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The Entrapment of Natasha by Jack Norman Ebook ordering Cover Image (c) Copyright 2005 by Samarel www.samarelart.com

Willing To Pay A Premium Price by Jack Norman, Bdsm
In the quest for the perfect female for Prince Abul, there is much to be considered, for the Prince has very particular tastes in women, as revealed in a rough scene with a lovely Countess.

Copyrighted © 2005, all rights reserved.  

The Prince surveyed the delectable naked women in the room. Apparently unabashed by their nudity, some were dancing while others chatted and laughed with male companions. Mehmed’s deep brown orbs flitted cursorily over the dark-haired women, sumptuous as they were, but they rested with more interest on each of the fair-haired girls in the room.

“I’m willing to pay a premium price for the right woman.”

The Grand Master waved a signal to Countess Demitriev. She flashed a smile of acknowledgement and immediately made her way across the room. Karina Demitriev was a petite and voluptuous beauty with olive skin and black hair. She wore a turquoise, silk mask encrusted with precious stones and a head-dress of exotic feathers. A leather collar with a metal ring was locked about her throat. Otherwise, she was naked and the full soft globes of her breasts and the luscious flare of her hips were well presented.

“This gentleman is seeking to buy a suitable consort,” the Grand Master said without bothering to introduce her.  “He wishes to meet eligible, well-bred Russian ladies.”

“An unsullied, young, blonde woman of aristocratic breeding who has blue eyes and some flesh on her bones,” Mehmed said, pushing back the hood of his robe and raising his mask.

The Prince laid a hand on her right breast, and his finger circled her nipple. The Countess’ red lips parted in surprise, and she was about to speak. The Grand Master smiled. “Simply arrange for the Prince to inspect suitable women, my dear,” he said. 

The Countess inclined her head, but she sniffed angrily.  Her ire was not missed by Mehmed. She waited for him to remove his hand from her breast and then she gave a small curtsy, saying, “If you will excuse me, sir, I will make some arrangements.”

“I do not seek the woman for myself, you understand,” the Prince said as he watched the Countess walk away. “The blonde woman I seek is for my elder brother.  I am merely acting on his behalf in the matter. I personally much prefer ladies of a darker colouring.”

The Grand Master saw that the Prince watched the swaying bottom of the Countess with some interest as she wandered amongst the guests, pausing here and there to whisper to several young, blonde women.

A rank of six voluptuous women knelt in the Billiards Room. Their masks had been removed. Countess Karina Demitriev, masked and superior, strode along the line, critically inspecting the nude beauties.  The women inhaled as one when the door opened, and the Grand Master entered with Prince Mehmed.    

“Prime flesh, these,” the Grand Master said.

Karina Demitriev moved to the head of the line of women. She turned to the first of them, a well-curved girl with ash blonde hair and quietly said, “Crawl forward.”

The young woman obeyed without demur, moving to kneel before the black-robed and hooded Prince. She spread her legs and placed her hands behind her head.  Her fair pubic bush barely hid the plump lips of her sex. She thrust her hips forward before his eyes.   The Prince squatted in front of the girl, and she flinched a little when he reached forward to delicately part the fleshy lobes and rub his finger along her slit.  She gave out but a small murmur when the digit entered her cunt, but otherwise, endured this probing inspection of her charms. 

She felt his other hand upon her right breast, teasing the nipple to strong prominence as he rolled it between thumb and forefinger.  Her moist sex closed around his invading digit, and she involuntarily moved her hips forward as the pad of his thumb expertly massaged her engorged clitoris. A rose-blush suffused her cheeks, spreading down over her shoulders to the soft orbs of her white breasts.

“A responsive slut,” Mehmed murmured, tweaking her nipple before withdrawing his hands.  The young woman, her hands still clasped behind her neck, averted her gaze.

Prince Mehmed pushed back the sleeves of his robe and reached to cup the pendant breasts in the palms of his hands. He ran his hands over her flanks.  His fingers tested the softness on the inside of her thighs. She gave out small gasps. His examination was thorough. He had her positioned on hands and knees, and he even spread her fleshy buttocks to probe the tiny puckered rose there. Then he patted her bottom to send her scurrying back to her place in the line of nude, kneeling women.

