my back, my fingers buried deeply in my snatch. Moaning, I turned my head to stare at the bronze of Calvary officer Armand raping Indian maid Rayna. I began to stroke faster, sliding between the slick, hot folds, teasing the hard button of my clit. I could almost feel his fingers digging into my wrists as he held me pinned, his prick shuttling in and out of my helplessly spread body. Imagining his triumphant growls, I came. Four hours later, Armand drew back his heavily muscled arm, then brought the cat o' nine tails around in a hissing arc. The nine light lashes cut across my bare, swollen nipples, and I bounced on my toes. My wrists were chained together over my head to a ring in the ceiling, and my asshole was burning. He'd squirted my rectum full of thick anal lube, then stuffed it with a butt-plug. The plug, I gathered, was designed to hold the lube in place until he was ready to give me my first slave-fuck. In the meantime he was giving himself a hardon by lashing my tits with the cat. The whip was too light to really cut, but how it did sting ... My nipples were stiff and red, engorged with blood from the beating. Shuddering in my bonds, I watched him pull back to strike again. He had stripped to the waist, and muscle rippled along his broad torso as he moved. WHISH. I jumped as the lashes cut across my tits. "Son of a bitch! I never realized what a fucking sadist you are, Armand." "Only where you're concerned, darling." There was a bulge in his tight trousers big enough to shame a horse. "Besides, the way I look at it, I'm only doing my civic duty." WHISH. I tugged futily at the chains binding my wrists. When he got good and ready, he was going to bend me over and slide that massive prick deeply into my virgin ass. WHISH. He'd fuck me in long, brutal strokes, and he wouldn't care how wide and hard he stretched my hole. And I couldn't wait. I actually wanted it. That was the really appalling thing. Somehow each nasty whiplash ... WHISH. ...made me more hungry for the final conquest he'd been threatening with all these years. If Armand was a sadist where I was concerned, I'd become a masochist craving his dominance. WHISH. "You deserve this, you little bitch," he growled as I writhed. "After what you did, after the way you sold out to Will Tucker, you deserve everything I can dish out. You made me think you were better than that, when all along you were nothing but a whore..." WHISH WHISH WHISH "I was framed!" The words burst out of me. I clamped my teeth, appalled that I'd allowed myself to be so distracted by my burning nipples that I actually said it. He pulled back his arm in mid-stroke. "What did you say?" Fuck it. I might as well tell him the whole
story. "I said, I was framed." He snorted. "Yeah, right." My jaw tightened at his mocking tone. Controlling my fury, I explained slowly, "I was investigating an arm's running ring on Yeman II. We'd broken into one of the computers there. I found files linking Admiral Bryson to organized crime. At first I didn't believe it, but the documentation was just too good. Evidently somebody was compiling a blackmail file on the Admiral." He frowned, straightening slowly. "Go on." "But my second in command turned out to be in the Admiral's pay. He got word to her somehow. The next thing I knew, Will Tucker had told Internal Security that I'd been taking bribes." I felt my mouth curl into a bitter smile. "It seems they'd just caught Tucker, and he was trying to reduce the charges by cooperating with them." "They railroaded you." With a growl of rage, he whirled and flung the cat into a corner. "All this, just a railroad job." "You know, I wasn't surprised Tucker perjured himself; he's scum. But the thing that really disgusted me was the number of people I'd thought were honorable who were ready to help bury me, simply to advance their own careers. Do you know, a dozen crew members came forth claiming to have seen me take bribes. Sure, others said I was clean, but those witnesses were swept right under the rug. They only listened to the liars." I grinned bitterly. "So much for the honor of the service." Slowly, he began to swear, his voice low, vicious with rage. I listened to him with growing unease. "I'm telling the truth, Armand." "Hell, I know you're telling the truth," he spat. "I've fought you for five years. You can learn a lot about a person in the intensity of combat, the way she thinks, what she will and won't do. The fact is, you're not the type that takes bribes. Your sense of honor is too keen." Growling, he flung himself down on the bed and stared at me for a long moment. I shifted uneasily in my bonds, not liking the brooding anger in his eyes. "Goddammit, I don't have a choice," he muttered finally. "What're you planning, Armand?" Suddenly his expression lightened. "I'm planning to fuck your little brains out, that's what I'm planning." He rolled off the bed and came to me, reaching up for the chains that bound me to the ceiling. He unlocked them, then the shackles at my ankles, and swept me into his arms. Reflexively, I encircled his muscled neck with both arms. "Armand, what the hell are you doing?" He turned with me and lowered me