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“Master,” I whimpered. “Oh, Master… Gospodin…”
A thrill of fear went through me when I heard the Russian word come from my mouth. I felt Belkonov’s thrusting manhood stop moving.
“Are you teaching her Russian?” he asked Ivan in Russian.
“Nyet,” my master replied. “But she’s a smart girl. She’s learned a few words.”
My heart quailed and my mind seemed to scrabble at the rough stones of a perilous cliffside, clinging to the top with weakening fingers. Ivan’s voice, though he spoke very casually and even dismissively, enveloped me with the simple knowledge that he would do everything he could to save me. He hadn’t spoken like he loved me, but I heard his love in the words, nevertheless.
It drew a wrenching sob from me, and it relaxed my body so that despite the painful stretching involved, I opened as my gospodin had taught me to open. I pressed back, arched, and offered my most intimate secret to the enemy, the bad man who had made me go for this terrible, lewd horsey ride.
Belkonov groaned as he thrust his cock inside my bottom, and I felt as if I could hear the forbidden pleasure driving out his suspicion.
“Master,” I moaned. “Master… Master… please.”
I wanted Ivan to answer—desperation for his voice, in response to my plea for mercy, for respite, for anything, filled my chest. When his enemy answered instead, though, at least I knew an important part of the plan had worked.
“Hush, whore,” Belkonov grunted in English. “Ride your horsey now.”
I rode. I couldn’t help it: only movement, only friction, as painful as it felt, could give the pleasure that would bring some relief—my own release and the climax of the man who had at least in his own mind become my master.
Very distantly, I heard to my dismay the next part of the plan unfolding: the worst part, the most devastating part. Ivan spoke to Belkonov in Russian, with the words I had dreaded from the moment the Guardsman had told us how it would have to happen.
“I have to go,” my gospodin said. “Use her hard. She needs to learn her lesson before you get rid of her. And keep the hood on, like we talked about.”
CHAPTER 24
Heather
I heard the door close behind Ivan with a heavy thud that sounded to me like some sonic embodiment of doom. At some point—it felt to me like it happened after the terrible thud, though I felt sure at the same time, even in the moment, that it must have happened before—Belkonov grunted a curt farewell to my departing gospodin.
I came, too. That, I realized off in the distance, must have messed up my sense of the passage of time so completely that everything seemed to be happening in the wrong order.
The sequence was clearly incorrect, because I climaxed when my beloved master left me to his enemy. Something about his apparently not caring whether I lived or died… came with Belkonov’s hard-thrusting penis in my too-full bottom or never had another orgasm… continued to exist or vanished entirely from the face of the earth… I screamed out my release, bending my head over the neck of the horrid rocking horse, every shred of self-control, of reason, of shame seemingly gone with Ivan’s exit from this terrifying dungeon.
Somewhere in the roil of sensation and emotion and wayward thoughts, I felt Belkonov coming too, spurting his seed into my distended anus. I heard him murmuring Russian words of degradation, and I had the satisfaction at least of knowing that he, too, had lost track of languages in the dark delight my ass had afforded. He clearly meant me to understand his dirty talk, and I took some solace in being much too far gone to do anything but sob out my discomfort as he finished using me.
“That’s it, you little whore. You get it in your little bottom, like the slut you are. That’s where you need it, right in the ass, from your master’s big, hard cock.”
In another state of mind, I might have stood in a little danger of answering back, telling the asshole that his penis was a lot smaller than he evidently thought. I did manage to shake my head, but I knew as I did it that Belkonov would interpret the gesture in his favor, as his new fuck toy trying in vain to deny her need for the most brutal possible use by her new master and his chosen minions.
Then time seemed to fly away completely. Belkonov must have taken me off the horse—or maybe he had servants do it? I found myself lying on the floor, chained by my collar to the wall, my hands cuffed behind me.
I had time, before Belkonov returned to use me, to run through the plan in a mind relatively clear of the terror, pain, and need that had clouded everything the previous night.
