She penned her name with a flourish of her wrist, and a frown on her face.
“There, that’s the last of it. I agree to your terms.”
She was a pissed off as she had ever been in her life. Wanting to say “your fucking terms, she chose instead to reply in clipped, icy, polite tones. She had to ignore her racing, pounding heart, the shiver that danced up and down her spine, the sheen of sweat on her brow. There was simply had no other choice. She and Andrew were in debt up to their earlobes. Done with his excuses. Done with the affairs. Done with the lying. Done with him. Here they were, meeting with a friend of a friend of Andrews, and his outrageous solution to their problem. Where this guy had come from, she had no idea. He seemed much more civilized than his regular friends. His suit was impeccable. His manners, suave. Her soon-to-be-ex had many poker buddies. Yeah, right. Buddies indeed- guys who loved to take his money. He was such an easy target. He was a fucking idiot. They needed to sell the house, but their debt was bigger than any sale would handle.
She wanted that fucking divorce. His “friend’s friend” had a novel solution, to ‘sell’ her sexual services to him for a month. Thirty days of that service. She’d stay in his home, doing whatever he wanted…cooking, cleaning, and full-time sex slave. He could come home for lunch, and a fuck. He would do whatever he wanted to her, sexually, for that thirty days. In exchange, he would pay off all their debts, as well as her legal fees pertaining to the divorce.
Her jerk of a husband would find someone like that to bail them out. Fucking a-hole. She turned to Andrew, barely holding her sneer in check. Her voice was low, almost a feral growl.
“Happy, you bastard? When this is done, over, I never, ever want to see you again. And one more thing,” she said as she gathered up her purse and stood.
“What? We’re free, don’t you get that?” He almost whined at her.
“Geezuz. Grow some, man” she thought, disgust written all over her face. She couldn’t believe this was the man she’d married. Okay, she’d been 29 and a bit desperate. Afraid to be alone anymore. He’d never been her knight in shining armor, but this? This was just pathetic. She glared at him over her glasses.
“You suck in bed.”
Turning on her heel, she allowed her new ‘owner’ to escort her out the door. His hand quivered at her elbow, and she shot a look at him as they stepped outside.
He was laughing, the jerk.
“Just because you “own” me,” she said, making air quotes, “doesn’t give you the right to laugh at my misery. Or manhandle me.”
“Little girl, I’ve not begun to ‘manhandle…” he air quoted back to her in mocking fashion, “…you. And your misery? Well, depending on your point of view, it could be over. Or maybe, just begun I prefer to believe that you are far better off with me, than with that.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating Andrew, who had slouched out to the sidewalk, staring at them.
Her face was a mixture of fear and pissed. He wasn’t totally certain that she’d take off down the sidewalk. To forestall that, he took her elbow, steering her to his limo. His driver had already taken her bags from her soon-to-be-ex’s car, and loaded them inside. Not that she’d need that much clothing this month. He smiled to himself, picturing her outrage when he delivered that particular ultimatum.
She was feisty, and he did enjoy that in a submissive. And he had no doubt at all that he would bend her to his will. Thirty days was plenty of time.
He settled back into his seat. He took the bottle of champagne from the mini fridge beside him,, poured two flutes as the limo eased onto the highway, heading to his estate. Not his city apartment, but his country home. Very private. Very secluded. Secured, gated, he could fuck her on the front lawn, the back pond, or the roof, and not be seen by any prying neighborhood eyes. Not that he cared, much.
He passed the first flute to her. She thought about refusing it, he saw it in her eyes, but she took it at last. He tipped his rim to hers, and sipped.
“To thirty days,” he toasted.
She scowled at him.
“By the way, slut,” he said, enjoying the fast rush to color in her cheeks at his tone, his words, “take off your panties and pass them to me now.”
Her mouth fell open.
It wouldn’t be the last time.
She’d wanted to sit in silence and sulk. She was so terribly unhappy about this situation, and perhaps fearful, though the anger was drowning the fear for now.
She wasn’t allowed to sit and brood, however.
He drew her into conversation, about her work, her family, her likes and dislikes. All done so suavely she didn’t notice the passage of time. He was interesting to talk to and answered her questions with candor. She could almost imagine that they were sitting at a club, getting to know one another, a potential client, or a friend of her boss. Almost.
It was a long while before she noted that they were still driving. He told her of his estate in the country, his smile unworried as the frown slicked across her face like oil in a pond.
“Why?” She finally asked, interrupting his descriptions of his gardens.
Ah, at long last, that question! He was surprised she’d been able to resist asking it for as long as she had.
“Why?” He watched her face, wondering if she knew how expressive it was, how easily he could read her. Moving through anger, into fear mixed with curiosity.
“Because I wanted you.”
The bald statement staggered. She was in turn appalled and shocked and amazed. It had been a long while since her own husband had wanted her…and this…this stranger came out with it in the first 90 minutes of their having met?
“Wh-.” She stopped, reformulated. “How could you “want” me?” she asked, once more using air quotes which he found charming. He laughed, annoying her, and spurring her to the start of a tirade.
“Are you so hard up for a fuck that you just jumped on board for the opportunity to get a fucktoy? I find it hard to imagine, unless you have some terrible deformity…”
Again those amusing air quotes when she said the word “fucktoy.” He found her charmling amusing, yet He interrupted her rant by placing a hand over her mouth.
“No, little one, no deformity. Last Christmas you attended a business function at the Cailridge Inn. Do you recall? You wore a deep green swirl of velvet, a confection that drew eyes to you from around the room, though you barely noticed. You were in full “network” mode. I was leaving, my meeting over, yet when I saw you, I made it my business to find out about you. Your husband was a lucky man, I thought at the time, when I discovered you belonged to another.”
“I don’t belong to anyone…” she began, heated.
“Ah, but you do. You belong to me, mind, spirit, body. For the next month, you are my property. Not my wife. Not my lover, not even an employee. Just a possession.”
Her mouth moved, but no words came out.
His head canted, his expression, amused.
The limo turned between two thick bodied trees, into a winding drive. She looked away from him, at a loss for words, and watched as a heavy wrought-iron gate, set between two enormous stone stanchions, swung open, admitting them to his property. A long, high stone wall rolled off through the woods on either side. Entry into this place would be formidable, as would exiting. She let that thought send nervous shivers up her back for a moment, before taking a slow breath. She continued to ignore him, looking at the place she would call “home” for the next month.
A thick grove of trees continued along the winding drive, the road a small slashing line through the forest, which was dark but not menacing. Along the edge of the drive the growth was pruned back, opening the roadway to traffic without diminishing the impact of the woods. She felt like they were driving into primeval forest, and forgot him as she gazed in wonder at the extent of his holdings. They drove on.
He sat back watching her, waiting for her reaction. Eventually the trees changed, from thick stands of pine to maple, birch, elm. Grass began creeping into the borders, and in a moment, the rolling grounds of the estate came into view. Another turn, rounding the final approach and his home came into view.
Her mouth fell open. It seemed she was fated to do that around him.
He escorted her up the wide marble steps, holding onto her elbow firmly. He murmured into her ear “I’m still not half-convinced you won’t bolt at the last moment!” He ignored her steel-edged glare as they gained the last step and he held his hand out in greeting to the man waiting there.
“Reggie, this is my newest acquisition. She will be given her parameters a bit later, which I will be sure you are apprised of as well. Little one, this is Reggie, my friend, guard, butler, and chief butt-wiper!”
She flushed with embarrassment. To be relegated to “thing” was humiliating. She glared at the Bastard, although he failed to notice it.
The two men had burst into laughter at the last comment, exchanging one-armed man hugs and back slaps. It was obvious that there was a great deal of affection between them. Reggie was a bit older than He was, but not remarkably so. Or maybe it was the gray-edged hair that made him look older than her “owner”, with his sand-hued locks. His hair was longer than most men wore it, especially professional men. She pondered that for a moment, standing back and looking at the two men talking quietly. He was fit, and looked good in the business suit he wore with ease. He’d doffed his jacket in the car, holding it carelessly over his shoulder. Reggie was in jeans and a tee-shirt, none of which hid his own muscles. Both were fine-looking men, she was forced to admit.
