Sex Slave to the Dictator (The Initiation 3) Read online

  SEX SLAVE TO THE DICTATOR

  (BOOK ONE OF THE INITIATION 3 SERIES)

  By Aphrodite Hunt

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright 2012 by Aphrodite Hunt

  Cover art by Aphrodite Hunt

  Published by Aphrodite Hunt at Smashwords

  EROTICA BY APHRODITE HUNT

  The ‘Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire’ series

  His Indecent Proposition

  His Indecent Demands

  The ‘Initiation’ series

  Open Your Legs for Me

  Blindfolded and Spread-eagled

  Thighs Wide Apart

  Teacher, Please Spread my Pussy

  The Final Initiation

  The Initiation: A Bundle of 5 Stories

  The ‘Initiation 2’ series

  Open Your Legs for my Family

  Bend Over for my Family

  Publicly Display Yourself for Me

  Sex Slave at Sea

  Paraded before the Billionaires

  Sex Slave at the Auction

  The ‘Initiation 3’ series

  Sex Slave to the Dictator

  ‘The Royal Captive’ series

  Prince Miro’s Capture

  Prince Miro’s Submission

  Prince Miro’s Enslavement

  Prince Miro’s Punishment

  Prince Miro’s Escape

  Prince Miro’s Final Confrontation

  The Royal Captive: Vol 1 to 3

  The Royal Captive: Vol 4 to 6

  The ‘Naughty Nymphomaniac’ series

  I was a Naughty Nymphomaniac

  Officer, Please Spread and Cuff Me

  Gang Banged by the Chain Gang

  Tempting the Hot Navy SEAL

  The ‘Delicate Piercings’ series

  Her First Clit Ring

  Her First Clit Ring 2: Menage

  Her First Clit Ring 3: Desensitization

  The ‘Undercover’ series

  Undercover: Exposing the Bad Doctor

  Undercover: Stealing from the Sexy CEO

  The ‘Alien’ series

  Trapped with Sex-Starved Aliens

  Trapped with Sex-Starved Aliens 2

  Hot, Wet and Steamy (individual stories)

  When He’s Inside You

  My Stepson is a Naughty Stripper

  The Gorgeous Naked Man in my Storm Shelter (Erotic Suspense)

  WORKS BY ARTEMIS HUNT

  EROTIC ROMANCES

  The ‘Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male’ series

  A Virgin Enslaved

  The ‘Maid for the Billionaire Prince’ series

  Mysterious Desire

  Forbidden Desire

  Infamous Desire

  ROMANCES

  The Body Snatcher Wears Lipstick

  Snow White and the Alien

  Dear reader, as this list is not always comprehensive due to more stories being churned out after this point in publishing, please visit http://artemishunt.blogspot.com/ and http://aphroditehunt.blogspot.com/ for more stories and updates. I write as Artemis Hunt for erotic romances with a more romance feel and Aphrodite Hunt for pure erotica and erotic romances which are slightly kinkier. So please be aware of what you’re getting into, dear reader, when you read one of my stories. Thank you so much for your support.

  SEX SLAVE TO THE DICTATOR

  1

  My name is Gina Wesley. I am nineteen years old. I’m from Minnesota and I’m a college student. I was a sex slave contracted to Russell Devlin, father of my beautiful boyfriend, Max Devlin – but I have been recently purchased by Vladimir Potchenko, absolute dictator of the small Eastern European nation known as Ursk.

  I’m so terrified that it’s everything I can do to hold my pee from running down my naked legs.

  Max, Greg and I are in a small compartment of Potchenko’s private jet. This is the Ursk version of Air Force One. We have not seen Vladimir Potchenko since we boarded the aircraft. We were shepherded here, pushed into this chamber with its flimsy, detachable walls and locked in.

  There’s a dog bowl of water in one corner that we are supposed to share. The fact that it’s a dog bowl says it all.

  The three of us are collared – black leather with metal studs. We wear nothing else. I can only thank our lucky stars that we are not bound. It would be a most uncomfortable thirteen hour journey otherwise, like with prisoners shackled to walls.

  I’m not even sure we will be fed.

  I’m shivering in a corner of our confined space and Max and Greg are on either side of me. We huddle together for comfort and warmth, but I still can’t stop my shudders. I think they are borne not of the low temperature but a deep-seated terror within me that I have yet to fully acknowledge. My subconscious is keeping it contained like a Pandora box of secrets too awful to contemplate.

  It’s the only way I know how to survive this.

  “Gina, we’re with you. It’s gonna be OK,” Max tries to soothe me.

  He massages one right wrist while Greg takes my left hand and clasps it. Both boys are worried as hell about me.

  “Are you so sure?” I whimper.

  “Yes. The terms of this slave contract spell out clearly that we cannot be injured or disabled permanently in any way. Not a single blemish must be left on our skins when we leave Ursk.”

  “It’s true,” Greg avows, his eyes hooded.

  I don’t believe either of them.

  “B-but what about the accidents?” I say.

  “What accidents?” Max says.

