Puppet On A String (13 page)

      
“You will do this,” his terse words repeated in her mind like a mantra for the rest of the night.

      
He played with her body, showing the growing masses that observed how silly her protests truly were. She was deeply aroused in all the lowly places of her body, huge convulsive spasms rent her groin, making her high-heeled nakedness fall into her owner’s arms as she gasped. She’d lost control, moaning uncontrollably as the climax continued.

      
After coming, she remained pressed against him, while he reached around and pried her ass cheeks wide. His large fingers made the exhibition easy, the taut rosette of her nether hole now on display. “On the floor,
Shelby
. Show them,” he ordered, and he pushed her listless body away from his.

      
“Please, sir, no!” she tried one more protest.

      
An abusive shove followed. “Show them where you want their cocks!” he ordered. “Show them, Shelby, show them!”
Show them, Shelby, show them!
His command rang in her ear, over and over until her shoulders were forcefully pressed against the hardwood floor. She reached back and opened wide her two ass cheeks to let them see what was theirs to take. An open invitation meant plenty of takers that night. Like any other night with Mr. Darcy, she could not object to his demands. Even if she waged a rebellion she was sure to lose. He was always there, reminding her of the truth, the hard facts of Shelby Ryan, the bare-faced evidence of a submissive who could do nothing but surrender to the man that owned her. This was her fate, her most treasured desire, what made her tick and her life work; to the end of her days she could imagine nothing but this man’s rule over her life. On the floor at his feet, her ass exposed, the welcome obvious; her rear end was already swaying erotically, proof of what he swore to them. She proved him right and her protest foolish when she nearly orgasmed as the first rock hard cock entered her rectum and began the night of her anal awakening. She had taken Mr. Darcy’s cock in her ass, but this was very different.

      
They gave her a bed eventually, when she complained that her knees were aching too much to continue. Even in bed, however, the fucking was no less brutal or unwelcome.

      
Mr. Darcy won again.

Chapter Eight

“You’ve been dreaming, girl,” Jessup informed
Shelby
when her eyes finally opened in Madame’s brothel.

      
“What?” she could barely pull herself up on the bed. “What’s going on?”

      
“You really are out of it.”

      
“I’ve been fucking every man within a hundred miles who has a hard cock, what do you expect?” Even delirious she could manage a wry retort to suit Jessup. She ran her hand through her hair, trying to open her eyes on the dimly lit room. She’d hardly had the time to inspect it, not with her legs splayed and the door opening again soon after it had closed on another man, another man to fuck. “How long’s it been?”

      
“Stafania says you’ve been here nearly four days; you’ve been working the floor and in this room for better part of three. Hardly a break since you started. She’s quite impressed, thinking she might not sell you after all, if you can make her this kind of money every week.”

      
“Like I could go on like this nonstop?” Her heart refused to ache. No point in it. But at least she could argue for her limitations. She was just an innocent coffeehouse waitress four weeks ago. God! Was it four weeks? Or four months? Time meant nothing in captivity. “Can’t you get me out of here?”

      
“Aw, don’t you worry, pretty girl. The bloom will be off the rose soon enough and you’ll be onto other duties elsewhere. This is just one place among a long string of sexual assignments awaiting you, Shelby.”

      
“So why are you here?” Maybe she was waking up, maybe her mind had cleared and she could see things a little more plainly. “How long have I been asleep?”

      
“Maybe ten hours. No one counts the hours in a place like this.”

      
“So, my question, Jessup, why
are
you here?”

      
“This is were I go to get away from work,” he said. “There’s nothing like a good rollicking whorehouse to soothe a sadist’s soul.” He grinned. And then the cigar came out, so did the lighter and soon he was puffing away, sending up a cloud of smoke enough to choke them both.
Shelby
hated to admit that she’d gotten used to the fragrance of his cigars; maybe forever she would associate him with the sweet aromas. Certainly her body would respond whenever that scent filled her nostrils. Memories would return.

      
“You’ve got to be kidding, you come here to soothe your soul?”

      
She laughed and so did he.

      
“And why not? You have no idea the demands my job makes on me,” he spoke mockingly. “It’s not all Shelby Ryans coming through my door. Not every man or woman is as fine a fuck as you are.”

      
“I guess that makes me special.”

      
“Sure it makes you special.”

      
“And you want me now?” Somehow staring into his eyes, listening to his voice, and smelling the heavy scent of his cigar made her numb body come to life again. Impossible, she thought, but regardless of what she’d done in the last three days, her crotch began to ache and her belly spasm. Her lust was racing away with her again.

      
“You want me, don’t you?” he said, smugly.

      
“Why would I want you, Jessup? Why?” She was practically pleading with him for a decent answer.

      
“Because we are so damn right for each other. I’m a sadist. You’re a masochist. We fit like fine gloves.”

      
“Right,” she sarcastically bit off. And yet, her body throbbed with want.

      
She waited for him. She could afford to bide her time. She figured that as long as he was in Eugenia’s room with her, there would be no one else to bother her. Madame Pavlenco would not dare interrupt them. He could smoke his cigar, eat cheese and grapes from the bowl at his side and share the beer he brought. When he was ready, he could have her and she wouldn’t resist. Would it be easier for her because she knew the man?
Fit like fine gloves…
Geez
, what an idea!

      
“So, you want to beat me first?” she finally asked him after a long silence and plenty of sidelong glances.

      
“You want to be beaten?” he asked.

      
“No, I’ve had my fill for a while. Just thought you expected it.”

      
“Perhaps I’ve come to appreciate a good fuck the way I appreciate a fine cigar.”

