Bitsy's Inhuman Submission

I don't know when Chapter 11 will be posted, as I'm working through some continuity issues with it, but here is Chapter 10!

*****

Bitsy awoke between two warm, masculine bodies. Stuart's was the more familiar of the two and the one whose arms encircled her. His even breathing indicated that he still slept the sleep of the sated.

Marcos, on the other hand, was very awake as evidenced by his hand stroking tingles of heat over every inch of her he could reach. His cock, hard and eager, gave away his obsession with her curves. Curves that he had possessed last night in countless ways...feral ways...as the full moon held them all in thrall.

Not for the first time, he nipped at her, this time on the back of the neck and hard enough to draw blood. When she squirmed a bit, although not enough to wake Stuart, he laughed even as he licked and slurped. "Alpha's right," he singsonged in the same voice of last night.

"And now for the gentleness I promised you," Marcos deftly moved her out of Stuart's arms and into his, facing him, her nipples, still sore from clamps and teeth the night before, were abraided to painful life as they brushed against the pelt on his chest. His lips caught hers as she hissed her nipples' displeasure.

Soon, the kiss turned passionate...as well as another adjective Bitsy dare not name. Loving, her traitorous mind supplied.

She slid her arms around his neck to thread her fingers through his wine-hued hair, now so like a debauched son of Dionysus she couldn't believe it. Bitsy pulled back and looked him over. There was a new arrogance that hadn't existed within Marcos before last night.

"Good morning," spoke Stuart behind her, as he gave her ass a very pointed smack.

"Mmm, morning, Master," she purred. Bitsy felt the dip of the bed as he rose to head to the bathroom.

"I'll leave out the other door so that you two can have some alone time."

Marcos looked up, shocked, to question Stuart. "I thought you wanted to only share Bitsy together."

A look of pained uncertainty clouded Stuart's face before he managed to get himself back under control. "I know that you both need to find your footing in this brave new world your desire for that slug, Alyssa Mason, created. I'm not too stupid to realize that you probably want her all to yourself for a bit. I'm being generous, brother. Don't take advantage."

The brothers shared some form of silent communication that Bitsy couldn't even begin to comprehend before Stuart turned to walk toward the steamy bathroom. "Master?" What she was asking, she didn't know.

He turned, bending to brush his lips with hers, the most gentle kiss they'd ever shared. He smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It will be okay, slave. We will all decide how we go from here."

Bitsy couldn't quite suppress a shivering sense of loss. Yes, she wanted Marcos, perhaps even loved him. But her feelings for Marcos were nothing compared to what she felt for Stuart. Maybe his obsession was starting to cool, as Marcos had hoped.

She turned back to Marcos and was shocked to see the possession there. "What happens now?" Bitsy asked.

"What do you mean?" His reply was evasive.

"I mean, later today, Alyssa Mason and her secretary return to the IPD offices. What happens there?" Her look of befuddlement forced another kiss from him.

A hopeful glint in his eye this morning should have warned her of his reply, "Lots of closed door meetings?"

"How is that fair to my Master?"

"Which one? You forget, you now serve two Masters. And if you look at it honestly, you serve two Masters because you are so absolutely delicious and desirable."

"A slave can't serve two Masters," she retorted. "And, besides, that was only on full moon nights, right?"

"Honey, I'm alpha, and what I say goes. You will find me a more benevolent Master than Tristan and definitely more so than my behavior last night, but the fact remains that if I order you to strip in front of every IPD employee in the office in downtown Paris, you will do so and thank me for the privilege of being able to serve me." The arrogant tone of the alpha rang clearly through his speech.

Bitsy, stunned, could only ask, "But you wouldn't, would you?" Part of her desperately hoped for an answer in the negative while the rest was wondering what would happen if his answer were positive.

Surprising her again, he replied, "I just might. Unless we have a few of those closed door meetings. A satiated Master is more inclined to be kind."

The submissive within dewed at the possibility, while the former Ice Queen part of her wanted to bristle at him. In the end, the Ice Queen won, or maybe the submissive let her win. "And what if I don't want a kind Master?"

"My dear Bitsy, you forget yourself. I'm trying hard to be kind, and you, in return, are being a brat. I may have to borrow my brother's cane."

Both submissive and Ice Queen quaked at the thought of the cane. "Please, no," she breathed.

"Why not?" he countered, pretty sure he knew her reason.

"It makes me wet."

"Mmmmmmmmm. I know."

"Please, Master, no." At being referred to as her Master, the feral light again appeared in his eyes.

He stroked his chin, setting off a daydream for her that he might stroke parts of her with that purposeful finger. "So tempting, though. What am I to call you?"

"Whatever you wish, Master."