“Next,” Karina said as another nude, blonde girl immediately crawled forward.

The discarded beauty knelt, again placing her hands behind the back of her neck. She had been well-trained. Her full breasts were nicely raised, nipples tight and throbbing. She watched as the handsome young man deftly examined the next woman who shamelessly offering her breasts for his cupped hands, straining up on her knees and thrusting out her loins with the slit of her sex visible through the flaxen thatch.  Eventually, though, the Prince summarily slapped the girl’s soft white buttocks to send her crawling away.

When the Prince had examined all six women, he turned to the Countess, saying, “They are exquisite creatures!”

“Thank you, sir.”

“None of them will do.”

The Countess was taken aback. “May I ask why, sir?” she enquired.

“Ruined, every last one of them,” the Prince said. “They are simply upper-class whores. My requirements are very precise, and I thought I’d made myself clear. I seek a young, healthy, well-bred virgin who is totally fresh and unsullied.”

“Never fear. We shall provide such a woman,” the Grand Master said.

“And I require a woman who will enter the contract of her own free-will.”

Later that evening, in another annex adjacent to the Banqueting Room, Prince Mehmed sipped brandy and smoked a fine cigar as he chatted to his host, Count Andrei Demitriev.

The Count was a self-made man, one of a new breed of industrialists who was emerging in Imperial Russia at that time. Andrei Demitriev was very wealthy but nouveau riche, his title only recently conferred.  Patronage by The Society had great benefits for such men.

“Nothing here to suit you?” Demitriev asked bluntly, surveying the scenes of revelry through the open door and hardly taking time to look at the Prince.  “I’d have thought you confident enough to control and arouse women like these.”

The Grand Master hastily intervened, saying, “His Highness is a valued patron, Andrei. The Russian woman he seeks is to be a consort for his brother, the Crown Prince, rather than for himself. Also, he needs a virgin.”

“Good God!” the Count chuckled. “Well, in that case, he may care to choose a woman for himself, at least for the evening. We won’t have any virgins to offer, I’ll be bound, but I dare say there’s a slut here who is eager to take the cock of a Prince, even if it is black.”

Prince Mehmed smiled, but his eyes were cold. The Grand Master inhaled with an angry hiss. A frisson of fraught tension had suddenly descended. Prince Mehmed fixed his gaze upon the Countess Demitriev. She blanched and instinctively lowered her eyes. The rise and fall of her full breasts betrayed her quickened breathing.

The Prince offered his fingers to the Countess’s mouth and, initially nonplussed, after a slight hesitation, she leaned forward decorously to kiss them. Andrei Demitriev grunted with anger. Karina lowered her masked eyes, but she licked her lips in a kittenish manner. Mehmed smiled.

“My compliments, indeed, to the host,” Mehmed said, raising his glass to Count Demitriev before reaching forward to gently caress the Countess’s belly.

Despite the fact that her husband watched, the Countess did not protest as the Prince handled her intimately and with assurance.

“We keep our women shorn and smooth,” Mehmed declared haughtily as his fingers probed within the prolific dark thatch at her loins.

Karina’s breathing had noticeably quickened, and her hips squirmed slightly as the Prince’s fingers worked into her womanhood.  Her nipples were hard and erect and the magnificent breasts rose and fell quickly.    

“Ah!” the Prince said, withdrawing his glistening fingers from her slit. “I do believe that I have aroused your wife, sir.”

He offered his hand to the woman’s lips, and this time, rather than kiss his fingers; she obediently took them into her mouth, sucking deeply. Andrei Demitriev huffed with obvious anger, but otherwise, he remained silent.

The Grand Master smiled, drew himself to attention, and smartly bowed with a Germanic click of his heels. “Your Highness,” he whispered, “the Countess has duties tomorrow and should not be incapacitated.  That apart, enjoy.”

“If you will excuse us,” Mehmed said, offering his arm to the naked Countess. “We have things to discuss.”

The Count exhaled in anger as he watched the swarthy prince imperiously ushering his wife from the room.  “Arrogant little bastard!” he snarled.  