to the bed. "Nothing to be afraid of, Rayna. Just this ..." His mouth came down over mine. But it wasn't the raping kiss I'd expected from him; it was gentle, sweet, asking rather than taking with lips that were warm and velvety and seductive. Instinctively, I went limp under him. He gathered me tighter in his powerful arms and settled his weight over mine. His big hands stroked over me, delicately caressing my swollen breasts, drifting over my sensitive stomach. "Tell me if I hurt you," he murmured. "Why? So you can gloat?" He ignored that crack and went on touching me, brushing my sweating skin, trailing gentle fire over my thighs. The entire time, his dark eyes stared into my face as though trying to memorize each feature. It actually took me a moment to figure out what was going on. Armand was making love to me, not fucking me. Warily, I dared to touch him, curling a hand around the broad curve of his biceps, tracing the plates of muscle that covered his chest. "Oh God," he moaned. "That's it. Just like that." I'd never heard quite that tone from him before, not even when I'd sucked him off. He'd growled, he'd purred, he'd snarled, but he'd never spoken so softly, as if I was someone precious to him. The idea was novel, outrageous. And very intriguing. He brushed his fingers between my thighs, and I let my legs fall apart to allow him access. I shuddered at the feeling of his fingers touching my most sensitive flesh. "You're so creamy," he whispered. "Do you want me, darling? Are you ready?" I half moaned, half laughed. "I've been ready for two days, Armand. If you don't take me soon, I'm going to go crazy." He stood and opened the fly of his trousers, then skimmed them down his hard brown legs. His cock bounced free, standing at a rigid upward angle, dark and engorged. It looked deliciously huge. Slowly, moving with that same odd gentleness, he lowered himself over me. I spread my legs eagerly, raising my hips. Carefully, he directed the round plum head to my
soft pussy. I felt it probe, find the creamy opening, start the long, endless inward slide. I gasped, letting my eyes fall shut at the raw pleasure of it. He was so big, he filled me so full ... He was everything I needed, everything I'd hungered for so long. "Open your eyes," he whispered. "Look at me." I obeyed, and he kissed me, stroking his tongue deeply into my mouth even as he began slowly thrusting that marvelous cock into me. Too slowly. I was already so close to coming that I could feel my climax just out of my reach. Unable to resist, I began to buck into him, wanting him deeper, faster. His cock felt so good, so hard, so smooth... I wrapped my legs around his narrow waist and ground against him, panting. "Wait," he moaned. "I'm not going to be able to hold back if you ..." "Then don't hold back," I gritted. "Fuck me, Armand." For just a moment he froze, as though he couldn't believe I'd said it. Then he began to lunge hard into me, letting me feel his strength, his power. I clung to his broad shoulders and felt the first waves break, searing my nerve endings with the raw pleasure that centered on the huge cock banging away at my wet cunt. I threw back my head and screamed, convulsing. Distantly I heard his masculine roar. When I woke the next morning he was gone. I didn't see him again for two weeks. Though a crewman came by three times a day to bring my meals and take me for a turn around the ship, I was bored out of my mind while he was gone. Then I discovered Armand's collection of pornographic sims. With nothing better to do, I started working my way through them. All of them seemed to deal with rape: ruthless spycatchers and enemy female spies, commandos and pretty prisoners of war, security experts and lovely cat burglars. The chase, the capture, a little erotic torment. Then the hero would start exploring his victim's every orifice with such skill she was soon moaning in pleasure, his very willing slave. The day he came back, I was stretching my asshole. Having felt that big cock in my pussy, I'd decided it behoved me to prepare myself. I'd found a weird chair in a closet. It was tall like a barstool, but its seat was made of leather in the shape of a western saddle, complete with saddlehorn and stirrups. There was a second, longer projection sticking up from the seat. It was shaped like a penis, and I had a pretty good idea where it went. He'd been gone a week when I decided to try it out. The one I was watching today was particularly nasty. A lovely female kidnap victim had had the bad luck to fall prey to a captor with a taste for anal rape and a cock like a club. Bound and gagged, she was bent over the back of a couch and waiting for him to slide it into her virgin orifice. Of course, she was making pleading noises behind her gag, it apparently being a crucial part of the fantasy for the girl beg for mercy. It wasn't in my nature to beg for anything, but if my whimpering would make Armand that hot, I decided to give it a try. Holding onto the saddle horn, I settled into the saddle, feeling the long, greased length of the dildo slide up my ass. It was painful, but I'd discovered that the sensation was also incredibly