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  • Bitsy's Inhuman Submission Ch. 17

Bitsy's Inhuman Submission Ch. 17

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.

********

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.

The high soprano wail that had preceded Bitsy's first orgasm that very first night ushered in her rhythmic caress of his cock. He felt her pussy gush around him and his answering spurting shots of cum formed an elixir that he wanted to so desperately taste.

But, as he groaned in pleasure against her neck, her feet again making purchase with the floor, he heard his brother's voice, and his eyes flickered red for another reason. Raw, primal anger and jealousy.

"Brother, how dare you treat her this way?"

Stuart withdrew from Bitsy with a tender stroke of his fingertips along her jaw, turning away reluctantly from the hauntingly enchanting vision of her desire and submission for him to face his brother. He knew this confrontation would happen, but he never expected it would be so soon after he witnessed his brother's betrayal.

With moves more reptilian than lupine, he faced his brother. "How dare I?" he asked, placing stress on the last word. "Truly, BROTHER," he sarcastically spoke, "your daring sickens me. Slave," he dictated, not wanting Bitsy to witness this truly terrible argument that was sure to happen, "see to your duties with our guests."

With a nod of worry, Bitsy grasped the handle of her leash and descended the stairs, truly unwilling of what was to follow but helpless to stop it.

Stuart spoke through clenched teeth. "How about we address this in MY STUDY, Brother?" The emphasis was intentional.

Marcos nodded curtly, and Stuart led him from the ballroom, leaving Bitsy to her own devices—and those of the guests.

********

"You profess to care about her, and, yet, you put her on display like that," Marcos tore into him barely before Stuart managed to close the door.

Stuart wheeled on his older brother. "Bitsy was supposed to meet ME here. Me. And, you knew it. And you intercepted our time together. You promised, Marc. That she and I could be without your interruptions for the remainder of our time together."

"I couldn't resist. Because I love her. And you don't," Marcus bit out.

Stuart growled. "It's because I love her, because I'm obsessed with her, that I only have this year with her. And it's because I love her that I treat her this way."

His words seemed to have taken the fight out of his brother. "You love her? You sure have a funny way of showing it. What do you mean that, because you love her, you only have this year?"

His younger brother did not acknowledge the question. "Tristan?" Marcos prompted. "What is it?"

Eyes full of raw despair met his. Not since their mother's death did Stuart appear as he did now. "If I could stay with her forever, marry her now, I would. Other forces prohibit that."

"Tracy Bathory," Marcos spit out her name as a curse, and his brother nodded.

"There's nothing to be done about it. It has to play out this way. If there were any other option, trust me, I would have forced her to marry me. I saw you two earlier. Do you realize how difficult it was not to tear the two of you apart from each other? Or to react when she told you that she loves me?" His bleak voice matched the utter stark sorrow in his eyes.

"But—" Marcos broke in, only for Stuart to interrupt.

"But, nothing. If I say anything to anyone, Bitsy dies, after suffering a horrible torturous death. If I try to keep her even one day past the year, the same fate. There is nothing to be done. That is why, at the end of the year, you need to help her get over what I must do."

"What you must do?" Marcos echoed.

Stuart nodded and started to respond but was interrupted by the door crashing open.

"Your Grace. Your Majesty." The desperation in Maria's tone should have alerted them to action immediately. Her next words did so. "Bitsy is being assaulted, nearly raped, by most of the men in the room. And Tracy Bathory is directing them to do so."

As one, the brothers glanced in each others' eyes, recognizing the common enemy. For now, the rest of the discussion must be tabled. Tracy Bathory must not, in any way, be allowed to have Bitsy hurt this evening.

********

The tableau that greeted them when they returned to the ballroom was disquieting, to say the least. Someone had pulled a buffet table to the center of the room. Bitsy was tethered, her legs tied to the legs of the table and off the end of the table. Her arms were tethered at the wrist to the other table legs, far above her head.

A cushion had been placed, not for her comfort, beneath her ass to lift her pussy in offering to any man that came by. It was obvious that the guests' revelry was just beginning.

Groping hands smooshed her breasts in their hands and molested her clit and within her pussy as she struggled not to cry or beg for them to stop. It was obvious, even from where the brothers stood, that this was not by her consent.

Stuart remembered his directions to her and groaned. Why did he say something as idiotic as she couldn't say "No"?

With a guttural, "Step away from her—now!" Marcos made most of the guests jump. The one who was about to ram his cock into her exposed pussy turned.

"Why?" he foolishly asked, and Stuart recognized him as Kevin, Tracy's husband.

Stuart summoned his most forbidding stare. "Because the party's over, and you are no longer welcome here. It's time for everyone to go home."

When it appeared that Kevin was going to question Stuart further, Marcos lunged at him. The cowardly husband of the duchess ran to the door.

The rest of the guests, seeing the murderous rage in the brothers' eyes, realized they needed to leave as well. Within five minutes, the ballroom was empty of everyone except Stuart, Marcos, and Bitsy. Marcos removed Bitsy's restraints as Stuart stroked her hair, her cheek.

Bitsy flinched away from his touch, and Stuart felt it all the way to his soul. Eyes deadened of emotion that had only hours earlier shone with love for him, glared blankly into his.

Once she was fully untethered, Marcos departed, understanding tacitly that Stuart and his slave needed time together. And Marcos himself needed time to think, to determine if he were strong enough to do all that Stuart asked of him in that one conversation.

With hands trembling with worry, with need, with leftover adrenaline, Stuart pulled her into his arms, cradling her lovingly to his chest. He approached the stairs and collapsed upon them, still holding her to him, caressing her, soothing her with gentle words.

She remained wooden, tense, in his arms.

He looked down at her. "Slave? Bitsy?" he queried.

"Persimmon, Master. Please. Let me go." Her voice sounded oddly nonchalant, matter of fact. As if she hadn't just cut him to pieces.

The vibrating message chilled him even further. "Your defense of her did not help her live any longer, Your Majesty." A text from Tracy Bathory.

********

To be continued...

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