The Grand Master eyed Count Demitriev darkly. His trim moustache twitched as he said, “That fellow is a Prince of the Ottoman Empire, Andrei. His father is Sultan Abdulhamid, and Mehmed may yet succeed to the throne.  Furthermore, he has placed a significant commission with the Society, and he’ll be accorded the same privileges as any other patron.”

The Countess moved silently ahead of Prince Mehmed, looking to neither left nor right. They ascended the stone stairway situated at the rear of the house, away from the glitter and style of the public areas.  Here, the grey-black granite walls were bare, unadorned by plaster or décor, lit only by flickering oil lamps. The softer stone beneath their feet was worn into a shallow dimple in the centre of each stair tread, abraded by countless feet over many centuries. Unbidden, Karina turned left at the head of the stairs, away from the servants quarters.  The narrow corridor was guarded by a lone valet, and he stepped aside, displaying no surprise as the Countess approached, naked.

Mehmed paused briefly to whisper to the valet then moved on without awaiting an answer, reaching into his pocket for a coin which he flipped over his shoulder for the man to catch. Although a small and commonplace action, it bespoke both the utter confidence of youth and the arrogance of absolute privilege.

Along the corridor, around a sharp corner, a stout door was already slightly ajar. Karina pushed it open and stepped into the cell-like room, halting, standing perfectly straight, and the palms of her hands flat on her thighs. Mehmed produced a black blindfold from his pocket and deftly, expertly, tied it around her head, covering the eye-holes of her mask.  The Countess gave only the smallest murmur of surprise and then settled, sucking in her gut and thrusting out her magnificent breasts. 

Mehmed smiled and stepped aside, allowing a second figure to silently enter the room.  The newcomer nodded.  He was a man of similar age, colouring, and features. Indeed, at a quick glance, the fellow could easily have been mistaken for Mehmed, but he had thinner features, and he seemed somehow more intense. This was Crown Prince Abdul, heir to the Ottoman Empire, Mehmed’s half-brother. He displayed none of Mehmed’s soft, easy, decadent, and arrogant affability.  The difference would mark these two princes apart for the remainder of their lives. Even as Abdul stroked the Countess’s bare shoulders with the very tips of his long, sensitive fingers, he seemed nervously tight and coiled.

Mehmed quietly settled back in a chair, watching. His brother stripped off his clothing to reveal a slender and slightly stooped physique. When Prince Abdul turned, his penis hung semi-limp but the beginnings of engorgement made it seem large. He looked down at his member and then across at Mehmed, who responded by smiling encouragingly as the Prince led the unseeing Karina to a rough, wooden platform in the centre of the room.

Abdul pushed her atop the harsh planks. She lay quietly, co-operating as he spread her, strapping first her wrists to separate corners and then her ankles.   Mehmed saw her muscles tense as she raised herself slightly, lifting her bottom from the wood and arching her back while testing the tightness of her bonds. There was little play there and, anyway, her attention was already diverted as the fellow snapped a small, toothed clamp about her right nipple, making her gasp. She was ready for the matching clamp on her left nipple and controlled her response.  However, she was unprepared for the cut of the crop that Abdul viciously struck with deliberate force onto the distended and tightened flesh of her belly.  Her scream echoed around the room. Abdul struck the Countess again across the top of her thighs and, as she screeched, Abdul looked down at his cock.  The half-turgid cock flesh bobbed and rose slightly. He folded his hand about it as he watched the writhing Countess.  Prince Abdul continued to handle his penis, alternately pressing and pulling on the pliant flesh. He carefully laid a third cruel stroke upon the sobbing woman, this time precisely angling his strike to follow the hollow where her thigh joined her body. Mehmed watched impassively, feeling his own manhood stirring strongly. 

Abdul walked slowly around the platform, stopping beside Countess Karina Demitriev’s head.  He leaned to rub the head of his flaccid cock against her lips. Her tongue flicked out to lick it and pulled a slender strand of mucous from the tip.  He lashed the crop against the soft underside of her breasts, and Karina’s head flailed wildly from side to side, making his weeping cock wipe slickly against her face.  However, when he removed his hand from the member, it was still only semi-erect. 

