Lola 2

“For what?”

“Depending on how well you perform, you could become Count Vronsky—straight out of Anna Karenina.” She laughed, doubting that I caught her literary allusion. I learned later she’d taken her fictitious surname from the dashing count in Leo Tolstoy’s novel.

“I’d like being a count.”

“In title only. If you pass my test, praise me for using you shamelessly.”

“You know, I’m crazy about aggressive women, but your conceit is grating on me.”

“Are you man enough to take it?”

What a double bind! She framed our relationship so craftily I had to prove my masculinity by wimping out! And her beauty fueled my passion to drop to my knees.

A knock at the door preceded a young voice. “Room service.”

The Countess filched my wallet from my inside coat pocket. Her leather-clad, luscious body brushed mine, disabling me from resisting her brassy theft.

She removed two fifty-dollar bills from my thick wallet, as deftly as if she were bare-handed, on her way to the door. She handed the cash to the young man. “Something for you.”

His eyes opened wide. “Thank you!”

“Remember: You delivered two bottles of vodka to this man. I wasn’t here.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

She took the bottles from the cart. “Don’t set the table. I’ll undo this rich, horny John so fast he won’t know what hit him.” Her kiss caused an instant erection and red face.

While the aroused hotel worker wheeled the cart away, the Countess closed the door and put my wallet on the dresser. “Let’s play strip-drinking. Take a drink for each article of clothing you remove.”

I reached for her.

“Not my clothing,” she chided. “Remove your tie.” She opened the bottle before my tie left my collar and poured vodka into my mouth before my albatross hit the floor.

Stripping while getting drunk invites getting shafted, and the Countess already had me by the groin. While I removed my jockey shorts, she took the chocolate piece from the turned down sheet on the bed. Her dexterity in unwrapping it with her gloves on amazed me. When she swallowed, the treat symbolized my will, immersed in her pleasure.

Besotted with her and with vodka, I stood nakedly vulnerable.

The balled up the foil wrapper and tossed it in my face. “Lie down, supine.”

I stood motionless, defiant.

“That means on your back.” She pushed me backwards, gently, and I reclined.

“I know what supine means. I just couldn’t believe your gall.”

She retrieved her large bag from the dresser and placed it on the floor. Taking out two pairs of handcuffs, she locked my left wrist to the center of the headboard of the king size bed and my left ankle to the center of the footboard.

“What are you doing?” The position seemed odd.

“I’m doing you,” she admitted. “Now I can flip you over and keep you on the bed.” She wiggled her panties down and stepped out of them. Stooping to pick them up, she said, “I learned this from Sable, who saw Sigourney Weaver do it in a movie.” Stuffing her panties into my mouth, she smiled, “That should keep you quiet.”

When she stooped to her bag, I reached for her panties from my mouth.

Before I could them, she placed an object against my chest. Electricity coursed through me, and I convulsed wildly. For several seconds, I was incapacitated. “Stun gun.” Her arch smile celebrated her power over me. “Don’t make me use it again.”

I shook my head no.

Placing a tape player on the bedside table, she explained, “I’d prefer listening to tapes of me playing the organ. But this is saxophone music: very Xiomitic and sexy.”

My gaze into her eyes amounted to nonverbal begging.

“People in the adjoining rooms will think we’re making love. They will be wrong.” She flipped out a camera phone, took several pictures of me, and texted a message. “Just letting Liomi know what you’re up to. These pictures should amuse her—and provide grounds for divorce.”

Liomi would never divorce me, but I reached for the panties again.

The Countess zapped me. “I will ruin you. Lie back and enjoy it. I know I will.”

Turning up the volume on the music, she punched me in the right eye sharply. Her gloved fist shot into my left eye. She formed two circles with her index finger and her thumb of each hand and placed the circles on her eyes, forecasting my black eyes.

I’d endure her cold, precise jabs all night for eyes like hers, lined with burgundy instead of purplish-black. Punching my nose repeatedly, she ran her index finger under my nostrils and displayed her bloody, gloved finger to showcase her cruelty.

Inexplicably, she leaned down and pressed her wet lips hard against mine, sucking and moving her lips until I kissed her back desperately, madly hoping she cared for me after beating me savagely.

I wrapped my free arm around her back to pull her closer. Totally disregarding her sadism, I yearned to embrace her and show I was still enamored with her—or lusting for her. Both, actually.

When she rose, our lips parted. I leaned up, trying to reach her with my lips.

She jerked free and clipped my chin with a roundhouse right. While I remained half-raised, dazed, and stupidly craving affection, she punched me with a wide left and laughed in my face.

Countess Vronsky’s tease and denial exceeded any sadism I’d ever seen.

