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Prologue
    

The door closed behind her with a chilling clang.  She stood back for a moment to behold
her first victim, trembling as he hung naked in chains before her. Her rage and hatred
were palpable. In her heart, all of the causes of her resentment were helpless before her.
The wild desperation and horror in his eyes was joyous unto hers. He knew what he had
done: that which she had forbidden.
    Her anger suddenly made way for the most powerful sense of arousal. The feeling
confused her as the bullwhip in her hand unfurled and fell to the floor. 
    As her victim saw the tip of the thick leather python touch the ground, he closed his
eyes as a murmur of terror involuntarily fell from his lips. 
    She re-curled the whip and stepped over to a desk to her left and rested the vicious
weapon upon the surface before turning back to him.
    Slowly, he opened his eyes once more and saw her stepping towards him in her long
black robe. It was as though death itself had come to claim him. A sinister expression
came across her hardened looks as she came closer. She was savouring the moment with the
subtle hint of a cruel smile edging from the corner of her mouth. She noticed the
protrusion of flesh which hung humbly between his thighs and she pondered whether or not
she should reach out to touch it – to make him turgid once more – a reminder of why he was
about to experience the very worst that she could inflict upon him. She knew how urgently
he had needed to do what he had done and the force which had attacked his loins as it was
beginning to attack her own in that moment. All of her hatred fell as a cascade from her
heart and into her pudenda, drawing a gasp of passion from her throat. In that moment, she
knew that she was in her own paradise – a place where all that she could have ever wished
for had come together in that room. Her revenge, her desire, her beautiful young victim
and the power…finally, the power!
    She wanted him to suffer so badly and yet she knew that he was an innocent inasmuch
as her demands were cruelty in themselves.  It wasn’t about him. It was about her and her
compulsion to exorcise her demons at the expense of others.
    As her eyes lingered upon him, her life momentarily flashed before her eyes as is
said occurs in the instant before death. As the memories flew before her, all of the
circumstances which had led her to that moment came together as the pieces of a jigsaw.
Everything that she had been denied in life – was finally hers. 
    
    And she was going to relish every moment of it.

Chapter One
    
    
Three days earlier...

Kirnan, Turkey, August, 1954
    
    Anja Danesti was an attractive young woman, tall with long black hair tied into a bun
and the gentlest blue-grey eyes. She walked slowly towards Kirnan prison. A chill flowed
through her, despite the heat of the Turkish evening as she gazed upon the oppressive
structure.
    “Are you alright, my dear?” asked the tall, burley man who was holding two suitcases
behind her.
    She glanced back at him and smiled, warmly, “Of course. I was just taking it all
in.”
    The man smiled awkwardly as Anja continued to immerse herself in the spirit of her
new home. Kirnan prison was the habitation for, often, the very worst in society –
murderers, rapists, robbers and yet sometimes, mere pickpockets. Anja was aware of the
severe disciplinary regime, which was particularly brutal. The beating and flogging of
prisoners was commonplace and the healthiest of inmates were worked to exhaustion in the
rocky hills that surrounded the prison. 
    Such an environment was alien to Anja. She had been raised in Bucharest by her
servile mother and stern, disciplinarian father who was a respected diplomat. Having been
well educated, she had experienced the lifestyle of the privileged – a sharp contrast to
the peasant culture for which Romania was known.  Her family, descended from a faction of
the infamous Dracul bloodline, had always been associated with power and influence in
Romania. 
    As a child, Anja had been a quiet girl, very much lacking in self-confidence. She had
sought solace with a number of young men whom she had met at the schools she attended. She
had been carnal with many boys from an early age as she attempted to assuage her lack of
self-confidence by seeking approval from the opposite sex. This resulted in her father
forcing her to accompany him on many trips. He had not been able to abide the thought of
trusting his daughter to be left behind without his supervision.
    By the time Anja had turned twenty, the visits to Turkey with her father introduced
her to Hassan Sezer, the Governor of Kirnan prison. At thirty-nine years of age, Hassan
was a widower, his wife having died in childbirth when he was twenty-one. 
    There was a mutual attraction between Anja and Hassan from the outset. Bi-monthly
visits to Turkey had resulted in a courtship between Anja and Hassan developing. She
gradually learned how to speak Turkish, with their initial ability to communicate being
restricted to broken English. However, their body language was a dialect all of its own. 
    
    Anja had recently turned twenty-one. At the time of her arrival, she had not seen the
inside of the prison and had, consequently, never experienced the grim misery, which
filled its walls. To Anja’s eyes, the prison was a vision of terror. It was chilling and
yet, strangely – thrilling, to her. She couldn’t decide how she felt about looking upon
this place of punishment.
    Punishment, she thought to herself. What is it about that word?
    “You look troubled,” Hassan commented with a little concern.
	“I’m not troubled,” she reassured him. “Just…intrigued.”
    Hassan followed her gaze to the outer walls of the prison. “Well, let us go inside,
shall we?” he prompted her.
    Anja nodded and followed him towards the main gate. She could not explain why the
subtlest, almost unnoticeable smile involuntarily crept out from the corner of her mouth.
    Upon entering the building, Anja followed Hassan to the elevator door and ascended
with him to the front entrance of his living quarters. She noticed that the floor was
un-carpeted and cold. That can change, she thought to herself as she began to plan her own
comforts.
    Hassan opened the door to his living quarters and carried the cases through to his
bedroom. As Anja followed, she noticed how unkempt the environment was. It was clear that
he had obviously paid very little attention to his home. 
    This is disgusting, she thought having become accustomed to the opulent surroundings
of her home in Bucharest, but it has potential.
    As Hassan set down the heavy cases, Anja approached him with a seductive glint in her
eyes. His gaze lingered upon her erotic beauty. He took her into his arms and kissed her
passionately. As he did so, his penis began to swell immediately and he responded in a
predatory fashion, reaching down to unbuckle his pants. 
    Anja sensed the unmistakable impact of his tumescent prepuce as it sprung upwards to
strike her clothed, vaginal entrance. She reached down and gently caressed his throbbing
manhood as she broke away from their kiss. 
    “Not yet, Hassan,” she whispered. “Not yet.”