Then he moved around to the other side and reached down below the platform.  There, on a shelf, amongst variety of objects, he found an ebony dildo which was expertly carved with highly-ridged veins and a bulbous glans with large twin balls like a giant peach at the end of the thick stem.  Prince Mehmed rubbed his cock in anticipation as he watched his half-brother press the head of the dildo into the cleft at the furred apex of the Countess’ widely spread legs.  He saw her bottom squirm as the cold, carved wood nuzzled against her wet cunt flesh, straining her thighs wider in anticipation of accommodating the object.   Mehmed reflected that it was a blessing she could not see its size.  With little preliminary, Abdul pushed and twisted the phallus.  Karina gave out a low groan, emanating from somewhere between pleasure and pain. The Prince was relentless, heedless of her moans, impaling her, pushing until the rounded balls were nestling against her cruelly spread nether lips. 

Thirty minutes later, the Countess lay naked upon the platform, still sightless within the blindfold. She was breathless and perspiring from the curious ministrations he had wrought upon her body. Yet still, his cock had not entered her or used her.  

Abdul lifted himself to a sitting position and glanced down at his dormant penis. He looked down upon the woman. Then he took a lock of her long, black hair, allowing the glossy tress to trail between his dark, long, and slender fingers, its deep colour contrasting against the pale, inner flesh of his palm.  He opened his hand, fingers outstretched, allowing the hair to fall, dishevelled, upon on her face.  His hand remained hovering above her, still open, as if in disdain, maybe even in disgust. 

After some seconds, he swung his legs from the bed and looked to Mehmed, making a despairing gesture that conveyed both frustration and deep anger.  Mehmed gave a sign to encourage his brother, but Abdul merely shook his head and rose to his feet.

“Your highness?” the Countess said, raising her head slightly, her voice feeling in the dark, aware that he had left her.

Abdul did not answer. Instead, he went to sit on a nearby chair, cradling his forehead in his hands.  Prince Mehmed sighed and rose to his feet, quickly and quietly stripping off his own clothing, all the while gazing upon the beautiful naked Countess.  His own cock was already fiercely tumescent. He approached Karina and went directly behind her head.  

Mehmed reached to place his hand under Karina’s chin, forcing her head back until her long, white throat was stretched and exposed. Then he placed the throbbing weapon against her lips.  She obviously understood and strained to open her lips and take in the girth. He was not kind, of course, as he thrust deeply, pausing to massage her exposed throat and squeezing it around his cock.  She gagged slightly, but not overly so. Countess Karina Demitriev was well-trained and experienced in giving such service.  Mehmed’s buttocks slowly pistoned back and forth.  Even as he fucked her throat, he leaned to release first one of her wrists and then the other.  When he eased back, Karina, spluttering somewhat, placed slender, white fingers around the stem of flesh as she sucked upon the glans.

After some minutes, he withdrew and walked to the foot of the platform where her ankles were still fastened and widely spread.  Leaning forward and over her, he took hold of her arms, pulling her to an upright sitting position.  She groaned, doubtless feeling the dildo moving inside her. With a smile, he hoisted the Countess forward, doubling her body so that her breasts touched against the wood between her legs.  With a final yank, he pulled her, head over heels, off the platform. The Countess was suddenly hanging by her ankles, still secured to the corners of the platform, face down, her legs widely splayed, back arched, supporting herself as best she could on outstretched arms, palms spread on the cold tiles of the floor.  

Mehmed picked up the crop and laid it sharply across her buttocks. Her ensuing screaming convulsion caused the dildo to slip half its length from the wet glove of her distended vagina.  The Prince reached to take the thick ebony rod from her cunt.  It glistened in the low light. He lashed the crop down on the taut back of her thighs, and Karina’s screech was piercing and shrill.   Abdul looked up briefly, and Mehmed offered him the crop in a silent gesture.  The other merely shook his head and looked down, resuming his morose posture.  Mehmed shrugged and placed the glistening head of the dildo between Karina’s buttocks, forcing the cheeks apart.  She seemed to understand his intent and bucked her body in protest.  However, he found the puckered mouth and pressed the dildo insistently.  The Countess began to pant quickly and deeply.  The tight ring of muscle relaxed somewhat and the glans-shaped ebony dildo slowly opened the circle ever wider until it eventually slid into her.  Her anus was so widely distended that it seemed unlikely it could stretch any further without tearing.  She moaned and raised her bottom, presumably trying to facilitate a less painful angle of access. Presently, the giant balls nestled hard between the cheeks of arse.

