Bitsy's Inhuman Submission

This chapter takes place in the immediate aftermath of Chapter 12. This chapter is to "make up" for the previous plot-advancing chapter. This is also "my solution" for Marcos. Cheers!

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Marcos knew something was bothering his brother, but he didn't know what exactly. Stuart had been moody many times before, but this was something different, something darker.

Because of the moodiness, Marcos had decided to leave Master and slave together. He figured, rightfully or wrongfully, that his newfound alpha status was responsible for his brother's turbulent behavior.

So, it was with that thought that he decided to stay away for a bit.

That and to force his own emotions under control.

Marc had never felt this way about any woman. He had always, ALWAYS, disdained his father's and brother's treatment of women. He had always vowed to never do that, ever.

And here, now, he was treating Bitsy with just that level of disrespect.

Even more troubling, or miraculous, depending how you looked at it, she was wallowing in it, her submissiveness to both his brother and him.

Remembering those moments of true debasement caused his cock to harden and his eyes to smolder crimson. At ease in the driver's seat of his new sports car, another symbol of his hedonism, he started to stroke his cock through his pants.

Just as he had worked himself to near orgasm, nearly spiraling out of control, his phone buzzed.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. Sure enough, it was Stuart.

"What?" he said, out of breath and out of temper.

His brother chuckled, but Marcos could tell that Stuart's humor was half-hearted. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No. I thought you and Bitsy would still be at it."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "We are." In the background, he could hear water running.

"A bath, then?"

"Yes. My—our—slave is a bit sore," Stuart rushed to clarify. "I decided to call you while she bathed. We need to work this out, this thing with the three of us."

"What is there to work out?" Marcos knew things were awkward, but he worried that any change to how things were would push him out and away from Bitsy. Learning that she and Alyssa Mason were one and the same, once he was over the initial shock, served only to make him desire her more.

Stuart cleared his throat, lowering his voice to slightly more than a whisper. "I only have her for one year," he began, but his older brother quickly interrupted him.

"You could have her longer, you know. She's as obsessed with you as you are with her." Marcos couldn't help his jealousy of his brother's bond with Bitsy.

Stuart's imperious tone could not be mistaken. "I only have her for one year," he stated, as if there were no doubt. His tone softened toward his brother. "You, as alpha, have the possibility of enjoying her for longer, forever, if that is your wish." Though the tone was less sharp, he sounded pained.

"What is it that you are saying, Brother?" Marcos thought he knew, and he knew he wasn't going to like Stuart's response.

"I am asking that you step back for this year, let Bitsy and I BE," he said, emphasis on the last word to where Marcos heard the implied capitalization in his mind.

The request made Marc feel dead inside. "Step aside," he repeated woodenly. "What does that mean?" He knew that he could not deny his brother much, especially if it kept Stuart's wild behavior in check. But, please, not this.

"To allow Bitsy and I to be Bitsy and I, Master and slave." Stuart's explanation, while expected, was still a crushing blow.

"If I agree," Marcos began, mentally lashing his hedonism up tight in a chest, "I will only make two requests. One, allow me one more evening with her, to say goodbye, as it were. And, two, promise me that you will not hurt her, not now, not a year from now, and not ever."

Marc didn't see the despair darken his brother's already black eyes, nor did he see Stuart's grip tighten on the phone almost to the point of breaking it, but he did hear the bleak resignation in his younger brother's voice. "I can promise the first, but I cannot promise the second. And, for that, I'm truly sorry."

When Marcos tried to argue the point, Stuart interrupted. "It's beyond my control. When I do eventually hurt her, if it even hurts her, I'm asking you to pick up the pieces because I won't be able to."

Something in Stuart's words didn't quite ring true, but his tone brooked no discussion. "I agree."

"I will let Bitsy know that you are coming for her this evening, then," Stuart said formally, almost as a secretary to a great lady.

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When Bitsy got out of her bath, she expected to see Stuart awaiting Round 2. Instead, on her pillow, she found the following note:

Slave-

Marcos requests your presence in Paris at his apartments this evening. In the box beneath this note, you will find appropriate clothing to wear. He says that you know the location of his apartment. I will see you tomorrow. DO NOT BE LATE!

-Master

In a black box tied with a wide red statin bow, Bitsy found a lacy black masquerade mask, translucent black thigh high stockings with garters, and a black bra top. A note, in Marcos's hand, indicated that she could wear a trench coat over the ensemble while driving.

She shrugged out of the robe Stuart had provided for her. Plush red velvet caressed her curves until it puddled at her feet. Stepping out of the robe's warmth, she began to dress in her skimpy clothes. Unsure of what to do with the garters, as no garter belt was included, she instead clipped the garters to her pussy lips, spreading them wide to reveal her dark pink clit.

Resisting the urge to rub and tweak her tender cunt flesh, she instead focused on her evening with her "other" Master. Somehow, during her bath, she had compartmentalized her feelings for both Tristan and Marcos. She loved—and lusted after—each differently.

She slid her feet into strappy red fuck-me sandals and then shrugged into her trench coat. Leave it to Marcos to suggest she wear a tie-in to her "other" life as Alyssa Mason. Bitsy almost instantly regretted the trench coat because it served only to enflame the parts of her skin left uncovered.

