Bitsy's Inhuman Submission

This is Chapter 16. I hope you enjoy it. If you haven't read this story before, I would really suggest starting at the beginning although I tried to backtrack for new readers. Chapter 17 will deal with the after party, and I hope to have it posted soon!

********

Bitsy awoke alone the morning of the masquerade ball to skies a leaden gray. That did not dim her spirits; she was more excited about the masquerade than anything she had hoped to experience in recent memory. Maybe not even since her engagement ball hosted in this very palace.

Her mind filtered through the silky memories of that night, removing the hazy glow of romance that surrounded them.

With a shock, she realized that this was the night she first met Stuart. Michael had warned her of his cousin-by-blood-tie. He was nothing more than a hedonistic lech.

She had discounted him before meeting Stuart. Before Michael introduced them, she had reacted to the bold, hungry stare from one of the many strangers by retreating into the "old" her, Alyssa Mason. Alyssa the Shy. Alyssa the Wallflower. Alyssa the Uncomfortable in Social Situations.

From that stare of barely reined-in desire, she felt like prey. An animal to be devoured by the beast. And it was a sensation she had never before experienced.

By contrast, Michael's gentle wooing was courteous, considerate. Sure, his kisses curled her toes and made her yearn for the days when they wouldn't stop at kisses and petting.

In that moment, when Michael introduced them, the truly unforgivable happened. Stuart's electric touch made her forget Michael for a few moments. Already a powerful telepath, she could perceive Stuart's dark fantasies of her, and she was caught between disgust and desire.

For her sake—and Michael's—she painted disdain over her features. And, in the weeks and months that followed, suppressed anything remotely resembling passionate feelings toward Stuart. It helped that she avoided him when possible.

Bitsy shook her head, coming back to the present. Her shame at disregarding Stuart's rapacious fantasies that night transmuted into a resolve to create better memories for them tonight.

That decided, the great Ice Bitch of the Vampirans smiled impishly, nearly girlishly, a grin that belied her thirty-one years. Scarlet-tipped fingers curled around her phone, and she pressed the quick dial for Anastasia, the dressmaker who was creating her true dress for the night.

Impatiently, she waited until, on the third ring, Anastasia herself answered. "Lady Bitsy, it is ready. It's my best work ever, and it took everything I had," the Siberian model-turned-designer dramatically proclaimed.

Bitsy effusively thanked her, promising she would be by shortly to take possession of the gown. The gown was the first step in revealing to Stuart her love for him without words.

********

"Lord Christophe Jamison McKenzie Dracula," Brooks, the butler, intoned. Chris was the last to arrive, and Bitsy knew why.

In the weeks since the disastrous dinner at the palace, he had refused to attend any functions or meetings at the palace for fear of seeing Stuart's degradation of Bitsy.

Demurely outfitted in a black empire-waisted gown threaded under the breasts with the same red ribbon that wound in the tresses piled atop her head, Bitsy was a far cry from the naked woman slavishly lavishing devotion on the king only weeks earlier. She stood with her characteristic icy poise, her hand lightly resting in the crook of Stuart's arm.

The picture of united domestic bliss. And Chris wasn't the only one who noticed. Tracy Bathory noted the air of joining between the two and seethed.

Bitsy was just turning to replace her dress for the evening when the absolute final guest arrived. And her heart—and resolve—dropped.

Elyse Stoker, one of her most loyal in-the-dark IPD associates, nestled close to Marcos's side. Bitsy felt herself go green with jealousy even as, outwardly calm, she greeted both with a warm smile of welcome.

Elyse's dress was a simple strapless number of a deep crimson silk that drifted teasingly to the floor. She and Marcos made a striking pair.

Stuart, sensing her turmoil, squeezed her hand in support. With every appearance of a lover's tete-e-tete, he whispered, "I know. It's what I felt every time I saw you and Michael together, and then, recently, you and my brother."

Snapping her neck almost in her haste to look into his eyes, she was shocked to see the veracity of his statement. That long ago?

Then, she remembered back to the day when Marcos asked her to dinner. Stuart had been obsessed with her for years, he had said.

Bitsy smiled thinly. "If you will excuse me?" she put out.

