Free Shackled by the Dictator (BDSM Erotica) by Aphrodite Hunt

 
SHACKLED BY THE DICTATOR
     
    1
     
    Why does the very notion of being in Ursk
terrify me so?
    I think it’s because – like North Korea – no
one knows all that much about it. There’s an iron curtain
surrounding it from all geographical sides. No plane is even
allowed in its airspace without being shot down. There are many
speculations in journalistic articles, but few actual media
reports, if any. No one is ever invited there. And the only person
who has tried to write a book about his experiences there (after
escaping from it, of course) was murdered before he could finish in
a highly publicized case.
    So forgive me for being a teensy weensy bit
scared.
    Fuck that.
    I’m volcanically terrified. I’m over-the-top,
stratospherically, out-of-my-mind terrified. I’m so terrified I’m
practically quaking by the airplane window of Air Force Ursk.
    I’m strapped into my seat with Max and Greg
beside me. We are all naked. I have been in planes before, but it
still feels weird to land on uncharted foreign soil with my bare
buttocks in contact with the scratchy cushion.
    Below us, the mysterious land of Ursk sprawls
like a lush, verdant carpet. I feel like I’m entering a version of
the Forbidden Planet. I peer out of the window, trying to count the
trees. OK, that’s foolish. I might as well try to count the hellish
sheep in the nightmares I’ve been having ever since I knew I was
coming here. I spy a steeple here, glinting red roofs there, a
dome-shaped building somewhere else, and a scatter of terracotta
houses.
    No skyscrapers anywhere, but then, why would
they need skyscrapers when most of the population has been thrown
into prisons for dissent, right?
    Imagine. I’m one of the first people from the
Western Hemisphere to cross the border to Ursk. I can write a book
about this when I get out. TIME magazine would want to interview
me. So would Larry King. I’ll be the most famous sex slave
alive.
    If I ever get out of Ursk, that is. And if
rumor serves us correct, it’s going to take a helluva more than a
stamp on my passport to pass ‘Border Exit’.
    My hand grips the armrests as the plane
descends with a piteous whine. Max senses my consternation and
grasps the back of my hand.
    “Relax,” he murmurs, “you’re going to be
fine.”
    Easy for you to say that. You’ve got a
billionaire daddy to bail you out.
    Greg is seated on Max’s other side. The
furrow in his brow denotes that he is deep in concentration. I like
Greg a lot. In fact, I think I may like him a whole lot more than
‘a lot’. But my feelings are all topsy-turvy and runny like a
half-boiled egg when it comes to Greg, especially since I have a
boyfriend who is gorgeous and golden and rich and who loves me
every bit as much as I love him. So I can’t deal with my Greg
preoccupation right now.
    It doesn’t help that Greg is engaged to be
married to Alice, Max’s bratty older sister with whom he had an
incestuous relationship.
    I know. We’re so majorly fucked up.
    The plane’s wheels touch the tarmac of the
landing strip. We jostle and bump in our seats. If there’s a
commercial airport in Ursk, I can’t really see it. This is more
like a private airfield. The never-ending trees line the strip like
quivering sentient watchtowers.
    Shit, shit, shit. I’m not prepared for
this.
    The plane screeches to a halt. No one comes
for us, and so we have no choice but to stay put in our seats.
    “Do we get up?” I say anxiously.
    “Do you want to risk getting spanked?” Greg
says.
    Spanking, I can handle. It’s the other
unknown factors that we have yet to uncover as strangers in this
strange land.
    After a while, Mansk and a couple of guards
come along.
    “Get up,” Mansk orders.
    We unbuckle our seat belts and straighten
ourselves. I notice the cold gleam of metal in Mansk’s hands.
    “Stand,” he says to me.
    I obey, my body shivering slightly. He is
very close to me and I can smell his man musk – natural, without
aftershave. I