“Hey.” She doubted she’d ever ‘hey’ed’ anyone since she grew past nine years old, but she had no idea what to call him.
He turned to her, brow raised. “Hey?” he repeated. His voice was so carefully neutral that she had to work very hard at suppressing the urge to tweak him down the path she was on, that of supreme annoyance.
“I don’t know how to call you. What to call you.”
“Well.” He paused a moment, a finger to his lips, tapping thoughtfully. “I can imagine a great number of names are circling through that beautiful head just now…” and he grinned. She frowned at him, trying to not show her own amusement. Gosh he could be cute. Cute, however, could be dangerous. And she was only here for 30 days. 720 hours. He interrupted her musing.
“How about we start with ‘Sir’ and progress to nastier names later, eh?” He laughed.
“Go on in and get familiar with this behemoth. For now it is your home, your prison. Every room is open to you to explore…except the cellar. You may ONLY go there with me, capiche? ” His eyes brightened, a flare of quicksilver. She felt as though he could see inside her head with that kind of gaze.
Dropping her eyes, she nodded.
“Failure to comply with this one rule will earn a swift and painful punishment, little one. Don’t make a mistake about this.” He waited, watching for her nod of assent. The driver had unloaded their luggage, and Sir headed down to talk with him. They looked up at her, then back to each other.
Easy to figure out what that was about. But her heart sank a bit as the driver got back into the limo, rolling down the circular drive, and obviously heading away. She was officially stuck here.
She’d gone through the house, upstairs and down, on a fast first tour to get the lay of the land, and then a second turn through, taking in the details. There were enough bedrooms in the upstairs to house a ginormous family…or a lot of friends. Each was fully decorated. Each opulent, though not garishly so. Many were a small suite, including little kitchenette, while others had balconies. Some looked out onto the gardens, on the east side, and some to the ‘forest’ in the front. Each view distinctly different, as if from different houses entirely. That in itself was enticing. There to the west, a small sparkling lake, or perhaps a large pond, glinting invitingly in the midday sunshine. And there in the back? A series of inter-woven formal gardens. Including a maze.
The man had a maze in his backyard!
It may have been ‘uncool’ to be so impressed, and likely she’d never say as much to him…but she was charmed by the house as much as she was awed by its sense of quiet splendor. Behind the maze, more forest rolled out, until it became a green haze in the distance.
Eventually they ran into each other in the kitchen, when she finally heeded the urgent call of her tummy. He was there, noshing on a club sandwich, wrapped in white butchers paper.
He gestured with the sandwich towards the huge double fridge, his mouth chewing vigorously. She opened the door, and smiled. What a guy. An entire shelf held labeled, white-wrapped sandwiches! She found a turkey club, and a bottle of sparkling water. Turning she looked at her options. She could be unfriendly and unapproachable and eat at the breakfast bar, or she could be gracious and join him.
She pondered her choice for a moment too long; he gestured for her to sit beside him. She pointed to the chair across.
He pointed to the floor. Then the chair he’d first proposed.
With a dramatic eyeroll any sullen teen would have envied, she flounced across the room, and flopped into the chair next to him. He wasn’t quite sure he heard her say ‘fine’, but he wouldn’t have put it past her. A more truculent lass he’d never encountered.
Mentally he rubbed his hands together. This was going to be a delightful thirty days!
He balled up the white paper which had wrapped his sandwich, and tossed it in a careless arc towards the sink. It bounced on the counter, then fell over the edge and into the open can below it.
She blinked. He smiled.
“First offer, little girl. If you can get your wrapper in, you get a boon from me to use whenever you choose over these next 4 weeks.”
“A boon? What are you, Sir Galahad now?” Her tone was acerbic; she couldn’t seem to avoid taking her gall out on him.
“If you choose to believe so, who am I to disagree?” He smiled carelessly at her, deftly deflecting her barb, refusing to be drawn into her pique. He knew it for what it was; the circumstances which had brought here here, rather than with Him specifically. She’d get over it…or he’d eventually get tired of it, and pull her over it.
She flushed, looked away. She wasn’t normally so rude to people. And he was going to be paying a bundle of money to her husbands creditors. And helping her divorce the buffoon. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t thought of having an affair. There was a guy at work who had asked, and been refused, mostly because he was a guy at work. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to have sex…she was actually feeling pretty turned on, despite the strange circumstances. Which was odd, really. Maybe it had just been so long since she’d been fucked that anyone would do? She looked at him. No, there was definitelysomething about him that got her juices going. She sighed. She was still surprised that her husband had suggested this. Giving her away. No, not even that. He’d sold her, the fucking asshole! Wasn’t there some sort of …manly pride, perhaps…in keeping the little woman close? Sure, she had thought of fucking other people. And she was damned certain that Andrew had. She wasn’t going to compare her thoughts to what Andrew had done…thoughts weren’t actions.
Of course, she had thought that there was hope for her marriage. Obviously, she’d been wrong about that. Perfection didn’t exist except in fairy tales after all, but certainly her husband was as far from perfect as one could imagine. Weekends spent at the sports bar, drinking and watching games, hanging with his friends–well, that should have been the first clue. His moving into the guest bedroom should have been the second.
Maybe that explained her lack of total outrage when he had suggested this solution. She had been shocked, horrified, when he had told her about the debt. She had been close to suggesting divorce innumerable times over the last 3 months, but this? This was appalling. How could he have done this to them?
She shook her head, pulling away from the memories. She was here now, involved, promised, and signed to the deal. When this was done, she would be divorced from her mistake, and ready to start again. For now, she had a boon to win.
She concentrated on balling up the paper in her hands, and prepared to take her shot.
He watched the expressions run across her expressive face. He wondered if she knew how much she revealed in these unguarded moments. If she knew how sad she looked, like a little puppy who’d been unexpectedly kicked by its owner.
“Of course,” he drawled, determined to snap her back to him, “with every dare there is a corresponding risk.”
Her hand dropped and she slapped a look at him.
“What!” she demanded. No way was she throwing the paper without knowing the full deal. He was slick, she had to give him credit for it.
“Simple,” he said at last, their eyes doing silent battle until hers finally dropped. “You win, you get the boon. I win, I get the boon.”
She flashed a glance at him, then the trash bucket. He had done it. And she had a good eye. She raised her hand, pumping it slowly, getting aim.
Drawing her arm back, she flicked her palm forward, releasing the white ball of paper. It spun through the air, flashing through a stray ray of sunlight that beamed in through one of the skylights above the breakfast nook. It bounced on the counter, nearly where his had, spun to the edge where it teetered for a second.
“C’mon, c’mon, fall….” she muttered, leaning forward in her chair.
He was surprised she’d hit so dead-on, and he leaned against her back, hand on her shoulder, cheek against her hair. She looked up at him inquiringly, but his eyes stayed riveted on the bit of paper. She hadn’t expected tenderness. It distracted her for a moment.
“Get used to me touching you,” he murmured.
She looked back at the ball as it fell from the edge. She caught her breath, triumph racing through her as it fell towards the basket.
She jumped up, but he pulled her back to her seat, wrapping his arm around her belly, just snugged up under her breasts.
The ball bounced on the rim of the basket, hung there for a moment and began its fall.
“I can’t look!”
Her head fell back on his shoulder, as his arm squeezed around her. His eyes fell to her breasts, laying upon his forearm, the heat of them, the weight of them a tantalizing mix of sensations. He lifted his arm a bit higher, pressing into the soft undersides of them.
She was breathless. Was it the arm around her lungs or simply the act of him playing with her this way that enticed air from her lungs, and made it a struggle to get more in?
She felt her nipples pearl into buds as her breasts were lightly jiggled by his arm. His warm breath moved across her ear and throat, sending little shocking shivers down directly to her pussy. Her ears had always been so sensitive to stimulation. Her nipples were large and protuberant. Poking against her thin bra, they were obvious. She wished she hadn’t worn such a thin blouse.
