This is Chapter 17 of Bitsy's Inhuman Submission. If you have not read Chapter 16, read that one before you read this one! I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to comment constructively.
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Stuart let himself in to his own study. He had seen Bitsy leave the ballroom ten minutes ago and expected to find her eagerly awaiting the culmination of what began earlier.
He blinked behind his mask. Surely, what he saw was not truly what was before his eyes. Marcos, masked with the same crimson mask he wore now. Wearing almost the same suit he wore now. Kissing, devouring Bitsy's lips with his lips, tongue, and teeth.
For a moment, he felt the searing burn of betrayal before he realized that Bitsy had no idea that it was Marcos, not Stuart, that she embraced.
The yearning between the two was painful to observe. This is what would happen once the year was up. Marcos would heal her with these passionate kisses, and she would forget Stuart with his love.
His brother, with his newly awakened alpha senses and masterful tendencies, whispered harshly, loud enough for Stuart to hear, "Pull your skirts up, I'm going to take you now. Make you mine. Now."
Stuart almost howled with rage, with anguish, as Bitsy revealed herself to him, opening to him. He bit his lips until blood trickled from his trembling mouth as Marcos took HIS slave against the wall of HIS study.
He closed his eyes, unable to watch further, but he could not block out the grunts, growls, moans, and whimpers that polluted his study, the same sounds that he shared with Bitsy only a few hours earlier.
From without, he heard the bells ring midnight, and he opened his eyes to view the touching afterglow of his slave and his brother. Locked in his embrace, Bitsy's face was uptilted to almost kiss Marcos's lips.
She broke her own spell, removing her mask and taking a deep breath. Knowing her, having watched her from afar for years, he knew that deep breath heralded a momentous announcement or confession.
"Even though I swore to myself I wouldn't say it again, Stuart, I love you." Her heart was in her eyes as she looked deeply into Marcos's eyes, thinking they were his.
Stuart felt the words to the bottom of his soul, cherishing them, even though he glared at his brother with nearly murderous hatred. He could almost hear Marcos's singsong of "Alpha's right" when he planned to confront him later.
He saw her look, bleak, shattered, as Marcos removed the mask, revealing that it was he and not his brother who had taken her so passionately.
Stuart winced as Bitsy's hand arched back and connected with a smack to Marcos's face. "How dare you?" she hissed. "I thought you were Stuart. You know I did! How could you?"
"I love you. He might be obsessed with you, but he doesn't love you. You know that. You know that he is incapable of that type of emotion. Bitsy," he grated out, "he only intends to keep you for the one-year sentence. He all but promised you to me after that time."
Tears coursed down Bitsy's cheeks, and everything within Stuart growled a command to go to her, explain everything, find a way to ensure that Tracy Bathory's plan wouldn't happen.
But he recognized the futility of such an action. Nadia would be killed; there was nothing he could do to prevent that from happening. It would be a slow and painful death, a warning to him to leave Bitsy alone at the end of her sentence. He already had superimposed Bitsy's face on Nadia's as he watched her daily torture.
With a step as stealthy as the one he entered the study, he exited, stopping just outside the door and sliding down the wall, breathing hard.
Bitsy left and slammed the door shut only moments after his exit. Righteous indignation turned her pale cheeks a riotous rose. When she saw Stuart, she stopped dead in her tracks.
"Master!" He saw her attempting—and failing—to get herself back in order. "Where were you?"
He stood, hoping that his own turbulent emotions did not reveal themselves on his face. "I was unavoidably detained. I'm sorry, slave."
She flinched at the shift of phrase. No longer "Bitsy" but "slave." Looking up at Master who towered over her, she whispered, "What do you expect of me now, Master?"
"Strip and kneel." His voice was arctic.
When she stayed there, mutely uncomprehending, he barked, "Strip!"
Had she only imagined his gentleness of earlier? With hands unsteady by the turn of events of the last hour as well as the verbal lashings of Master's voice, she divested herself of the dress.
Stuart summoned Maria and handed her Bitsy's clothes. "My slave will not be needing clothes for the remainder of the evening."
Maria watched as Bitsy knelt at Stuart's feet, looking up at him, her eyes full of caution and puzzlement.
Pulling a flat box from his suit coat pocket, Stuart told Maria. "You may go." Then, as she regretfully left her charge, he turned his attention to his chastened slave. Opening the box, he revealed to her the leather collar with the D-ring and the leash.
With confident fingers that belied his turmoil, Stuart removed the choker collar and replaced it with the new collar before definitively snapping the leash in place.
Drawing the leash up, Stuart walked her slowly down the hall, down the stairs, and to the entrance of the ballroom.
All the way, he peppered her ears with instructions. "You will be amenable to any of the guests' advances. There is no 'no' this evening. The party will last until I say it is over; at that point, you will caress each guest as they depart. To open the after party, I will take you. That will signal the beginning of the orgy."
Eyes wide, Bitsy sat on all fours at the opening of the ballroom. The atmosphere within had shifted to something darker, more debauched. Her relatives and friends had all left. All that remained were the jaded aristocracy and nobility of Europe. With a few prostitutes thrown in for good measure. And Tracy Bathory.
Bitsy looked up at Stuart. She sensed his tension and searched desperately for some part of the softness of Tristan that he had revealed to her earlier.
There was none. He was only the implacable king now, Master, not lover.
As they breached the threshold of the ballroom, Stuart ordered, "Stand, slave, and reveal to all my possession."
She would not yield to the temptation to let her humiliation appear on her face, in her eyes. Serenely, she went to some part of herself, some inner fount of strength that she had forgotten existed. With a grace she did not know she possessed, Bitsy stood fluidly, flicking back her liquidly black waves to reveal her body, nude, proud, and collared.
Glancing around the room, she deceptively appeared to look the participants in the eye. Instead, she looked just beyond their eyes. Yet, all felt the sweep of her gaze.
She did not expect her Master's lifting of her. He had already opened his pants to reveal his rampantly erect cock. Pressing her to the wall as his brother had only minutes earlier, he plowed into her. It was almost mechanical, a robotic fuck. Ritualistic. Without any of the passion that Stuart had lavished upon her for the last several weeks.
Regardless of the rigidity of it, she felt herself softening, reacting. Growing drippingly wet and needy against his hard body. Whimpers of desire bubbled forth from her lips, and, seeing his eyes flare with the passion that he strove to keep deliberately banked, she had no wish to call them back.
The world shrank to the two of them. Bitsy mewled into his ear, "I need you, Master. I want you. No one else, Master. Only you." This was her admission to herself that not even Marcos could ever replace him. As she did not realize Stuart had seen her earlier, Bitsy did not realize the impact it would have on him.
Stuart's heart sang as the balm of her words healed that breach. His thrusts became more passionate, his body rolling with the ravenous need he had for her. "Cum for me, slave. Melt your dripping wax around my cock," his voice growled, loud enough for the frenzied onlookers to hear.
The king noted that his guests were already reacting to the display he and Bitsy were providing. Some, already were engaging in sexual acts involving twosomes and moresomes. He wanted only Bitsy.