Sliding into the front seat of her car, she placed the mask on the passenger's seat beside her. A frisson of excitement made her shoulders tingle with anticipation.

As she entered the outskirts of Paris near the IPD Headquarters, she made a sharp left toward the apartments reserved for IPD employees. Bypassing her own apartment, she walked to Marcos's and started to knock on the door.

The door swung open when she put pressure on the hard surface. "Marcos," she said, slightly afraid that the door was left ajar. In the back of her mind she remembered Nadia's abduction.

It took a few moments for even her hybridized senses to become accustomed to the inky darkness. A spotlight in what would be the middle of his living room shone on an unfamiliar apparatus. An X made of wood stood inside a frame.

Bitsy walked closer and realized that a note was attached to the center of the X. It read, "Remove the trench coat. Put on the mask. And face the cross. Do not turn around without permission."

After doing as bid, she stood beneath the spotlight facing the cross. As her eyes continued to adjust, Bitsy could just barely make out implements to discipline and entice to her right. She shivered as she recognized her favorites: the cat o' nine tails, the crop, the belt, the paddle, and, here her heart thudded in her chest in anticipatory dread, the cane.

She felt his presence even before she heard him or smelled him. "My sweet slave," Marcos intoned, "all ready to play with Master."

"Why the mask, Master?" she asked, not really sure she wanted to know the answer. He seemed different tonight, somehow.

His response elicited more questions than answers. "Tonight is a night to forget...and to remember. It's our last night together for a while."

"What? Why?" she started to turn in order to ask him. The sharp smack of a gloved hand on the lower curves of her ass stalled her movement.

Bitsy heard his hesitation. "I've agreed to step back and let you and Stuart be Master and slave. To wait in the wings, as it were, for my turn."

"Your...turn?" Unease skated down Bitsy's spine.

"For when—if—Stuart and you are no longer together." He tried to skate over the "when," but Bitsy heard it anyway. "This night is my au revoir to you. Nothing so permanent as a good-bye."

He cupped her ass and slid his hand slowly up her back. Her mind awash in sensation, she shivered beneath his leather-encased touch. Marcos's hand curled around the front of her neck bringing her mouth to his. His kiss was hungry, passionate, a hot melding of tongues, teeth, and lips.

When he broke away moments later, she stared up at him, breathless.

"Tonight is about giving over to every fantasy I have had about you. Alyssa Mason. Bitsy Dracula. Both and one. I've pictured you in nothing but what you are wearing now since becoming alpha. I've pictured you in a trench coat with unmentionables beneath as Alyssa Mason for months. You have been my obsession.

"This is the culmination of all of my desires for you." With deft hands, he tethered her wrists to the arms of the cross. Fingertips enrobed in leather tickled along the inside of her upper arms.

A squeaky giggle bubbled forth from her lips. Marcos's own insidious chuckle disappeared as he secured her ankles to the bottom posts of the X. It was then that he noticed her spread pussy lips. "Your solution for a lack of garter belt is inspired, slave," he complimented, giving her clit a long rub as a commendation for her ingenuity.

Another squeak, but this time, the squeak was one of surprised pleasure. As if reading her unspoken thought, he concurred, "Yes, my pet. I do intend to tease and torment you for the rest of the night."

Bitsy gulped. "The rest of the night?"

He slid his arms around her to cup a perfect breast in each hand, kneading the firm flesh before twisting her nipples beneath the lacy fabric. With lips grazing her ear he repeated, "The rest of the night, my pet."

He played with her breasts for several moments. The only sounds that could be heard were Bitsy's guttural moans and her twisting on the St. Andrew's cross.

Until one sound broke the silence. Marcos had stepped back, briefly, to pick something up from what Btisy's mind had categorized as the "implement table." In her mind, Bitsy had heard the faint whistling sound of the cat. The sound of the leathery tails slapping her skin had an electric effect on Bitsy far beyond the sting the tails provided.

She couldn't hide her betraying moisture; the garter clamps revealed her dewy wetness to her Master as he artfully applied the cat. After only ten lashes, he stopped, to her dismay.

He responded to her frustrated groan with a hearty laugh. "Not quite yet, slave. Even masochists such as you must learn patience."

A mutinous glare met his gaze. He untied her from the cross. "Kneel, slave," he ordered pointing down at his boot-clad feet.

She knelt, noting the outline of his already hard cock through his pants. Her mouth and pussy watered at the delicious view. With an impatient jerk of his hand, he freed his cock, which jutted rampantly forward to pop her on the nose.

"Surely you know what to do, slave. Suck," he commanded.

Marcos looked down at, for tonight at least, his slave as she slid her red lips slowly down his shaft, her hot cavern both caressing and welcoming. Her face half hidden by the sexy little mask, it was all of his fantasies coalesced into an unbelievably true reality.

For years, his brother, and their father before him, had hosted a masquerade ball fit for Dionysus. Sexual depravity of every kind occurred with a hushed half-anonymity behind masks of all shades and hues.