      
“So, come on, Colonel, fuck me.” She pulled the sheet down off her naked breasts and put her hands to her side, reminding him of what he came for. A whimsical smile, a little laughter, a seductive twinkle in her eye. He wasn’t half the bastard he claimed he was – nor was she the slut she pretended to be now.

      
On the bed Jessup got a little brutal. After the initial rough foreplay, he threw her onto her stomach, raised her rear end and spanked her ass until it was hot and sore, and the juices were flowing from her pussy. When he turned her back around, she was more than ready to take him; she wanted him as much as she could ever want any man. He was hard and big and made her pussy respond in all the ways she loved. She raised her legs up on his shoulders and let him pound her hard.

      
It wasn’t that she needed more fucking – her pussy was sore as hell and screaming for him to stop as much as it screamed for him to go on. The rest that
Shelby
’s pussy craved meant little with Jessup in the room and wanting her. He actually kissed her on the mouth like he meant it. His tongue probed between her lips and she probed back. He held her and she held him, and for a long while after he ejaculated and their hot juices mingled together, they lay in each other’s embrace like lovers.

      
If only, eventually, she found a man like this one to own her – well, she could do without all the rampant sadism. But she could take the good with the bad if she had to, as long as there was some good in the man that purchased her. Wherever she landed in the next few days or weeks, she could hope for this much from her sad fate – along with a little mercy from a relentless God she seemed to fail every time she wanted something good for herself.

A drowsy silence in the predawn kept voices to a murmur, cries of ecstasy to easy groans. Madame was sleeping, as were her whores. Jessup and Shelby were in Eugenia’s room, while the crazed Eugenia was sleeping in
Shelby
’s cell.

      
No one stirred for a long while, all was much too cozy inside this blanket of silence – for soon the cock was about to crow the morning, and all hell about to break loose in Madame Stafania Pavlenco’s brothel.

      
Emerging from the woods and fields, mercenaries dressed in black from head to toe crept close to the house, finally scaling walls, moving through windows, dropping everywhere around the silent residence like enormous spiders looking for prey.

      
Suddenly, doors burst wide open, one by one along the corridor in the hallway of whores, until Eugenia’s door opened too, and Shelby Ryan sat up naked, looking into the eyes of a masked raider.

      
“Shelby Ryan?”

      
“Yes.” She gazed back breathlessly.

      
“I’m here to take you home,” the man said.

      
Jessup heard it all and was alarmed, although his pistol was on the far side of the room and there was no time to act – and no reason. The prayer on his lips was that the prisoner would make it safely out of harm’s way, while the rest of the brothel was left alone.

      
But then that was not the plan…

Shelby
was lifted from bed and carried through the house in the arms of her brawny rescuer, then taken swiftly to a chopper hovering at ground level in an open field. As soon as she was lifted off the brothel’s grounds, the terrain surrounding the house was covered by a web of agents, mercenaries and local soldiers. Jessup would get away because he was trained for quick exits and he knew all the trails that led through the woods. The rest of the Madame’s operation wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Who the hell are you?”
Shelby
’s whisper was more of a shout. The noisy helicopter had risen like a winged beast into the morning light. She clung fiercely to the blanket that covered her naked body, unsure if this was a rescue or just another in her odyssey of capture and punishment.

      
“I said, I’m here to take you home,” the man whispered back, his lips right close to her ear so she could hear him clearly over the vibrating sound. “You’ve done your part, Ms. Ryan. You’re going home.”

      
The noise was too loud for further conversation. But the long road home had begun.

      
One minute a fate written from the pages of the devil’s handbook, the next the normalcy of her real life.

      
And she still had no idea what the hell was on that damned disk.

Chapter Nine

A knock on the door. She was barely awake. Barely back in the real world. Two days from captivity, nothing seemed real and that elusive home she was promised still seemed very far away.

      
With the cozy, white hotel bathrobe cinched around her waist, she peeked out the door.

      
Pierre Dansk, the agent in charge stood there stiff and cordial as ever.

      
“
Shelby
, there’s someone waiting for you in the lobby,” he said as she opened the door further. He made no move to step inside. “He’s anxious to see you.”

      
“Who is it?”

      
“Shall I send him up?”

      
“Who are you talking about?” She had a feeling that she knew the answer.

      
“I was going to let that be a surprise,” he managed a strained smile.

      
“Oh, puh-lease.” She was too tired for games.

      
“We’re finished with the debriefing, Ms. Ryan, so I really just wanted to give you this,” he handed her a package. “Your passport and a ticket home, some cash. Should be everything you need until you’re stateside. I also send along a grateful thanks from your superiors; your service to the company has been exemplary.”

      
She took the envelope, her hand shaking for god knows what reason, since this was what she’d been waiting for since her rescue. “Thank you…I guess,” she said with some hesitation. She looked him in the eye.

      
“What you do from now on is up to you, but I’d suggest a quick trip back to the States.”

      
“I want nothing more than that.”

      
“So, I’ll send up your visitor.”

      
Before she could wring the visitor’s name from
Pierre
’s tight lips, he’d disappeared into the nearby elevator.

Petit Maison was a small French Hotel in
Vienna
, three floors and
Shelby
’s room was on the second floor. It would only take a few steps before the visitor was at her door, and yet, by the time she heard the knock, her anxiety had already risen. When she opened the door she was still wearing the bathrobe since she hadn’t had time to change. Her wavy hair was pleasantly disheveled, and she hadn’t a lick of make-up on her face. Yet despite her apparent sleepy state, she looked terribly sexy to her visitor in such a pleasing state of disarray.