His other hand came up, his fingertip just barely brushing against those nubbins. First one, then the other. Touch, touch, wispy and light. Erotic. Subtle. Exciting. Her breath came in thin gasps.
His lips teased at her earlobe, as his finger went from brushing to gently pinching. Her eyes shut, her mouth opened, and her tongue flashed around suddenly dry lips.
Her moan surprised her. She rarely made noises during sex play. Then again, Andrew hadn’t been all that caring about foreplay.
His voice was a jolt against the shell of her ear. His hands began releasing buttons on her blouse. Eyes flew open as his next words registered.
“I want you naked. Now.”
“Traitor” she muttered at the soundless ball of paper that had been her undoing. It lay on the floor a foot in front of the trash can, where it had rolled when it had fallen from the rim.
As she turned to glare at him, he laughed wickedly, delighted. Pushing her off his lap, he turned her to face him as her fingers plucked nervously at the top button of her blouse.
He enjoyed her reticence as much as the little tremors that had run through her when he’d played with her tits.
It seemed that the “game” was well begun!
She knew he was around somewhere but she was too mortified to go looking for him.
She had sat while he’d stared at her, asking her once more to unbutton her blouse. Reluctantly sliding it off her shoulders, she’d taken her time folding it, while contemplating his fucking ‘boon’ and damning him to hell.
He sat, one leg crossed over the other knee, arms folded, watching as she continued stripping for him.
It was unsettling to peel off clothing in the full light of day. He’d had her take off her slacks, her shoes, her knee highs, leaving her the dubious sanctuary of her bra and panties. He’d gestured for her to turn in a slow spiral, his face expressionless. When her back was to him, he told her to unhook her bra, and lower it, teasingly. He never said the words “strip tease” but oh, it hung there in the room over her head.
She was so fucking embarrassed!
She never did this for her husband. She’d never done it for anyone. She took off her clothing in the privacy of the bathroom. Not that she was shy about her body, it was okay. Her left tit was bigger than the right, something that had caused a brief period of consternation when she was a teen, but she got over it in her 20’s. Her belly was softly rounded. While she wasn’t much overweight, ice cream had definitely contributed to a bit of extra flesh here and there. She shook her head. Why was she thinking about this now?
She slid one strap from over her shoulder, then the other. She reached behind finally, and unhooked the bra, and paused. Leaning forward slightly, allowing her tits to swing free and be seen a tiny bit, she let the bra slide down her arms to her wrists. Slipping her left hand free, it dangled on her right wrist for a moment, then another. With a shake, and a wiggle of her hand, the bra was finally tossed to the side, even as her arms crossed protectively over her chest.
“Release your hair.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. His eyes were devouring her. She lifted her arms, pulling out the pins that held her chignon in place. A wealth of hair began falling, layers of waves. Some danced around her ears, others fell as far as her lower back.
She wanted to pull some forward, to cover her naked breasts, but didn’t quite dare.
His words were terse, a bit dark. She thought he was cruel to push away this final barrier.
“This is a really big boon,” she said, her back to him, her arms to her sides.
“Those are very tiny panties. So, not too big a boon, n’est pas?”
This time she heard the laugh in his tone. Bastard. Pig. Fuck.
Slowly she peeled down the thin layer, leaving her fully exposed.
“Turn for me. Slowly.”
When she was facing him, he crooked a finger at her. Reluctance written all over her form, she took one step, then another. Her throat was thick with some undefined emotion. She couldn’t speak, nor swallow it away.
His finger raised to touch one nipple, then the other, both already standing at full mast. It was from the cold room, she was sure. Nothing to do with performing a strip tease in front of a stranger. One who had bought and paid for her. Still, she was confused by the answering pull deep inside her pussy. His hands went to her hips, pulling her closer, and his lips took her left nipple, sucking deeply. Her eyes half-closed, a moan caught somewhere in her throat. His tongue twirled around the hard peak of her breast, his hands kneading her hips gently.
Then he pushed her back, and stood. A fast swat on her butt made her open her eyes.
“Go play, little girl. I’ve got things to attend to.”
With that, he’d stepped around her, scooping up her clothing in one big hand, and walked from the room. At the door he paused, but didn’t turn.
“STAY naked, capiche?”
He didn’t wait for her reply, but strode out.
Now here she stood, naked, and embarrassed, and nervous. There was that other guy…Reggie. Was he in the house too? Which was to be her room? Could she hide there?
She heard footsteps coming closer before she could move. The door swung open, and as if thinking of him had conjured him there, Reggie walked into the kitchen. He stopped dead.
She stood frozen as Reggie stared at her. She thought, maybe even hoped, that she might die of embarrassment. His looking was thorough…down..pause…down…pause again…all the way to her pink-tipped toenails, then slowly his gaze swept up. She closed her eyes, hoping he would disappear.
He stepped towards her. She had no idea of what to do. How does one handle being naked in a strangers kitchen while his butler, if that was his title, oogled one? Her chin shot higher, her eyes flashing as he stepped into her comfort bubble.
She was so very not comfortable.
He stepped around her, opened the fridge. His voice came from inside the cavernous interior as he rummaged for a sandwich.
“Yup, gotta give him points, you’re a well put together package.”
She flushed at the droll tone. She looked over her shoulder. He was still half inside, fingering one white-wrapped package after another. She took a tentative step towards the door. And another.
His next words stopped her cold.
“Not sure how you did it, catching him like that.”
She whirled around, anger helping her forget that she was as naked as the day she was born. She stomped to the fridge, poked him in the back.
“I did not “catch” him,” she said, reverting to her air quotes. “He,” and she emphasized that with exquisite diction, “caught me!”
She growled. She’d never growled in her life. “Who do you think you are? Making judgments about something you know nothing about? Huh? Who?” and she poked him again.
He spun about so fast, capturing her wrist, that she gasped. Trying to tug her arm away was fruitless. His grip was like a steel trap.
“May I remind you that I’m not the one standing naked in a man’s kitchen? You are. Looking for all the world like the…what…hundred bucks a night? ..whore you are.”
She gasped. She was shocked. Horrified. With renewed vigor, she pulled at her wrist as he glared at her.
“Let me go you stupid …monkey!”
Her face moved from outraged anger to shock as he pulled her across the kitchen, kicking out a chair, and dropping onto it. A moment later, he had pulled her firmly over his lap, released her wrist and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Pressing her head down with the aid of that hair-filled hand, he began spanking her round bottom with the other.
She could not believe it. She’d never, ever been spanked before. Ever. She struggled, she fought, but his hand in her hair didn’t allow for much movement. Her head hurt, but her ass was beginning to hurt a whole lot more.
“O! OW!” she cried as the continuous blows began to make a painful imprint. He hit the same fucking spot over and over. Soon her cries of ouch and oh were exchanged for whimpers of ‘please, please’..and eventually, sobs. She lay slumped in his lap, ass throbbing and crimson, heated to the touch. She cried out as his fist pulled her upright by her hair. With a rude shove he pushed her off his lap to land in a heap on her burning ass. She sat, tumbled, disheveled, and tear-streaked, on the cool floor.
He stood abruptly. She looked up at him, wary. He was glad he’d not broken her, Capt’n would have his ass if he had. But damn she needed to be taken down a notch or two.
The sound of clapping from the doorway broke the tableau.
“Nice. You two are getting to know each other better, I see. Slut, and that, by the way, is your name while you are here,” he added, “Reggie is my right hand man, and what he says goes. Always assume, when he tells you something? That it came direct from me.”
“B-but…” she began. He forestalled her with a raised palm and a look that meant shut up.
She shut up.
“Reg, I know it looks like she is a whore, but in truth she is not. She is property that I have purchased. Someone that I’ve wanted for quite some time, and through certain circumstances, has come into my possession. The only benefit that she will win when her time here is over, other than that of our stellar companionship, is freedom from the man she married.”
Reg looked at his friend. His brow raised.
“You bought her?”