Outwardly, Marcos had eschewed the festivities for the comfort of his bedchamber, but he was his father's son ultimately. Upon coming into his alpha status, he wanted nothing more than to debauch his slave at the masquerade ball. In keeping his promise to his brother, now that would not be possible. But he did have tonight to make it happen.

Even in the artificial coolness of the air-conditioned room, Bitsy's skin felt flushed, heated with the sexual desire that burned just under the surface for Marcos. "Merely" sucking his cock did nothing to ease the tormented arousal she felt. Her mouth glided, taking more of him with each down bob of her head, hungry for the taste and heat of him.

When she reached to cup his balls, his authoritative tone, so at odds with the gentleness she previously knew of Marcos, spoke, "No! Put your hands behind your back. The only touch I wish to feel on me right now is your luscious slave's mouth."

Chastened, Bitsy redoubled her efforts, her saliva, dripping out of the side of her mouth to rest on his turgid balls. Realizing that his slave literally found his cock to be mouthwatering, Marcos impatiently grabbed her head and pulled her up onto him until her chin grazed his balls.

He then held her head in place and began to fuck her mouth, grinding his cock deep against the back of her throat. Marcos didn't see her eyes widen in shocked pleasure at this show of force.

Instead, he heard the telltale gurgle of gagging and choking that only spurred him on further. Regardless of his recent playtime with Bitsy, every waking thought was spent fantasizing about their next session. And, even though his behavior now would have appalled him months ago, he couldn't keep himself from assaulting her mouth, over and over.

But he didn't want to cum in her mouth. Even though watching her swallow the thick white shots down her throat would be entertaining, he wanted his jizz in one of her lower holes. He hadn't decided which yet, ass or pussy.

However, he knew, by the end of tonight, he wanted to have invaded each of her three orifices, branding her as his, even beyond this night, this temporary farewell.

Bitsy was momentarily confused by his retreat. More than anything, she had wanted to gulp the hot gushes of milky white cum down her throat, tasting Marcos's special blend of jizz.

And he was denying her that pleasure. More planned torment, perhaps?

It was several moments before either could breathe steadily enough to speak. "Is there something wrong, Master?"

Marcos exhaled slowly before answering. "No, slave. I want to fill another of your holes. Bend over that table, ass up."

The coolness of the ebony wood on her breasts, tummy, and upper thighs was another torment. Her heated skin developed sensitive prickles of gooseflesh that only served to make her wetter than before. A familiar shape, unfamiliar in this context, waggled in front of her.

The glow of the spotlight bounced off of the metal hook. "Do you know where this is going, slave?" Marcos sing-songed.

Bitsy shuddered. She thought she had an idea, but surely he wouldn't...he couldn't. "Where, Master?" she asked hesitantly.

"In your ass," he whispered in her ear. "And, oh, by the way, smile for the camera."

"Camera?"

Behind her, she could feel the hook beginning to stretch her ass obscenely. "Of course, my pet. If this is our last time together for a long while, I want to be able to view this night over and over again. So, tonight, you are my little porn star."

She felt her ass being lifted slightly when he attached the hook to a chain suspended from the ceiling. "A winch for a wench," Marcos said, laughing at his own joke. Bitsy, hissing from the sensations that the hook was causing in her ass, could only smile tightly. And moan.

"Let's see. By my calculations, that leaves only one hole untapped tonight." Marcus insinuated four fingers with no preamble into her dripping pussy. As her vaginal walls clenched on his fingers, he chortled further. "And it's such a hungry hole, too."

No longer embarrassed by the reactions that either of her Masters caused, Bitsy gloried in the feel of his fingers pounding her still-tight passage. When she began riding his fingers, he stopped, stepping back.

Only his voice betrayed him; otherwise she would have thought him unaffected by their play—and her arousal—this evening. "It's time, pet."

His cock pressed against her entrance; her own particular honey doused his head in molten heat. With one long, sure stroke, he entered her.

The fullness caused by the double penetration roused in Bitsy a shattering climax. She opened her mouth to howl, but her exclamation was silent. All of her energy was focused on that blinding maelstrom her orgasm left in its wake.

Marcos managed to keep a tight rein on his arousal, holding in check the intensity to plunge-plunge-cum. For long minutes, he ground his cock deep in her pussy, eliciting whimpers, moans, and then screams as a chain of smaller orgasms burst forth from Bitsy, joining the cacophony of wet slurping slaps that his cock and balls made as he plunged deep.

In his mind, he saw her as he had first seen Alyssa Mason, the professional woman with the soft interior that only he was privy to at times, working so closely as her assistant. And, then he superimposed that image with one of Bitsy as he first took her, so at odds with the staid mien she clung to so tightly as a shield.

When, at last, his orgasm roared through him, he collapsed on top of her, his sweat mingling with her perspiration. His growling breaths matched her panting moans. He reached down to extract the hook from her ass, loving how her cheeks clenched to try to hold in within her.

After moments, as their bodies became softly fluid, fitting together as they were meant to, Marcos tugged her into his arms and carried her, honeymoon style, across the threshold of his bedroom.

With his last moments of consciousness, he wrapped his arms around her, for the first and last time, in his bed.