She coolly flipped open her camera phone, took more pictures, and texted them to Nikki. Placing her camera phone on the bedside table, she retrieved a whip from her bag and turned me over. The Countess’s facial expression and demeanor seemed frozen at absolute-zero, a cryogenic sculpture chiseled into my mind. She personified fire and ice.

Her fist punished, but her whip cut like a blade, torturing me with sheer impact and ripping my skin. Even while the pain sliced through me, my raw emotions turned my cock into a rigid rod. Countess Vronsky’s whip lashed every inch of my back, stinging me into sexual arousal, moving down to my buttocks, piquing my lust in steady escalation, ripping my thighs, and raining shots back up to my ass.

She playfully snapped her whip in my anus, and pre-cum oozed out of my cock. Astounded at her lashing talents, I passively let her flip me over and stroke my cock vigorously, twice. I started to cum.

Diabolically, she straddled my penis with her middle and index fingers just behind the glans penis, simultaneously pushing up on the underside with her thumb. My cock went flat.

I wept, afraid her deflation might inflict permanent impotence. To allay my fear, she pumped my cock back to life—and collapsed it to underscore her tyranny over me.

She lowered the music. “Having fun yet?” Now her face blazed with sadistic lust.

Cowed by her stranglehold on me, I nodded my head yes.

She glanced at the clock radio on the bedside table. “Just about now, Lola Xiomi is fucking your wife for one million dollars.”

I jerked upright, incredulous.

“Lola screws all her rich-bitch girlfriends on their birthdays, including Sable, and convinces each gullible bimbo she’s the only one.” The Countess slithered off a glove. “Lola insists the money only adds to the decadence of their debauchery.” She removed her other glove. “But she’s never given a discount or refund, much less a free ride.”

I pointed to my lips, and she pulled her panties out of my mouth. “Please let me talk. I won’t scream. Did Liomi take money from my account to pay Mrs. Xiomi?”

The Countess unzipped her dress. “Draw your own conclusions!”

“So, Liomi has made love to Mrs. Xiomi every year since we’ve been married!”

Countess Vronsky nodded yes. “Always on Liomi’s birthday and other special occasions, depending on their schedules.” She wiggled out of her dress. “But tonight Lola will demand Liomi’s pledge that she loves Mrs. Xiomi—to convince Liomi she doesn’t need any man.”

“Liomi wouldn’t fall for that.”

From her bag the Countess Vronsky pulled a dildo with a head on each end. Inserting the smaller head into her vagina, she gave smiled archly. “Those pictures I sent Liomi will convince her she doesn’t need you.”

“You’re in on this?”

“Ivey, you’re so fucked up.” She turned me over on my belly and secured my right wrist to the bed with yet another pair of handcuffs. “And you’re about to be just plain fucked. Do exactly as I command and I may grant you the privilege of coming to live with me in Russleder.”

“Out of the question. Why are you destroying my marriage?”

“Making sure you’re available.” She shackled my right ankle to the footboard with a fourth pair of handcuffs. Stuffing her panties back in my mouth, she leaned over to move the clock radio to the floor, revealing a video camera mounted on a small tripod on the bedside table. “Smile for the camera.” She thrust hard into me.

Her brutal invasion jolted me, underscoring her dominance from the first stroke. Each agonizing jab inspired hope that my suffering might earn her affection. She could have whatever she wanted. She’d trapped me between the crosscurrents of her cruelty and sensuality.

She rode me so hard I started cumming, humping the bed, wanting to proclaim my slavery to her. Her panties stuffed in my mouth kept me from babbling my adoration, temporarily saving me from myself.

Jutting her pelvis so hard she forced my ass into the air, Countess Vronsky said to the camera, “This is for you, Nikki.” She jabbed me harder and harder, manipulating her end of the dildo to treat herself to several orgasms.

Her delighted squeals and grunts taunted my imprisonment in frustration but fulfilled me in a peculiar, unfathomable way. Gratification rippled through me because she made me her instrument to pleasure herself. Her crass abuse gave me a meaningful function in her life.

Reaching under my belly to milk me—at least she drained me, even though her method humiliated me—the Countess pumped me until I couldn’t give any more. I strained as hard as I could, just to keep her hand on my cock. She kissed me on the cheek and dismounted. Dressing quickly, she demanded, “Look at me!”

I turned my head as far as possible over my left shoulder while she slithered her hands into her gloves. Stuffing her whip back into her bag, she hoisted the strap to her shoulder and returned to the dresser.

Her arrogant smile provoked me with lust and anger while she picked my wallet clean and slid all the bills into her bag. Blowing me a kiss, she exited and closed the door.

*****

Early the next morning, Mrs. Xiomi sauntered into my room, locked the door, and taunted, “You seem to have gotten yourself into quite a predicament.” She stood there in her black dress, even shinier than leather or satin, leather-gloved hands planted on her hips, and a fur stole around her neck and over her shoulders.