"Of course," he intoned gallantly, sounding for all the world like Michael—or Marcos. She blinked up at him as she turned to leave, noting the wolfish gleam in his obsidian eyes. "Be back before the first dance, though, my lady," he warned. "That one is mine."

"Yes, Your Highness," she playfully responded and walked hurriedly from the ballroom.

At the first landing, she paused, trying to force her riotous emotions under control. Tonight was about her feelings now for Stuart. Marcos and confusing emotions from the past need not apply.

When she sailed into one of the bedrooms she had set aside as her personal changing room for this evening, Maria already awaited her. Careful not to muss her hair and makeup, Maria whisked the first dress over her head before sliding the other one down, smoothing it over her curves.

With a flick of her wrist, Bitsy yanked the ribbon from her hair, releasing her raven locks from their confines to tumble in a wild mass of curls over her shoulders and down her back. To complete the look, Maria sprinkled red glitter into Bitsy's curls as Bitsy bent over, combing the sparkles through her hair with eager fingers.

"Wish me luck?" Bitsy asked, more the nervous words of a teenager heading to prom than a thrity-something woman who had been to this dance before.

Maria kissed her gently on the lips, a kiss to soothe, not one to seduce. "I'm not sure this is the best idea you've ever had, but good luck."

"I must go. The first dance of the evening begins soon." Bitsy grabbed up her mask and departed the room, trailing glitter in her wake like devilish red fairy dust.

With her mask beside her, Bitsy whispered a plea into Brooks's ear that he appeared loath to consent to. "Please, Brooks. I need you to announce me just as I stand beneath Queen Christianna's portrait. It's imperative that this happens. Please," she stressed, desperate.

Brooks, who detested Bitsy, frowned mulishly but finally relented. As much as he could not stand her, he knew that if he did not do as she asked and the king discovered it, there would be hell to pay.

Heart pounding with anxiety and anticipation, Bitsy stood beneath the portrait of Stuart's mother in the same style of dress she wore now, with glitter in her hair as had peppered hers.

********

Where was she? Stuart wondered, scanning the assembled guests for his hostess for the evening. When Bitsy had excused herself, he thought it meant for a trip to the powder room or have a brief word with Chris or one of her numerous cousins in attendance.

But no. They stood in a circle staring daggers at him. If he did not empathize with their plight, it would be one thing. But he knew they were angry with him because of what happened with Bitsy.

And, at the end of the year, when he was forced to do as Tracy bid, their enmity would be so much worse.

As one, they and most of the crowd focused behind him, transfixed. The looks of the Vampiran circle appeared...worried. He turned and barely heard the words that Brooks spoke in introducing her.

Just as his mother had when she posed for the portrait she stood beneath, Bitsy appeared regal, imperial. In a princess ball gown of scarlet silk that tapered to a slender waist only to assume a bell shape that ended shushingly at the floor. From her décolletage up, Bitsy's pale skin was bare, kissed only by the light of the chandelier and sconces within the ballroom.

And...glitter? Just as he remembered scampering about playing in the red glitter during his mother's sitting, Bitsy delightfully shed red speckles of magic dust that seemed to originate from tresses that had only tumbled so enticingly after he took her in passion.

"Lady Elizabeth Karnackii Dracula, First Lieutenant to Count Dracula," Brooks spoke, a derisive slant twisting his lips.

Stuart, who had held the musicians at bay while he waited for Bitsy, snapped his fingers. A waltz hummed through the air of the suddenly buzzing ballroom. "My lady," he offered her his hand with a low bow.

Bitsy actually blushed, the flush of the rose only a few shades paler than the gloss that slicked her lips, rendering them even more kissable. Those lips led his thoughts southward as he envisioned his slave's reddened lips wrapped around his cock as her tongue coursed up and down his shaft.

She dipped into a low curtsy. "Your Majesty," she deferred, placing her soft hand in his.

The buzzing crowd hushed. Never before had these two danced, in public or private. But their bodies moved as one, as if they were truly one flesh. Bitsy smiled up winningly at him, her heart revealed for him and all to see.

His heart, by contrast, literally ached. He had to deny the love that he felt and ignore the love that she knowingly lavished on him with each tender look, each ecstatic sigh.