erotic. On the screen, the kidnapper was pressing the head of his enormous prick to the girl's tiny pink bud. Watching him force it inside, I ground down on the dildo, imagining what it would feel like when Armand did it to me. He was so much bigger than the fake cock I was fucking... Grinning in triumph, the kidnapper settled into giving his victim a long, slow ream. The camera focused on her desperately spread asshole clamping his cock as it screwed in and out. She groaned in pain at his width. Pinching my nipples hard, I rose in the stirrups, then slid back down to torment my own anus. God, I was hot. I wondered if Armand had ever watched this sim and masturbated, fisting his prick as he imagined raping my ass. Did he get hard thinking about my tight rectum and the creamy pleasure he'd find in making brutal use of it? Did he dream of me begging him for mercy, of my soft moans? The victim was beginning to whimper in pleasure now, feeling the first masochistic delights of taking a big cock in the ass. Her hips lifted, and she made a short backward thrust. Her captor smiled. "I told you I'd make you like it," he growled. I grabbed the saddlehorn and began to ride the dildo faster, embracing the pain and pleasure of it as the victim began to buck onto her rapist's rectum reamer. Shuddering, I felt the clenchings of orgasm
begin. When the kidnapper pulled the girl's cheeks apart to reveal her swollen anus dewed in sperm, I screamed out my climax. The next day I lay sprawled across the bed, brooding. I'd come up with an escape plan. It wasn't bad, really. It was simple, uncomplicated, with the added advantage of being ironic. Using one of the whips I'd found in the armoire as a garrote, I'd grab the crew woman who brought my meals and force her to take me to the hanger bay. Then I'd steal a shuttle, gambling that they'd be reluctant to shoot their captain's very expensive slave. Of course, I might not make it to the hanger, and if I did, they might blow me to hell anyway, but it was worth a try. And certainly, if I'd been anybody's prisoner but Armand's, I would have done it in a heartbeat. But I was Armand's captive, and the fact was that my nifty, simple, ironic little plan was one I had very little desire to try. How the mighty had fallen. The thing was, I had always lived a rather limited life; my existence had centered around the Stellar Patrol and my ongoing battle with Armand. The Patrol was out of my life for good, but there was still Armand. And somehow, I couldn't quite bring myself to cut that last connection. Besides, I was a slave. Even if I succeeded in escaping, my very genetic code would trigger an alert whenever I tried to rent an apartment or purchase an aircar. Or even food, for that matter. Turning my head restlessly on the pillow, I saw the figurine of the Armand calvary officer and his pretty captive. "You're so full of shit, Rayna," I muttered to myself, suddenly disgusted with my own rationalizations. "This has got nothing to do with being a slave. You just don't want to leave him." Fuck it. This was depressing. I'd rather engage in another round of self-abuse than throw a pity party, so I decided to dig out one of the sims and have at it. I chose one I'd seen before -- something about a jungle commando and the courier he'd been ordered to stalk and kill. Being both creative and horny, he decided he had better uses for his lovely captive than wasting her. The sim was a favorite of mine because the commando reminded me a bit of Armand -- and what he did to his prisoner during the interrogation scene never failed to make me cream. I was soon engrossed in watching him stalk the pretty little courier. When he pounced, she put up a gallant and thoroughly useless fight, which still ended with her naked and bound hand and foot. Anticipating what came next, I got the tube of lube out of the armoire and squirted the thick grease into my anus. I was definitely in the mood for a workout on the saddle. "Rayna." I jumped and spun, simultaneously sliding the tube under a pillow. Armand stood in the doorway, a large, gaily wrapped box tucked under one arm. "You're finally back," I said, somewhat stupidly. "It took a little longer than I expected." He held out the present. "I brought you something." Flustered, I padded over to claim it. I was sharply aware of my own nudity -- and more than a little puzzled at the way Armand seemed to be making a point of not leering. With my usual ruthlessness, I ripped into the gift, finding a long clothes box inside. Half expecting to see a red satin merry widow inside, I flipped up the lid -to discover my Stellar Patrol gray uniform. Hiding a stab of pain, I made myself grin at Armand. "You want me to play dress up?" "No!" He looked a little appalled. "No, I just wanted . . . Rayna, you've been acquitted. Your sentence will be overturned any day now. I understand you'll be restored to your past rank in the Patrol." I gaped at him. "What? Is this some kind of joke?" His eyes narrowed. "I don't make jokes like that." "No, of course you don't." Bewildered, I sank down on the bed. "I just don't understand. How did all this happen?" "I went looking for your former second-in-command and beat the living shit out of him until he agreed to go to the Interstellar Media with the file on Admiral Bryson's connection to organized crime," Armand said with grim satisfaction. "The whole thing hit like a starkiller nuke. The sonofabitch spilled to it all, including the way they'd framed you to shut you up. Apparently he thought if he sang long and hard enough, he could salvage his own career." "You did all that? And they've overturned my sentence?" I blinked, totally stunned. "Armand -- why? Jesus, we've been enemies for years. You finally have me where you want me. Why would you risk yourself to clear my name?" He shifted on his booted feet. I had the strangest feeling