Mehmed then stepped over into the space between her outstretched legs. Without further ado, he thrust his rampant cock into her cunt. He bucked and groaned. He could feel the hard dildo pressing through the thin wall of her inner flesh as he grasped the balls and twisted the shaft. Karina Demetrievich went wild at that point. She screeched and clawed at the floor, pumping her bottom frantically.  Mehmed was uncertain whether it was in pain or ecstasy.  He took his pleasure at a leisurely pace, working upon the straining, sobbing woman until her cunt was awash with their combined juices and small droplets of sweat dripped regularly from the tips of her swaying breasts.  Finally, he left her. She was still blindfolded, still tied and slung by her raised ankles, her torso slumped on the floor.

Mehmed and Abdul, royal Princes of the Ottoman Empire, both collected up their clothing and silently dressed.  They walked away without exchanging a single word.  Only when they were in the privacy of Abdul’s room, did they speak.  “She was dark haired,” Abdul said. “I despise women with dark hair. The hair at her groin…”

“Yes,” said Mehmed. “I know.”

“Then why did you choose her for me?”

“It amused me. I thought a Russian Countess might excite you.”

“No,” Abdul said, sitting upon the bed.

“No,” Mehmed said. “Never fear, brother, my agents are already seeking a willing blonde, blue-eyed, aristocratic, young woman.” 

“You really think she exists, Mehmed?”

“Abdul, my brother, as you well know, many blonde, blue eyed women exist. Some of them are even aristocrats. Almost any one of them would satisfy our father’s ambitions for you. However, we seek that rare virginal creature to inflame your passion and provide healthy sons.” 

“Where will you find a suitable woman?” Count Demitriev asked, dabbing his perspiring brow with a white silk handkerchief. He had listened, unimpressed, as the quaintly-garbed Grand Master outlined the Prince’s proposal.

The Grand Master’s eyes gazed unseeingly across the large room. Something had resonated in the various snatches of conversation he had endured throughout the evening. The flighty Olga Petrova, in the shallowness of youth, giggling and saying, “…. I shall return to Moscow to join my family before his funeral. My sister, Natasha, will be our sole representative.” 

It had started a train of thought and made him recall an occasion some weeks previously. 

The nude, young woman turned in fitful sleep. The Grand Master exhaled in approval as her plump right breast tumbled slowly to the side, its honey-coloured nipple pert and erect.  She slept restlessly atop the quilt on the four-poster bed having disdained the cover of even a cotton sheet.  Her long, golden hair, framing her pale face on the pillow, was rather lighter in shade than the thatch her groin revealed by the careless spread of her legs in the abandon of sleep.

 “What’s her name?” asked the Grand Master, gazing through the two-way mirror.

“Natasha Petrova, sir. We already have her younger sister, Olga, and her cousin, Anna.”

“Indeed? And does Natasha know of the wantonness of her close relatives?”

“We are told not, sir.”

“Very well. Acquire her!”

“It will take time.”

“Do it,” the Grand Master said.

“Yes, do it!” the Grand Master mused.  “Natasha Petrova… sole representative.”

“What?” the Count asked.

“Do you recall that voluptuous, young woman who accompanied Anna Petrova to the Castle some months ago? Her name is Natasha Petrova. We already own her younger sister, Olga.”

“And Anna?

“A cousin, I believe. They are all related in some way. Who knows or cares? That family produces some excellent fillies, I’ll own that much.”

“Pietr Petrova,” Andrei Demitriev said with a grim smile as he sipped his brandy. “They’re burying him tomorrow, of course.  Sad business. I seem to recall that Anna Petrova escaped us.”

“Escape? Anna Petrova? There is no escape!” the Grand Master said. “With her father dead, the way is clear for us to reclaim her.”