And better to begin it tonight...at the after party.

As was traditional, only the host and hostess occupied the floor for the first dance. Stuart felt the eyes on him, all watchful, all expecting him to fuck it up. And he would, just not during these few moments. For these few moments, he reveled, he gorged himself on being the focus of her attention.

He could soon bear it no more. As the musicians drew the waltz to a close, he let her fall back in his arms and slowly trailed his lips up her bodice, in the tender skin revealed just above her breasts, against the heartbeat that erratically raced on her throat to press a sweetly passionate kiss to her lips.

Then, needing to feel her body against his, to claim her in this room, to claim her in front of everyone, he pulled her up into his embrace.

A tremulous, wondering smile was his response from Bitsy. He knew that, as long as he lived, he would see that face whenever he closed his eyes.

"I need you now, Bitsy," he spoke thickly.

She looked up at him. Never before had he referred to her, spoken to her, calling her "Bitsy." Not fully realizing what that shift meant, she walked behind him, almost in a daze, to his study.

********

Stuart opened the door to his study, ushering her in before following her to close the door with a barely audible click. He turned the lock and placed the key on his desk.

"Now," he began, and Bitsy felt her heart trip hammer. Just like her engagement ball all those years ago, he resembled nothing more than the hunter who wished her to be his prey.

"Master," she spoke haltingly, but he stopped her.

"No," he spoke definitively, shaking his head, silencing her. "Tonight, we are Tristan and Bitsy. Not Master and slave. Not king and subject. Tonight, until that bell chimes at midnight, we are lovers."

"And at midnight?" Bitsy broached the question she really did not want to know the answer to.

His breath released on a heavy sigh. "At midnight, you will be my hostess at the after party. With all that entails."

Her eyes darkened briefly, and he regretted even that small dousing of the flame that burned within her for him.

With fingers meant to caress, to entice, Stuart ran his fingers down the side of her dress, enjoying the feel of smooth silk warmed by her, scented by her, beneath the pads of his fingers. "Your choice of dress is...inspired. Thank you," he choked out, that same thick voice that commanded her to follow him.

The voice so clogged with emotion that she was helpless to resist. "I never told you, did I, of why I was named Tristan? My mother insisted that I be named something other than a family name. So, she decided upon Tristan. She was a romantic. Too romantic for my father."

Curling her against him, he continued, "She knew her job as queen was to turn a blind eye to my father's mistresses and affairs. And she tried. But she didn't expect one of Father's mistresses to be psychotic and kill her expecting to become queen herself."

She pulled his head down, kissing him deeply, passionately. It was a kiss meant to soothe, to distract him from the anguish he now revealed to her.

But he needed more. They both did. When his tongue invaded her lips, pushing past the non-resistance he met there, she responded eagerly.

Bitsy was swept up in a maelstrom. Never before had kisses seemed so sensual. Not with Michael. Not with Marcos. Not even Stuart's earlier kisses. With each kiss he seemed to imprint himself more and more on her soul.

His lips made a searing path down her neck to her shoulders as his fingers twisted in the mop of curls that scattered their magic as he tangled his hand in its depths. She fell back gracefully against the top of his desk, and he followed, on the hunt for her taste and her touch.

He slid lower and lower down her body as his hand left her hair to press her skirts higher and higher still, revealing her pale thighs that he hoped would clasp around him in passion of her own will. Then, he espied the apex of her thighs, drenched with need for him.

"One day," he muttered as he pressed a kiss there, to that set of lips that beckoned him with their special elixir coating them, driving him wild. "One day, we will make slow passionate love. This is not that day. I need you, Bitsy."

With that tantalizing truth spoken, Stuart's tongue slid along the cleft that the separation in her pussy lips made. Bitsy mewled, her hands coming down to press him to her, her fingers trailing in his hair. "Bitsy, am I going to have to tie your hands?" he whispered against her flesh, his breath on her already enflamed skin almost causing her to cum against his mouth.

She whimpered from that touch as well as his question. "Please, Tristan," she begged him. "I need to feel your control over me even now." Submissively, she offered him her hands, pressed together at the wrists.

With careful precision, knowing that she visually devoured his every move, he removed his belt and strapped her wrists together. "Do not move them down to my head again. Keep them above your head, Bitsy."