  “You know . . . the accidents . . . like slaves not coming back and the cover-up and money exchanges that take place . . . ” I falter. It seems a lifetime ago since I heard that. And from whom I don’t even remember. Probably from one of the two here.

  “Gina.” Max grasps my arm firmly. “It’s not gonna happen to you, OK?”

  “We won’t let it. We would die before we’d let anything happen to you,” Greg adds.

  His eyes are shining with such fervent honesty that I almost believe him. Oh Greg. If I hadn’t met Max first, I would have fallen for you. And why do you have to be Alice’s fiancé? Is she even worried about you?

  I picture Alice, snug on her father’s lap in his study. I don’t think she’s even thinking about the three of us – that self-consumed, selfish brat. Oh, how I would like to tear her eyes out.

  But you know, I wouldn’t trade places with her for all the money in the world. There’s no way I will leave either of the boys alone here. I’d never forgive myself either if something happens to either of them.

  Max leans over and kisses my wet cheek.

  “I love you, OK? Always remember that,” he murmurs into my ear.

  This is not lost on Greg. A wistfulness takes over his soft brown eyes, but it’s only there for an instance. Then it dissipates as he masks his features.

  Oh Greg.

  “I love you too,” I say to Max. I clasp Greg’s hand in return. “I love you, Greg. I love you as a friend.”

  I said that last so as not to incur Max’s jealousy.

  There has always been a tenuous connection between the two boys, like strangulation wire. It’s still there, but I can tell that they are keeping mum about it because of me. I have become a common bond for them. They have set aside whatever differences they’ve had because of me.

  For that I’m very grateful and I love the two of them more because of it. But I know that in this terrible trial that we are
put into, it will flare again.

  But not right now, I hope, because I have to use the bathroom.

  Are we allowed bathroom privileges?

  Max shakes his head ruefully. “This is not my home anymore, so your guess is as good as mine. The only way we’ll know for sure is to ask.”

  The thought of asking the dictator if I can go pee sends my spirits cascading down faster than a paralyzed bird’s plummet.

  “Maybe I’ll just hold it in.”

  “Are you kidding? We’re not even two hours into our journey.” Max raises himself from his haunches. He bangs on the flimsy door and says in a loud voice, “Excuse me? Excuse me!”

  “Ssssh!” I hiss in panic. “Not so loud, Max, you’ll rouse him.”

  We know who I’m talking about, of course.

  “I’m not trying to wake him up, if he’s asleep in the first place. I’m just trying to get one of the guards.”

  I have no idea what time zone we’re flying over, being completely disorientated as I am. But it never hurts to be cautious. There are no windows in our compartment, only an overhead lamp.

  My stomach flips as I hear the pad of footsteps outside our door. Oh shit, he heard us! Now he’s coming to beat Max up. I cringe in my corner, the coward that I am.

  The door clatters and opens. I cower in fright.

  But it’s not the dictator himself, as Max predicted. It’s one of the guards who brought us here. He is swarthy in appearance. Clean-shaven, with a snakelike scar on his chin which he probably got for taking a knife wound meant for the dictator, or something equally heroic. He wears the green military uniform of Ursk. His gun is apparent in his holster.

  “What?” he says brusquely.

  I think all my pee has just fled upwards from my bladder.

  Max stands his ground stoically. “The lady here needs to use the bathroom.”

  The guard says something in Ursk, which none of us understand. My heart sinks. Oh dear, he doesn’t know what we’re talking about. How the hell are we ever going to communicate?

  Then the guard surprises us by pointing at me and saying, “Come.”

  Greg helps me up to my wobbly feet.

  “You two, stay,” the guard says. He grabs my arm roughly. I cry out.

  “Don’t hurt her.” Max’s stance is challenging.

  The guard reaches for his gun.

  “No,” I say shakily to Max. I hold my hands up. My heart is battering my ribcage. I’m just so afraid Max will be injured in some way. “He isn’t hurting me. I’ll go alone with him. I’ll be OK.”

  “Gina . . . ”

  “Max, it’s going to happen sooner or later. He’s going to want to see me alone . . . or one of you alone. We can’t always be together.”

  Oh, listen to myself, the voice of reason. If only I am truly as calm as I try to sound!

  Max and Greg look on helplessly as the guard slams the door in their faces. He turns to me and grabs my arm again.

  I lied. His grip squeezes all the circulation out of my arm, and so it hurts.

  His eyes are lascivious as he gazes at my bare tits and pussy.

  “Come,” he says in a husky tone.

  I have no choice but to be led by him down the narrow airplane corridor. My trepidation rises with each step. I have a feeling I’m not going to like what he does to me. But what choice do I have as a lowly sex slave?

  If only I knew then what he was going to do to me.

  It is nothing like what I have come to expect.

  It is far, far worse.

  2

  He leads me to the toilet at the back of the plane. The plane is fairly large – a modified Airbus, I think. I haven’t flown in enough planes to be able to tell the difference between one or the other. He holds the toilet door open for me as I walk in. I am barefoot and self-conscious. The toilet is spacious – obviously modified for guests – and he squeezes in with me.