“In a manner of speaking. I have an arrangement with her husband that is to our mutual benefit. Her husband will be free of his burden, as will my slut be of hers.”
She was pissed that they were talking about her like she was property again, yet she appreciated His discretion regarding the specifics of their arrangement.
“She going to strut around here like that all the time?” Reggie threw his chin towards her, sprawled on the floor, naked.
With a nod and a smile that more resembled a smirk he informed both Reg and his slut.
“I know it’s asking a great sacrifice to have you put up with it, but yes, this is how I want her to be while she is here.”
“Wait…wait a minute..” she interjected. “Y-you said this was a boon. I thought it was for today..”
“Today, tomorrow, the tomorrow after that…” he drawled, laughter in his voice.
Her mouth gaped open. Damn the man for leaving her fish-faced once more.
Reg led her upstairs to what would be her room.
“He wants you to settle in, kitten.”
Turning, he shut the door behind him as he left.
So…not her room after all. His room, the Master Suite. She should have known, she thought to herself, that she’d need to be accessible to Him. Her belly quivered with nerves. Her hand trembled, just a bit, as she stepped into the biggest room she’d ever seen.
It was huge. She recalled seeing this room on her whirlwind self-tour, the view of the maze and gardens from the balcony that overlooked the ‘backyard’, if anything so grand could be termed something so pedestrian.
The bed was large, king-sized at the least, in dark wood. Fat columns tapered to slender tips. She had thought, when she saw it, that it was very much like her impression of the Man…upright, spare, almost spartan.
The room had multiple doors, which she took the liberty of opening and peering into, now that she knew it was also “hers”. Closet first, it was almost a little room of it’s own– full, walk in, organized. A built in dresser, and wasn’t that neat? A smaller room was behind the next door, with a small desk, a computer, a phone, and a print of Van Gogh’s ‘Sunflowers’ hung over the desk.
She stepped into the small office. Utilitarian, as she was coming to see as his style. Turning to leave, she gasped. On the inner wall where the door was, a reproduction of Van Gogh’s Starry Night filled the entire wall. Indeed, even the door to the room was painted, creating a seamless picture when it was closed. He would face this each time he sat here. Amazing. Her fingers moved to trace just above the whorls of the trees around the town. So engrossed in the faithfully reproduced brush strokes, she didn’t notice when he entered the space.
“This is my favorite part of the entire house.” His voice startled her. Looking over to him, she noted that he’d changed into jeans and a tee shirt. The casual clothing did nothing to detract from his magnetic personality. She looked back at the picture on the wall.
“It came like this, when you bought the house?”
“Actually, I have a friend who is an artist who did this for me.”
“She’s very talented,” she murmured.
“Actually, he does this for a living, creating murals. Come here.”
The change in tone was immediate. She snapped a look at him, then grudgingly, came to stand in front of him.
“If I were to rub that pussy, would it be wet?” he asked, his tone polite and at odds with the erotic content. She wanted to shake her head no. She wanted to be cool, collected, despite her near nudity.
“Yes.” she whispered.
“I rather thought so,” he said. Turning, he went back into the bedroom. She stood there, uncertain. Was she to follow like a fucking dog? She stepped through the doorway.
He was nowhere to be seen.
She crossed to the bathroom, ignoring her pussy. It seemed to have jolted into life when he’d made that comment. She didn’t want to admit even to herself that she was almost anxious to get started with this deal. Her heart beat a bit faster, and even as she opened the door to see if he was inside, she felt her nipples crinkle into erect hardness.
He wasn’t there.
“Come here slut.” His voice came from the balcony. She walked over there, noticing with some embarrassment that she could now smell her arousal. Her ass still throbbed and stung from the impromptu smacking from that brute of a butler, but her pussy was definitely awake.
The view from up here was stunning. The blend of flowers and green, grass running into meadow running into forest in the distance all were living works of art. The scent of flowers, sweet in the afternoon sun rose to her. Puffy clouds dotted the cerulean sky, adding to the tranquility of the scene. He pointed to the end of the chaise he was sitting on. As she approached, she could see the tall-heeled shoes. Beside them lay a pair of gossamer thin stockings.
“Put those on.”
He patted the seat next to him. Reluctantly she moved towards him, sat gingerly. He made no move to touch her, merely watching her as she slid one then the other pair of thigh stockings up her legs.
“These will keep them up.”
He stood, then knelt by her foot. Taking one ankle in his hand, she was mesmerized by his eyes locked on hers. The heat of his fingers sliding the garter over her calf, across her knee, up her thigh seemed to ignite a burning between her legs. The second garter moved even slower, the tips of his fingers grazing and teasing her. It was stunning that such a simple touch could turn her on so quickly. Shocking, really. No one had ever seduced her so easily.
He rose, watching her as she slipped the black shoes onto her feet. They must be six-inches high. Fastening the strap around each ankle, she looked up at him.
Holding out his hands, he waited, silently bidding her to place her hands…her trust…in him. Swallowing down a wild tornado of nerves that swirled from her belly to her throat, she slid her fingers into his. Tugged to her feet, she gripped hard as she swayed, uneasy on such tall heels. He led her to the edge of the balcony. Turning her to face the yard, he moved away. His voice, like warm chocolate, coated her.
“Put your hands on the railing. Wider. No, as wide apart as you can. Yes, just like that.”
He came up behind her, and she saw the length of rope in his hands. Quickly, expertly, he bound her left wrist to the wrought iron railing.
“You’ll need your right hand later, but for now, keep it on the rail, understand?”
“Yes.” she replied. “Why are you…”
“No questions. Silence, little slut. You will learn a great many things about me, and about yourself this month. This will be your first lesson. It’s yes Sir or no Sir…whenever we are playing.
Now, open your legs. Wider. Yes, just like that. Good girl…and this time I will answer your question, because you were a good girl.”
There was silence for a moment.
“Why did I tie you to the railing?”
“Because I can.”
She looked like she would argue with him, but his hand covered her mouth from behind.
“Sssshh” he shushed her.
His other hand slipped over her bottom, glided down the channel of her split, and dipped into the folds of her pussy. Just one fingertip cruised along those moistened folds, slowly slipping across one lip, the other. Up between the folds to the peak of the valley there, just missing her clitoris.
She shuddered, wanting more, but his touch continued, feathery light. When she would have pressed down, he stopped her with a short “no.”
She was trembling as he explored her folds, never pressing deep into her slit, never touching her clit, never pressing into her pussyhole. His finger brushed the edges of her asshole, and then, was gone.
He moved away, sitting down in the chaise in the corner.
“Now that’s what I call a view.”
Her toes were going numb. Fucking heels! She shifted a bit, trying to ease the pain in her feet without moving from the position she was in, the spread, open, sluttish pose He’d put her in.
She couldn’t believe she was still so aroused. It had been forever since He had touched her pussy, and he’d done nothing else since. She’d glanced back at him several times. Once he gave her a mocking raised eyebrow and she’d turned back the the view before her. Another time he was gazing off into the distance, ignoring her totally.
He sure was spending a ton of money to just look at her.
That was fine by her. She wasn’t looking to be fucked by a stranger, no matter how compelling.
“Take your free hand and start playing with yourself. Tits, pussy, all of it.”
She was shocked. He wanted her to masturbate out here? Standing up.
“Go on, stop thinking about it and start doing what I tell you. Touch. Now.”
His voice had changed again, she noticed, as she reached with her free hand and flicked her nipples. They rose even at that light touch. She felt the tremor in her pussy, the excitement of the forbidden. He was watching her touch herself and it was so stimulating. So nerve-wracking, so embarrassing, such a turn-on.
Her hand slid down her belly to play in her lower curls. Her fingers pressed through the curling triangle of hair, pressing deeper into the cleft hidden beneath. Her breath came whistling through lips gone suddenly dry as she made contact with her clit.
Eyes closed, head thrown back, she began to be consumed by the sensations of her body as she aroused it. Her left hand, still tied to the railing, was useless, yet the rope that bit into her skin when she tugged futilely at it added a layer to the slick film of lust curling through her.