Her "Yes" came out more as a yelp as he lapped at her juices, evoking an instantaneous orgasm with his next lick.

Stuart lapped at her luscious cream, hearing her purr above him. When he had licked her of all traces of her orgasm, he stood and helped her secure her skirts and removed the belt.

Confused, she asked him about his pleasure. "Bitsy, that will happen later. Now, be a good hostess. Don your mask and I will find you later for more fun."

She seemed to accept this answer, and they left arm in arm, only slightly more disheveled than when they entered the study. He led her to the edge of the dance floor with the tacit, unspoken agreement that they would mingle separately for the time being, making sure the guests' needs were met.

When the note on the same gilt-edged red paper as the invitations arrived, Bitsy was already almost drooling with need for Stuart—again. But this time she wanted to taste and feel his cock, to be filled by him, in possibly all of her holes.

"Bitsy—

Meet me in the study at 11:30. I want to make sure that we are together for the unmasking at midnight.

Until then."

A musing smile curved her lips. She felt a tap on her shoulder. Chris.

"Is this your dance, my lord?" she asked, knowing very well it was.

Her brother-in-law nodded. As he took her in his arms, he asked, "Has Stuart relaxed any of his—ideas for you?" he asked, his lip curling.

"No." She hoped her monosyllabic answer would suffice.

Chris's features stiffened. "You know that wearing that dress tonight was a mistake, right? Bitsy, those of us who care about you know you are getting in too deep."

She stared at him mutely, mulishly, and refused to say anything more for the remainder of the dance.

The next few hours seemed to crawl by, even though Bitsy enjoyed the ball and even danced twice more with Stuart. Eyes shining, she coyly said that she looked forward to 11:30. His response was a lingering kiss in the middle of a song on the middle of the dance floor.

Finally, Bitsy could wait no more. It was 11:20 when she let herself quietly into the darkened study. As she shut the door, she felt Stuart rush at her.

Odd, she fleetingly thought. I thought Stuart was still on the dance floor. But these were Stuart's clothes, Stuart's lips, Stuart's auburn hair that filled her vision.

He wore the red mask he had worn earlier, each time she danced with him. His lips crushed down on hers, and all thought ceased.

Where the kiss earlier had been passionate, yes, and hungry, it had also been gentle. This kiss had a feverish, desperate edge to it that drew Bitsy in, drew her under his spell.

Strong fingers pressed into her shoulders guiding her to the wall. Fingers that trembled stripped her of her gown, plucking and caressing her nipples that already were erect and craving his touch.

For long minutes, he drank from her lips like a man dying of thirst, as if each kiss would be their last. The bittersweet yearning that he shared with her ensnared Bitsy further.

This was a different Stuart. One who was vulnerable. Irresistible with this new softness.

Which was at odds with the impatient fingers that slid his belt out from the loops and then almost tore the closure off his pants in his haste to open himself and pull his cock out for her perusal. His hands reached behind her thighs lifting her and spreading her thighs in one move.

A dark whisper, in a voice different from Stuart's normal one yet still familiar, demanded harshly against her ear, "Pull your skirts up. I'm going to take you now. Make you mine. Now," he whispered, this against her lips as he pressed into her, inch by inch to possess her fully.

Her back to the wall, Bitsy was immobilized, at the mercy of his thrusts as he slowly rode her, thrusting and retreating until only the tip remained inside before pressing inexorably into her again.

He showed no sign of stopping any time soon. In the back of her mind, Bitsy registered his ragged breath signaling his imminent release.

A tender finger curled around her clit teasingly, and she shattered. The clenching of her pussy pushed him over the edge, as well. He held her there as his seed pumped in her for several thrusts.

Bonelessly, her feet slid to the floor. Only his arms kept her upright.

The bells tolled midnight, and sounds of the revelry of dancers de-masking could be heard even from the relative quiet of the study.

Bitsy decided, as she removed her mask, to stop hiding her feelings. "Even though I swore to myself I wouldn't say it again, Stuart, I love you." She looked up at him, eyes shining.

And felt her heart turn cold as it was Marcos, not Stuart, who stood before her and removed his mask.

********

To be continued...