"I'm torn between slave and slut. See how easily my family's salacious instincts take over?"

Bitsy muttered something under her breath about being grateful for those instincts, and he pretended not to hear.

"Or fucktoy. After all, I have to learn how to properly seduce and rape as an alpha would using you. But, for now..." Marcos's lips curled around her earlobe and she moaned.

"For now?" she panted.

He let out an insidious snicker. "For now, you and I are alone. The servants don't return until this evening, so there is no one to hear you beg for mercy."

His words sent her careening into subspace orbit. She almost didn't see the clothespins until he waved them playfully in front of her face. "Do you know what these are, fucktoy?"

"Clothespins?"

"Yes, but they are also clamps." He ducked down to take one nipple in his mouth, suckling deep. With lips, tongue, and teeth he tormented her nipples until she begged for mercy, as he had predicted she would.

"Okay, I'll stop," he acquiesced much too reasonably.

"Thank you, Masterrrr," her voice released on a hiss as he pinned first her right, then her left, nipple with the pins.

With a deftness that she didn't know he possessed, he tethered her wrists to each bed post on the headboard. Bitsy's moans became incoherent as he did the same to her ankles, leaving her spreadeagle as he stepped back from the bed for a moment to survey his handiwork. He bent down to kiss her, leaving her scorching and aching all at once.

Her hips lifted in an obscene parody of sex. Eyes gleaming, he lifted one more clothespin and tapped it like a bat tapping a ball against each clothespin at her nipples. Bitsy moaned and tried to twist away, still uncomprehending of his true intent with that third clothespin.

Still, she did not understand, even when he bent between her legs and began laving her clit. Around and around his tongue circled, bringing her clit out of its hiding place to part her lips impudently. Only then did he squeeze and release the clothespin, opening and closing it, his eyes, locked on hers, full of diabolical intent.

And she realized, as he parted her pussy lips with his fingers, where that third clothespin would soon pinch. "Please, no, Master, not there. Please. I'll do anything."

He paused as if intrigued. "Anything," he spoke the word slowly, with deliberate relish.

"Yes, please, Master, anything except that. I'll do anything."

"Well, I've had this fantasy where you are concerned, and it should have worried me that I was becoming more like my family even then."

Her stomach clenched in dread, of either the fantasy he was going to detail to her or the possibility that he might still use that clothespin to punish her clit, she wasn't sure which.

"I come into your office unannounced and find you playing with yourself. Of course, now that I know you are a slave-slut, that opens up so many other possibilities." His grin was wolfish.

"Such as?" Her voice was a mere breath.

"Spanking you with that ruler of yours."

Bitsy winced. There was no way he could know...

"What happened to it, by the way? It wasn't in your office earlier."

"Master...that is Stuart...had me go on cam with him and he discovered the ruler as well."

A mix between a purr and a growl rumbled deep in his throat. She could not mistake the look of jealousy that flashed in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he questioned her, "Why didn't you tell him what happened between us?"

"And what would that solve? I now know his opinion of me, the real me." Bitsy's tone was a mixture of despair and bewilderment. "And, once you told him about me, there was no way of telling him without explaining him who I am."

"You have to realize why, of course," Marcos began, as if trying to soften the blow of Stuart's words.

Bitsy let out a distinctly unladylike snort. "Of course. I've made him into the enemy. I didn't realize that in doing so, that I would become not only the enemy but public enemy number one. Or that you would become the enemy. Werewolves side with Tracy Bathory. Tracy Bathory must be stopped."

Marcos slowly trailed the clothespin down from Bitsy's lips to her belly button, leaving a trail of sensitive gooseflesh in his wake. "I find that I am adapting fairly well, don't you think, pet?"

Her breathing hitched as the pin dipped lower to tease along her pussy lips. Involuntarily, and totally against her better judgment, her hips lifted off the bed as if seeking more of this eventual instrument of torture. "Yes, Master," her reply nothing more than a nearly feral moan.

"This may sting a bit, pet, but it's for your own good." He took her lips in an undemanding kiss, teasing her to respond with a brush of his tongue over her lips. As her tongue tangled with his, he spread her lower lips with two fingers and secured the clothespin tightly over her pulsating clit.

She screamed once against his mouth and then spasmed beneath him, her eyes rolling back in her head as she collapsed, boneless, melting into the silky red sheets, her orgasmic juices coating the wood and metal of the pin tormenting her clit.

Her final moments of lucidity before sleep overtook her yet again were as a witness to Marcos brushing his lips along her forehead and hair, whispering words of love in Old Romanian, which now, because of her hybridization, she could understand. As she gave herself over to the haze of sleep, she marveled at how he fitted her body into his and curved his arms around her protectively.