Her hips thrust forward, against her questing fingers, her head bent and bowed as she sought more sensation. Again she brushed her clit, feeling the wetness in her slit begin to ooze from her. Her hand moved deeper into the vee of her spread thighs, her head nearly resting on the railing before her.
Hands reached around her, plucking at her tits, pulling her nipples.
Her head jolted up in surprise.
“Keep going.” His words were command-terse.
Her hips bucked again against her hand, her fingers sliding into the channel of wetness. She moaned.
His hands pinched, rolled and pulled at her nipples, sending sharp shards of excitement to her clit. Her hips rolled like undulating waves, seeking.
His hands slid from her breasts, along her sides, to grasp her hips. He pulled her back, as he pressed forward, impaling her slowly on his cock.
She forgot the contract. She forgot her indignation. She forgot the ignominious spanking. All focus was on his hard cock as it entered, achingly slowly, into her.
She felt the stretch of having a man inside her, for the first time in forever. There was no recall of being fucked so slowly before. Her husband was a fuck-fuck-fuck g’nite kind of guy, when he ever thought about fucking her at all.
This was different. Not lovemaking, but possessing. He controlled her. The speed, the depth, it was all as he chose. She felt her pussy stretching, filled with him as he penetrated deeply. For a time he held her there, impaled on his dick, unmoving. She growled and tried to wiggle her hips a bit.
A quick slap on her hip quelled that thought.
“Please?” she begged.
He pressed forward, taking a step, pressing her against the railing. His chest rubbed against her back, his fingers bit into her waist, her hips, sliding up to cup and fondle her tits. His hand pressed her head back to lay on his shoulder, and his teeth found her neck, her shoulder.
Small, tiny, painful nips from ear to shoulder had her struggling to move away, but the wrought iron bars pressed into her legs, her wrist remained tied tightly, and his arms held her even tighter.
She relaxed, at last, accepting.
His mouth took a large bite where shoulder and throat met, teeth savaging into tender flesh. She moaned, legs buckling at the intense pain. Her pussy began to convulse, throbbing around his cock as she came.
He hummed against her throat, then spoke softly. She tried to gather her scattered wits to listen.
“That was a freebie. You’ll have to earn the next one with a bit of pain, understood?”
She really didn’t, but she nodded yes anyway. He untied her wrist from the railing, looping the length into a small coil, before turning and heading back inside.
She’d not seen him. For some reason, he’d left early, left her to her own devices. She damned him for making her miss his face.
They had fallen into an odd sort of routine. She was to sleep with him, and sleep is what they did. He’d not fucked her in the last three days, not since that little scene on the balcony.
She wondered how the hell she could be his ‘sex slave’ if He wasn’t sexing her. Fucking her. Whatever.
He’d been gone every morning when she woke up. He was comfortable to sleep next to, arms wrapping her tightly, keeping her warm despite the chill blowing into the room from the open balcony doors.
From here she could see the intense blue sky, the sharpness of the green trees lancing up into the blue, like fir rockets on a mission. The sound of bird calls, the splash of water from the fountain in the center of the maze, all coalesced into one peaceful, relaxing scene.
Then why wasn’t she relaxed, she wondered. She really wanted to ignore the growing need. But she was horny, and it was hard to deny that she was half-looking forward to him coming upon her in the house and fucking her brains out….because, as he’d said that first day… he could.
She slid out of bed, and into the robe he allowed her to wear for the first hour she was up. Her tummy rumbled and she wanted a cup of coffee so badly that she could almost smell it.
She made her way downstairs.
She did smell coffee! Oh, how wonderful! The last few days she’d had to make it, finding only dregs in the pot when she got up. She grabbed a mug and poured the first cup, sipping carefully at the heat.
She put the mug down, and wondered where he was this morning. Thinking to herself, she turned to the pantry for a pop-tart, her morning weakness, and about jumped out of her skin.
“Good morning, slut.”
She put her hand over her pounding heart.
“i-..good morning Sir. i…wasn’t expecting..that is…you’ve not..OH fuck it. You scared the hell out of me, Sir.”
He grinned at her, over the rim of his cup, winking at Reg who was sitting across from him in the breakfast nook. That grin made her melt. Dammit, she wasn’t supposed to be all turned on. She was here somewhat against her will.
Okay, that wasn’t true.
She’d signed the fucking papers, and she knew she could play the victim here, but really, he’d not taken near as much from her over the last week as she’d thought he would have.
“Do you find me unattractive?” She blurted the question, unthinkingly. His smile deepened.
“Not at all, slut, not at all.”
Now she was confused, and a bit aggravated. Last night she’d wiggled her bum right against him. She’d felt his cock grow hard against her, but he’d done nothing.
“Well,” she snapped. She picked up her coffee. She needed caffeine. Why the fuck couldn’t she shut up? She felt her blood simmering, all the need throbbing between her legs suddenly, like she’d been struck with a match.
His complacent smile, one might call it a smirk, infuriated her.
“Well?” she asked again, hand on hip, mug paused halfway to her lips. Her hair was tangled around her, her robe was messily tied, leaving a great deal of breast open to their gaze. She noted none of it, nor the fact that her nipples were hard, and pressing firmly against the thin silk barrier.
He tilted his head, almost coyly, she thought. Fucking bastard was spoiling for a fight, was he? Oh, she knew the signs. Her lips thinned. She was here to be fucked for debt settlement, dammit. And he’d only fucked her one fucking time!!
“You,” she stabbed her finger in the air, releasing her hip, and the tenuously tied belt. As she pointed at the two men, she stepped forward and the slippery fabric gave up all pretense of remaining tied.
Another step opened the robe fully, revealing her gently furred mons, and most of her left tit. Her cheeks were rosy with her distress, and her scent was one of arousal.
“You said you would use me. That you’d pay everything off if I came with you.”
“I did, yes.” He nodded, still smiling that smug-assed grin as he sipped at his coffee.
Reg looked on, glancing between them, and smiling as well. He admired her curves, the flow of belly into thigh, the creamy skin against the peachy silk, as she advanced another step.
She felt the first full simmering of rage. GAWD! the insufferable bastard!
“You!” and she pointed that accusing finger at Reg. “Don’t you smirk at me. You..You…you’re as insufferable as he is!”
She turned her attention to the man who, by her own hand, owned her for 21 more days. She slapped her mug back onto the counter, ignoring the slosh of coffee onto the pristine surface.
“You’ve only fucked me once.” Her words were hot, terse bullets zinging towards him.
For a moment they hung there. He looked at her, she glared back.
And then he laughed. Threw his head back and roared. She stood there, hands on hips, agog with disbelief. The bloody bastard was laughing at her?
After an eternity, or so it seemed, he threw a glance at Reg, winking boldly.
“See, told you!”
She stood, mouth agape, as Reg pulled his wallet from his jeans, and handed the Bastard a twenty.
Her pussy throbbed, her clit throbbed, her shoulder, where he had bitten her, throbbed. His cock, still buried inside of her, felt bigger than ever. He was so deep, deeper than she had ever been filled before.
He pressed her head down, and pulled her back by her hips, until she was bent forward at the waist, head laying on the railing beside her bound left hand. Her hair, an auburn waterfall, covered her face; all she could see was her splayed-apart feet, and his sandal-clad ones between hers. It was an enticing, erotic view.
The first swat on her back caught her by surprise.
“Head down, slut. Keep that head down.” His voice was firm, ignoring her whimpers. Whatever he was using, struck again, just above the previous place.
“OW!” she yelped.
He pulled out of her pussy, just a bit, and struck again at the top of her buttock. She whimpered.
He plunged back into her, hard, as he struck her back once more.
She moaned, and lifted her ass higher, trying to take him deeper. She had never been filled this way before. His cock hit all the right places inside of her. Already sensitive from her “free” orgasm, she felt the flutterings of a second one.
He pulled out, almost to the head of his cock, and switched her ass several times. As before, as he drove himself into her hole, he struck that same spot on her back.