that he felt uncomfortable. "I know you may find this hard to believe, but I'm an honorable man. What was done to you . . . I couldn't stand by and let them get away with it." "Yeah, but . . . ." I shook my head, at sea. Armand sighed and sat down beside me. "Rayna, do you know you're the only woman I've ever wanted to rape?" I stared at him. "I know you've threatened it enough, yeah. What has that got to . . . ." "I've been obsessed with you since our first battle. At first I just wanted to fuck you once or twice, but as time went on, as I got to know the way you think, your courage, you . . . . I knew it wouldn't be enough." He paused, staring off into space. "Then it occurred to me that I could enslave you. Once I had you, I just . . . wouldn't let you go." He slanted me a look. "It seemed the only way." "The only way to what?" "The only way I could have you." He waved an impatient hand. "Rayna, you're the good guy, I'm the bad guy. It's not like we could date. I knew the only way I'd ever keep you was in chains." "Then they put me up for auction," I said slowly. "And I was pissed. You weren't what I'd believed. Hell, I suspected you'd even been fucking Will Tucker, and that really drove me nuts. But when I found out you'd been railroaded, I knew I couldn't just stand by." He gave me a sudden, cocky grin. I was struck by the sadness behind it. "But I'm warning you, if I ever do capture you in battle, your ass is mine." I looked at him. "Why wait?" He blinked. "What?" "Butt-fuck me, Armand." I turned, knelt on the bed on my hands and knees. "Sodomize me. Rape my virgin asshole. I know you want to do it, you've been talking about it for years." His smile was bitter-sweet. "Once for old times? I don't think so." "Goddamnit, Armand, quit being so obtuse," I growled, suddenly impatient. Taking a deep breath, I enunciated carefully, "I do not want to go back to the Stellar Patrol!" He gaped. "What?" "It means a lot that you cleared my name, and I thank you for it. But I don't want the life any more. It was a lie. All that bullshit about honor and service, and they screwed me the minute it suited them. At least you had the grace to tell me you wanted to bend me over." "You mean you actually want to be my slave?" "Actually," I told him softly, "I have the feeling the slavery is mutual." His incredulity shifted into wariness. "What do you mean?" "I just realized something. All these years, you've been in love with me." "Like hell," he growled. "I want to fuck you, yes. . . ." "You love me," I insisted, "or you damn well wouldn't have deliberately taken the steps that would return my honor while depriving yourself of what you've wanted for years. That kind of self- sacrifice doesn't come from anything else but love." I took a deep breath. "And you know what? I love you too, you sadistic, villainous bastard." A slow grin began to spread across his face. "You do?" "Hell, yes. Why do you think I'm still here? If I didn't love you, that twit you've had bringing my meals would have found herself taken captive with one of those whips you've got hanging in the armoire. I would have been off this ship so fast I'd have left an ion trail." His dark eyes narrowed. "Don't be so sure you'd have found it that easy." "No? Prove it." Naked, I lifted my rump in the air inches from his face. "My ship is in flames around us, Armand. You beat the shit out of my second in command, and then you forced me to strip at gunpoint. You've greased my tight virgin ass, and you've got a hardon up to your navel." I extended my arms behind me. "I'm at your mercy." For a long moment he didn't move, just stared at me. Until, slowly, a cruel grin stretched his handsome mouth. "Too bad for you I don't have any." One of his hands clamped around both of mine so hard I gasped. He jerked my arms back, then reached out his other hand to smooth it over the curve of my fanny -- and between the cheeks, slowly pushing his way between, looking for the tight muscled opening. A blunt forefinger found it and forced it to spread, then burrowed deeply inside. I gasped and arched my back at the penetration. "I'm a Stellar Patrol captain, you bastard! You'll regret this." "Oh, I doubt that very much," he purred. "But you will." Suddenly levering my arms up, he forced my head down to thrust my ass high in the air. A second finger screwed its way deep. I groaned, only partly acting. "Considering what a hard time you're having with my fingers, my cock will split you wide." "And I'll bet