  He latches the door and the overhead light comes on.

  “Sit,” he orders, pointing at the latrine.

  So he means to watch me pee. OK, I can live with that. Plenty of people have seen me piss before. They actually get hard from it, and I have never questioned what goes on in their demented little minds. Whatever rocks their boat. But then I’m demented in my own way too, so I have no right to judge anyone else.

  I seat my buttocks on the toilet seat. I keep my legs demurely closed, but he gestures to them.

  “Open,” he says in his Eastern European accent.

  I part my thighs obediently. My bladder is so full that I cannot hold it in anymore, and so I let my urine flow, rejoicing in the pleasurable release of tension. Urination, I have always conceded, is one of life’s natural joys.

  The guard’s eyes are on my pussy, watching my steady stream of clear liquid. I flush despite myself. He makes no move to touch me, which I find perplexing. I thought he would be caressing my breasts by now. Most of my minders often do. I am as pliant and welcoming a sex slave as they make them and my entire ripe body invites abuse.

  Does he not find me beautiful? The way his hungry eyes take me in seems to suggest he does. And yet he’s not acting on it. What gives?

  Naturally, I do not wish him to act upon it. He is not unattractive, but I’d rather be fucked by Max and Greg any day.

  I finish my act of voiding. I reach for the toilet paper to wipe myself. He watches all this with interest as though he has never seen a woman do this before. (And maybe he hasn’t.) When I stand up and flush the toilet, he stands back. The fact that he is licking his lips as he takes in my curves suggests that he finds me desirable.

  Is he forbidden to touch me sexually?

  We are standing face to face, very close to one another in that tiny space. And yet his twitching hands remain at his side. I suddenly feel triumphant. Empowered. Untouchable like a video game adventurer who has covered himself with a secret elixir and can now go through the sea of zombies unscathed.

  “I show you something?” he says.

  Perhaps I have spoken too soon. I immediately turn wary. Is he going to take out his dick and ask me to suck it? It has happened. Not that I mind sucking dick, of course. But still, I’m not digging the whole ‘I’ll let you pee if you suck my cock’ thing.

  He thumps his chest. “Mansk.”

  “Huh?” Is he trying to tell me something?

  “I . . . Mansk.”

  Oh, that’s his name.

  “Hi, Mansk,” I say cautiously.

  “You?” he inquires.

  “Gina.”

  “Geena.” He savors my name. “Beautiful. Like you.”

  “Thank you.”

  I’m a tad nervous about where this conversation is heading. I’d rather he just order me to get down on the toilet seat and fuck the hell out of me. At least that way, I’ll know where I stand (a.k.a. sex doll).

  “Gina, I show you something.” He whips out his cellphone from his pocket.

  I brace myself.

  He presses ‘Play’ on what is obviously a recorded video. He holds the screen up for me to look.

  At first, I frown, wondering where this is heading. The images seem to be taken in some sort of warehouse. A naked man is being held against the wall by two unseen people. He is crying. In shock, I recognize him as my groom from the auction, the one who made me kneel before him to suck his cock just before I went on stage.

  My heart squelches.

  Why is he showing me this?

  My groom’s face is splotchy and bloody, suggesting that he has been beaten several times. Then the camera dips down to focus on his penis. Even as I watch in horror, unable to tear my eyes away, a gloved hand seizes his limp cock. It holds the appendage aloft, pulling it to its full length even though it is not in tumescence. And then a quick flash passes down the screen – metal catching the artificial light – and suddenly, the cock is a bloody stump.

  The screaming carries over the recorded sound compressors and I clasp my hands over my mouth. I feel like screamin
g myself.

  The guard explains, “He touch you.”

  My body is shaking.

  I find my voice. “B-but he’s my groom. He’s allowed to touch me.”

  “But you own by Potchenko.”

  “No! He touched me before Potchenko bought me. He wasn’t to know.” Tears spring to my eyes. That groom wasn’t pleasant to me, but he didn’t deserve this fate.

  Mansk shrugs.

  “Potchenko command. We obey.”

  I shrink from him. If I was terrified before, nothing compares to the ice cold chill that runs in my veins now. And to think that this man . . . this Potchenko who callously orders the dismemberment of someone not from his country . . . will be my master.

  What would he do to Max and Greg? Max is my boyfriend and Greg has fucked me a couple of times, albeit under forced conditions. Is that why he bought both Max and Greg? Now I know why Mansk is treating me with kid gloves. It’s because I’m someone else’s private property. Someone who will maim and mutilate anyone else who would dare touch me.

  And I’m trapped in a private jet forty thousand feet above the Atlantic with him.

  My screams ring out silently in the cavern of my skull.

  3

  I think I must have fallen asleep, because when I wake up, Max’s arms are around me. For a moment, I’m disorientated, and then I remember where I am.

  “Don’t touch me!” I wriggle out of Max’s grasp as though he is made of fire.

  He stares at me. “It’s all right, Gina.”

  I’ve told them both about what happened to my groom, of course. But Max is not taking it seriously.