Pain. Waves of it from her sensitive flesh.
Pleasure. Ripples of it threatening to swamp up into an incredible orgasm.
He continued, pulling out, hitting her ass, then fucking into her, while striking her back.
When she crested, her head fell forward onto the railing and she screamed at the incredible culmination of pleasure and pain. She felt his fingers grab her hips as he drove into her, violent and intense, pounding up into her belly.
His groan joined with hers, and she heard, saw, the spatters of their juices on the concrete floor of the patio between her feet.
He yanked her head up by the hair, as he pulled out of her with a wet sound. He pulled her close to him, her back to his chest. The cotton of his tee-shirt rubbed against the welts. She fidgeted to move away, but he pressed her up against the railing, his hand around her throat, arching her back, and pulling her close to him.
“Pleasure with pain, slut. Your first taste. It won’t be your last. Go, shower. And later…naked.”
Shaken, she untied her left wrist from the railing, leaving the rope hanging there. He wasn’t in his room as she passed through it, and into hers.
She scrubbed at her skin, until she hit the first tender spot where her belly had rubbed against the railing. The polished concrete was still concrete, and had rubbed a few spots to soreness. No broken skin, and none on her back, although there were bruises.
She had no idea he was into this sort of sex. Not that she knew anything about him at all, really. And really, deep down inside, and not just between her thighs, wasn’t she secretly pleased?
Pleased that her outburst that morning had triggered this…this sexual explosion? He’d told her he would take pleasure and add pain in payment. She hadn’t known then what she knew now, but she liked it.
Pausing for a moment, shampoo running down her body, she pondered that. She liked it. Liked when he tugged her upstairs, liked when he’d all but torn the robe from her, liked when he’d tied her to the railing, liked when he’d taken her, brutally.
She lathered her hair, and while the conditioner smoothed her, shaved her underarms. It took a moment for it to sink in, that all her favored products were here. And new. Brand new.
He had obviously been planning this…this taking of her for his pleasure toy… for a while.
Stepping out of the shower, she dried herself, wrapping her hair in the damp towel. Slicking on moisturizer, she took stock. He knew way more about him, than she did about him. She didn’t even know his full Christian name. Or the address of where she was.
She knew she liked being fucked by him.
Pressing that thought away, she stepped into her bedroom, only to be drawn up short. There was the butler.
“Naked,” he said. Oogling her. Again.
“I am naked.” ‘You fucking asshat,’ she added in her head.
“It is on my hair. My wet hair. So I don’t drip everywhere. He didn’t say I could not put my hair in a towel for crissakes, you …” she stopped herself in the nick of time, remembering the spanking she’d been treated to earlier.
One accepted by her “Sir”.
“He wants you. ” There was a pause. Humor? From the cretin? “Downstairs.”
“So much small talk. Really, i’m flattered.” She couldn’t stop herself. Something in him just made her crazy. He laughed. Bastard.
She moved past him, through the door. Turning her head, she spoke.
“This is my space. You may NOT come in unless you knock…and I ask you to come in. Got it?”
“Don’t keep him waiting, slut.”
She growled low, as he took her arm. She tried to pull away but again, he had a grip like a vise.
“Best not to pick a fight you can’t win, slut. First rule of war.”
“And this is war?”
“Doesn’t have to be. We can luuuve one another.” He tugged her close, running his nose along her shoulder.
“You’re a jerk. You know that.”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “I know.”
The man who “owned” her stood on the veranda looking out over the back yard. Though it was hard to qualify something as large and varied as this place was as a mere “backyard”. Reggie, still holding her by her elbow, though she’d tried twice to pull away, led her to His left elbow.
“Your slut, Sir,” he intoned, making an oddly old-man’s face at his boss, and making her Sir laugh.
“Droll, very droll, Reg. Like you were ever cut out to be a “butler”…” He shook his head, then wagged his fingers at his friend in a gesture of dismissal. “Very well, then, be off with you.”
Reggie turned sharply, bowed, and sailed off. The sounds of laughter could be heard from the kitchen, making Sir smile yet again. He tilted his head looking her up and down, making her want to cover her breasts, her vulva, with her hands. Fighting the urge, she stood proudly, shoulders back, chin thrust out pugnaciously.
“You know, slut, you even make standing naked a challenge. I wonder how much of that is pride, and how much of it is fear?”
Rage ran through her like wildfire. Afraid? He thought she was fucking afraid of him? The growl came from her belly, while red ran across her vision. Later, she never could recall the moment her body had flung itself at him. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but suddenly she had her hands curled into fists, and was trying to pummel him.
He laughed at her paltry attempts to hit him.
“You fight like a girl,” He teased, slapping down one blow after another. It was time for her to be rid of this, this impotent anger that she felt towards her shithead husband. At the circumstances that had brought her here. Only when this part was done could they begin to forge a relationship. Because he had absolutely no intention for their agreement to last for only 30 days.
His lack of attention to her, as he envisioned waking up in the fall with her beside him, allowed her to smack the side of his ear with her left hand, and follow it fast with a jab to his face with her right. He winced at the first, and narrowly avoided the second. He couldn’t help it. He grinned. She was getting serious now. Reaching out, he tugged a nipple, smiling again as she squealed. She punched towards his belly, then, and he dodged that blow, then several more. He could see the frustration was building, as they parried with each other around the wide porch. He caught a quick glimpse of Reggie at the window, arms crossed, and teeth gleaming as he watched the “fight”. The blow to his arm was light, but it brought her close enough that he could tug her nipple again. She launched herself at him with a growl that was feral. She was suddenly teeth and nails and hair, all attacking him. He staggered under her unexpected weight, then sat heavily on the rattan couch at the end of the verandah.
Her sharp teeth bit into his shoulder and he grunted. That fucking hurt!
She ignored him.
“Hey!” He tugged her hair, and grabbed her tit, squeezing slowly. The sudden increase of pain made her rear back, and he saw the tears begin to form.
“How dare you,” she howled at him, grabbing at his wrist, trying to release his grip on her breast. “How fucking DARE YOU treat me this way….” the last word ended in a sob, as she slid down his legs to land in a pile by his feet.
“How dare he do this to me, that fucking bastard. I hate him HATE HIM…”
She didn’t notice when he sat beside her and pulled her into his lap, cradling her gently as one would a cranky child. His hand stroked her hair, eventually tucking her head under his chin. Reg brought out water for them both, coming to sit beside them, rubbing her back. Eventually, her tears wound down to sniffles. Reg offered her a box of tissues and she blew her nose loudly.
The men smiled. The storm was passing.
She woke up in his room.
Totally disoriented, she looked around, recognizing at last the Vermeer painting on the far wall. He had that painting in his room, she recalled. She wasn’t laying on his bed, however, but on a small pallet on the floor at the foot of his bed. It was comfortable, but…it was at the foot of his fucking bed. On the fucking floor.
She sat up, frowning.
She didn’t remember coming up here or falling asleep. She remembered.
Shit. She remembered her fury, her outpouring of rage. Of…striking him. Maybe he was going to send her home.
That thought made her unaccountably sad. She wasn’t ready to go home. She had signed an agreement, and dammit, she kept her word. Besides, what was there to go home to? Her husband was leaving, taking his shit and going where the hell ever. Her job was in hiatus; she’d arranged everything precisely to be away for 30 days. A vacation, she’d told her friends. To recover from the stress of the breakup of her marriage. They’d nodded, giving hugs and comfort. She needed the space and time to heal, they’d all said.
She rose from the floor, stretching.
She did feel better, as if something inside of her had released and just floated away. There was nothing left for her husband. When she returned home, she’d be free. It was hard to say if she was more sad…or relieved. She shook the thought away, and moved across the room. The door opened as she approached it.
“Ah, you’re awake. Feeling better?”
She looked at him carefully. He didn’t look angry. And he had no apparent scratches or marks on him. Thank god. She nodded.
“Did I hurt you?”
The words popped out of her mouth, unbidden. He looked surprised for a moment, then laughed.