you'll love every second of it, you sadistic sonofabitch." I shivered, lust rolling through me in burning waves. "Oh, yessssss." He circled his fingers, goring me. "I've had a hardon for you the entire time we've fought, thinking about this moment." His voice dropped to a low growl, thrumming with lust. "My prick is thicker than my wrist, Rayna, and my balls are hot and tight. Ready to suffer?" Moaning "oh yes," would be totally out of character, so instead I snarled, "Do your worst, bastard." "Don't worry -- I will." But instead he withdrew his skewering fingers and released my wrists. I felt the bed shit and heard the nightstand drawer slide open, but before I could turn around, he grabbed my arms again and began winding a length of rough rope around them. "For this I want both my hands free," he told me as I turned my head to peer anxiously at him. "I want to spread your pretty white cheeks and watch my cock impale your virgin ass." As soon as he had me tightly roped, he opened his fly and released his cock. It was massive, flushed dark red and veined, and I licked my lips in a combination of nervousness and lust. This was going to hurt. Grabbing my buns, Armand forced them as widely apart as he could. Then, at last, I felt the smooth, rounded head of his prick against my asshole. "Aarrrrrmaaaaaannnd!" The entrance was nothing short of brutal as the immense organ drilled my anus, forcing it to dilate with relentless pressure. Yet Armand was thoroughly into his role, and he gave me no quarter, forcing his thick, cruel length deeper and deeper by slow inches. Staring wildly back at him, I saw his demonic grin. He was no longer just playing at being a dominant conqueror sodomizing a helpless captive. He was my master. Raping my virgin ass was his right and his pleasure. "No, please," I moaned, the pain searing my anal passage. "You're too big, I can't take it . . .." "You can," he growled, "and you will." I could feel his furry balls against my rump now, and his entire flaming length driven right to my belly button. He began to reverse his stroke, pulling out slowly, so slowly . . . . And I felt the first niggle of pleasure. "God," he gritted. "You're even tighter than I expected, you feel so good gripping my cock, so hot, so . . . ." Inward thrust, endless and burning. "How does it feel, Rayna?" he purred. "All this cock in such a small hole?" "It . . . Oh, it hurts. It's . . . you're too big . . . ." "Don't worry . . . You'll find it easier . . . with practice." Withdrawal. Pleasure growing through the pain like a rose working its way through a thicket of thorns. Looking up, I suddenly realized I could see us in the mirror. He reared over me, his huge cock tunneling into my ass, fully dressed, his black ship suit stark against my white, naked body. His handsome face was fierce with triumph and lust and raw, stark pleasure. I moaned at the sight of him. And surrendered. The muscles of my violated sphincter relaxed, allowing him to thrust more smoothly, more easily. "That's it, Rayna," he growled. "There's no point in fighting any more. You're conquered. Enslaved. Mine." "Yes," I moaned. "Say it!" "I'm yours." Pleasure and pain, beating through me with each long tunneling thrust. "You're my what?" "I'm your . . .UH! . . .slave!" He began to pick up the pace, drilling in and out. "And what happens to slaves, Rayna?" "They get . . . OH! . . . They get slave-fucked." "That's right." I could see him grinning like a wolf in the mirror. "They get bent over and spread wide, and their masters shove big, hard cocks up their little assholes." He began to ram me, punctuating each word with a merciless thrust. "IN and OUT and IN and OUT, until the poor slaves know they're totally at their masters' mercy. And their masters have no mercy." The pain was barely noticeable now, nothing but a sharp counterpoint to the agonizing pleasure of his possession. And rising through the pleasure was the heat, the lust, the need to submit to him. "My enemy," I gasped, reveling in each cruel dig, "My pirate. You love . . . torturing my . . . asshole . . . ." He rammed in so hard my breath left my lungs at the delicious agony. "Yes, I love it." "Sadist," I whimpered. "Cruel conqueror. Come in my asshole, conqueror. Enslave me." "Yesssssss." He rammed deep. That last, brutal thrust slammed me over the bring. My climax washed over me even as he began to pump my violated rectum full of his
come. I lay on my belly, barely conscious. Armand curled next to me, both hands spreading my butt as he inspected the results of his ream job with lazy satisfaction. "You," he told me, "are a well-fucked slave." I sighed. "I certainly am." "As soon as I get my strength back, I'm going to whip your ass with a riding crop and do it again." "Villainous bastard." My eyes slid closed. "I certainly am." I was drifting off to sleep when he whispered, "And I love you." "I won't tell anybody," I murmured.
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Angela Knight - Pirate&#39;s Strength

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Angela Knight - Pirate's Strength

Angela Knight - Pirate's Strength