“You never fail to amuse me, little one. Of course you didn’t hurt me. I’m glad you’re up. It’s time for dinner, and I want you to attend me.”
She straightened, looking at him. “Attend”…what the hell did that mean?
He slipped his arm around her shoulder, gave her a tug to get her moving.
“C’mon slut, I’m hungry.”
Unresisting, she let him lead her downstairs to the formal dining room.
Attached to the foremost leg of the table was a leash. Attached to the end of the leash was a very thick leather collar. It had four shiny buckles, and other hardware piled around it. She looked up at him.
He waved his hand towards the pile.
“Let’s suit you up, slut.” When she would have balked, he tugged her by her hair. He pushed her to her knees, then asked her to hand him the collar. She could see silver chains dangling from a D ring in the front, and wondered what all that was about. He put the collar around her throat.
“I”m not a dog!” she protested, putting her hands up.
“No, you are my property for the next three weeks…or have you forgotten already? Property that should be obeying, and not arguing.” He turned and looked away from her for a moment.
“You win. Give me the gag.” He tugged a five-dollar bill from his pocket, and handed it to Reg as the other man passed him a…dildo? It was short and thick and had some kind of web harness around it and..omg…did he say…gag?
“no…no..” But he pressed the short fat rubber dick into her mouth and quickly buckled it around her. Reg took her hands and fastened them behind her back. She was silenced and contained. She threw a glare over her shoulder at the bastard, Reggie.
She rolled her eyes. Her “owner” fastened the collar, unimpeded, around her neck. It held her head up high. She didn’t exactly feel like she was choking, but her movements were strictly limited now. She felt a sharp tug on her nipple.
“Oouu” she grunted around the gag.
There was a quick hard flick against her other nipple.
“There we go, girls,” He almost cooed at her nipples. She couldn’t bend her head to see what the fuck he was…
The pain in her nipple was immediate. Her guttural cry made him glance at her face, and smile. And there was pain in her other nipple. She tossed her head, trying to twist…and felt the immediate tug in her left nipple.
“I see you are understanding the cause and effect here.” His smile was smug. “Are you going to be a good and obedient girl? If not, I’ll serve myself and you will earn a punishment. What do you think? Can you be a good slut for your Master? Wouldn’t it be nice to earn a reward rather than a punishment?”
He looked down at her. She looked up at Him.
She nodded, capitulating.
He smiled. Let the game begin.
She served Him.
If not happily, if with a certain amount of sullen compliance, well…who would be happy about having nipples secured to clamps, secured to the collar around her throat?
He’d unhooked her hands, thankfully, though the heavy chain cuffs remained. She wasn’t sure how she would have accomplished the task of feeding Him the tiny tidbits of roast beef, succulent steaming broiled potatoes, glistening green beans with almonds, with her hands pegged behind her back.
Unfortunately He also made her serve the ever-smug Reggie. She just wanted to bite him, and he knew it. He cast her amused glances, tugged her nipple chain a few times and generally pissed her off just by breathing.
But she got through it.
Even more surprising, she got turned on by it. The weight of the chains around her wrist, the firmness of the collar, the pinching pain of the clamps on her tits somehow twisted inside of her until she was aching to be fucked. His voice broke her reverie, as she stood by His side waiting for the next command.
“Time for dessert, slut.”
She wondered what delightful treat He would eat in front of her. With the cock gag firmly in place, she was able to enjoy only the scents of the food He and Reg consumed. Drooling was a constant worry.
He pointed to the small space between his legs and the table. Now what? His fingers worked the clamps, releasing her right nipple. A sudden, sharp slap of pain made her bend over, moaning.
“I know, it hurts more when it comes off. You’ll just have to learn to breathe through it. You’re very pretty in your agony, you know.”
The second clamp came off and she squealed. Oh fuuuuck!
The blood rushing back into her tortured nips was filling them, swelling them, aching with the influx of fluids. She could feel them puckering into fat, painfully hard points. His fingers rolled and massaged them, hurting and soothing simultaneously. Her forehead pressed to his shoulder, her tits hanging down between them, eyes squeezed tight, she was horrified to realize that the drool was leaking from her lips. She’d forgotten! There was too much to remember…drool and pain and…
She refused to admit to how excited she was. How alive. In a week, this stranger had totally changed her. Aroused her and brought her fully aware of every breath she took. His hand slid between her thighs, rubbing her pussy. Shamefully, she could feel her hips rocking, setting a counterpoint to His delicious strokes.
“She’s humping your hand?”
“That she is.”
The men were amused, but she was too lost in sensation to care. Until He stopped. She growled through the gag, drool running freely down her chin. His laughter made her want to pull His ears off!
“Up you go, slut.”
As suddenly as that, she was lifted, tipped back onto the table. He stood between her sprawled thighs, His cock suddenly free of his khaki’s and pushing at her pussy. He took her thighs, pulled her towards Him, impaling her on his shaft until her butt hung just off the edge of the table. He paused as His cock filled her totally, hitting all the right places. Her pussy burned to be used. She felt the throb in her clit, in her throat, and deep under her belly button. She wanted Him. Wanted Him to use her.
“Ask me for your dessert, slut.”
Her eyes implored Him to continue but He held there, making her capitulation complete. Around the gag, she choked out the words, the sound guttural and incoherent.
His smile was that of a wolf, coming upon a fat and juicy rabbit. Hunger flamed in His eyes, fingers bit into her tender skin as He pulled away from her pussy, then slammed back inside her moist hot tunnel. She could hear the sucking wetness as He moved in and out of her, then all rational thought fled as the first wave of release threw her into a senseless abandon. The chains on her cuffs rattled as she grabbed His wrists, urging Him faster, harder, deeper. His thrusts answered that plea, driving into her with an urgency bordering on obsession. His hips bucked, her ass rose, meeting Him. Her hips moved in tiny figure eights, rubbing and squeezing His thickness as she drove up for another orgasmic explosion. She arched, cumming hard, as He pressed into her tender belly, withdrew, then speared her again.
Shaken, shuddering, she felt another ripple of pleasure begin to unfurl, felt His cock barreling into her. His pace increased, and she knew He was close. When He came, she swore she could feel each pulsing explosion as His hot cream filled her.
She must have passed out. When she woke she was on the floor under the table. He’d disappeared somewhere, for she was alone. The gag, collar and cuffs were gone, though the memory of the nipple clamps remained on her tender bits. She felt between her thighs, somewhat amazed at the heat and wetness still there.
“Good, you’re awake. Clean yourself up now, and let’s get to work on the dishes.”
Reg spoke, nudging her with the toe of his sneaker. He dropped a damp cloth onto her leg.
“You can go. I’ll be in the kitchen in a minute,” she grumbled at him.
“I think I’ll just watch and make sure you don’t miss any spots.” His smile gleamed.
“I–you’re a bastard.”
“Yeah. I know.”
His smile was unrepentant. Reaching down, he tweaked one nipple.
“Get a move on girl, He’s got other plans for you tonight and there are a lot of dishes to do.”
Yelping she rose to her feet, slapping his hand away.
“That hurts! Ouch! Cut it out.”
“That’s kind of the point, girl. Clean that. Now.”
He pointed at her pussy. Reluctantly, and avoiding all eye contact, she used the damp towel to clean her pussy, down the crack of her ass, her thighs. He came forward, palmed her.
“Good. All nice and clean.You know, good girls get rewards.” He slipped a sliver of chocolate between her lips. The taste exploded in her mouth. Her belly reminded her just how long it had been since she’d had food. Reg guided her into the kitchen as she moaned in happiness.
“I think I just had a mouthgasm” she muttered.
He laughed, tugging her through the doorway. A plate sat at the island, a smaller version of what He had for dinner. Reggie pushed her towards it.
“Go eat. Then get to those dishes. I’ll be back in an hour.”
She looked at the pile of dishes and plates on the counter. Pots and pans tumbled over the stove top, and in the sink. Reg might have been a damn fine cook…but he was also a master mess maker. She would have sighed at the task ahead of her, but the call of the plate was too strong. Without even looking back at the departing man, she slid onto the stool and lifted the first forkful into her mouth. Eyes closed in ecstasy she chewed happily for a moment. Remembering the task that beckoned behind her, she quickly finished the rest of her meal, and turned reluctantly to the overflowing sink.
Dishpan hands were never attractive, she mused, flipping her hands back and forth and looking at the pallid, wrinkled flesh of her fingers. Still, she’d eaten and finished the dishes with seven minutes to spare. She remembered what Reg had said before he’d left her to this odious task. Okay, maybe not so odious, as she’d snuck tastes and bits from the pans stacked to be washed. He’d said that He…she refused to call him “Master”…had more plans for her. Despite not wanting to, her throbbing pussy constantly recalled their last interlude upon the dining room table. The incredible fierceness as he’d taken her, pounded into her, used her. The thickness of his shaft, the heat of his hands on her hips and thighs, pulling her onto him. And the incredibly intensity of his gaze drinking in her every reaction.
Shaking her head she hung the dishtowel on the rack, turned to survey the kitchen one last time. The door swung open as she mentally patted herself on the back for a job well done. Reg stepped through. His face was unreadable. She prepared herself to be gracious. How could he not be impressed. Every surface gleamed. Every pot, pan, utensil washed, dried and put away. She smiled. He didn’t.
“Come along, girl.”
She straightened. That was it? Forty-three minutes of hard work and that was it?
“I said, come along, girl. Don’t make me ask again.”
She sputtered. She’d always thought that a plot device in stories. Sputtering was not something that people really did. However, she discovered, apparently it was quite possible. She sputtered. She wanted to yell “you ungrateful bastard!” Fighting for control, she clenched her jaw, took a deep breath. Biting her tongue was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Breathing through her nose, jaw still clenched, she followed that smug bastard out of the kitchen and down the main hallway.
She swore her breath came out as smoke, for inside she was smoldering. She tried to remember the why of how she’d gotten here. She hadn’t been kidnapped. She hadn’t been overtly coerced. She’d signed on the line, quit her life for thirty days, and quit the asshole who was her husband, and this was the price for that freedom.
Freedom that was close to priceless, with the cost coming out of her flesh.
Still, this first week hadn’t been all that horrible. She lived in a gorgeous house. Her…..master–though she shuddered at that word–treated her well. She wasn’t outside naked and plowing the fields. He didn’t brutalize. He was firm, sometimes harsh, but without intent for permanent harm. His treatment, while rough and out of her normal, had opened parts of her that she had never known were there, laying dormant just under her skin. She was stunned at the level of erotic excitement he pulled from her.
She walked straight into Reg’s back as he stopped, and she didn’t.
“oh! Sorry…Sorry!” She fumbled back a step, embarrassed.
“I never mind juicy tits pressing into my back.”
His droll tone added to her embarrassment. His finger flicked a nipple that had risen. She wanted to slap at him, but didn’t. He nodded, smiling, then turned and opened the only door that had been forbidden to her. She had ached with curiosity to see what was inside here, but had been afraid that she would make their agreement null and void–and he had put a lot of money on her. On her husband, really. She was not going to fuck that up because she had a case of the noseys. Curiosity killed the cat, as the saying went. And now, she was going to find out the secret of the forbidden door.
A wooden staircase led down. He’d said he had plans for her after she’d finished cleaning the kitchen. She certainly hoped that didn’t mean that he wanted her to clean the basement. Yet there wasn’t a single cobweb in sight as they went down. The lighting was subtle, but she could see every step. At the bottom were two doors. Behind one, the hum of machinery. Behind the other? A light shone brightly as Reg opened the door and pushed her inside.
“Enjoy,” he murmured in her ear as she moved into the light, and stood nervously. The circle of light blinded her to anything else in the room, yet she intuitively knew that she was supposed to stand right here in the intense beam. The door closed behind her with a soft snick.
“Do come closer, slut.”
His voice came from somewhere across the room, but the light she stood under blinded her.
“I can’t see you.”
There was amusement in his voice.
“What is this place?”
“This is the playroom.”
“I thought the whole house was your playroom.” She replied sarcastically.
His laugh rolled towards her, she swore she felt it brush her skin. It was rich and warm and exciting. Her nipples rose into tight, hard buds.
He stepped towards her, his feet moving without sound across the floor, and grasped her nipples. Her breath came faster, as his long fingers rolled and massaged her tender tips. She felt her body shift towards him as her pussy roused, her clit throbbed, her belly shivered with wanton need. The sudden hard pinch, the lifting of her tits by those captured bits of flesh had her rising to her toes as she yelped.
She eked out a squeal, dancing a bit to stay up enough to lessen the tug on her nipples. They were tender after spending the mealtime with heavy clamps on them, yet he tormented them again.
“Please…” she gasped, as he pinched, rolled, tugged.
“Yes,” He murmured. “You do please me.”
Bending, he lightly bit the junction of shoulder and neck. His hands left her breasts, sliding around and holding her close as his teeth worked a path up the side of her throat, until latching onto her earlobe. She swore she could feel an orgasm gathering inside her as his mouth laved at her ear, his teeth biting and worrying her flesh. Her ears were so sensitive.
He pushed her away, and for a second she worried she’d displeased him. Catching a handful of hair, he tugged her forward.
“Come along slut. There is much to get to tonight.”
He paced around the house. Dishes were piled up on the counters, a pizza box lay open on the table, exposing its days-old contents. The toilets had deep yellow stains, the splashes of dried piss on the white porcelain resembling dropped eggs. The shower was spotted, the sink covered in dark hairs, old chunks of dry toothpaste, and soap goo.
She’d only been gone ten days, and damn, he missed his wife.
He took another deep swig of his beer. He’d worked his ass off for this house, for her. Conveniently forgetting the girls he picked up at his bar, fucked in the alley, or in his car, forgetting the money he’d lost on gambling, and the neglect he often showed to the woman he’d married, he rubbed his crotch and stared at the rumpled mess of his bed. He needed his wife! He needed to pin her to the bed and fuck her silly, make her pregnant, give her something to look after. Their house was a fucking dump, and she needed to get her fanny home and take care of things.
Tossing the empty can towards the recycling bin, yet missing it, he ignored the spill of beer on the floor and went in search of the stupid fucking contract that dickhead in a designer suit had made him sign.
No address was listed, only his name, her name. The paper said their quicky divorce would be final in 20 more days, put through some stupid fuck-all way so that they would be free of one another.
She wasn’t going to dump him that easily.
“I’ll be gentle with you…for now.”
His voice was soft and silky as he circled around where she stood in the single beam of light. She felt like a moth to a flame, drawn to him. His scent lured, his body made her crave. Despite the powerful orgasms she’d had upstairs, she felt the unfurling of want in her belly.
A gentle swish across her bum made her jolt.
“Hands over your head. You’ll feel a loop there. Put your hands in it.”
Each sentence was murmured, punctuated by the gentle swish of something on her ass. Something that almost tickled, almost. There was the faintest bit of nerves jangling around her shoulders as she did as he had bid. The noose tightened around her wrists, then pulled upwards.
She yelped, dancing upon the balls of her feet. His hands came to steady her, as he knelt by her knees.
“Lift,” he said, tapping her left calf. The coolness of leather against her foot made her shiver. He repeated the tap on her right calf, and when he moved away, she could see the shiny black of the shoes on her feet. The heels were tall, but took some of the pressure off her wrists.
The slap on her butt was harder, stingy.
She took a breath, tried to not whimper, but the next blow curled around her hip, and she did whine then.
“Be a good girl. Let me hear those sexy noises.”
“Bastard!” she gasped, as the next blow came harder, faster, lashing up her side, and ending with a slap on the side of her left breast.
“That’s my good girl,” he chuckled, then all was silent but for the swish of the flogger, the click of the heels as she attempted to dance away, and her gasps and groans.
Her head hung low as her body stung and throbbed. Cool hands slid over her welted bottom, up the stinging of her hips, and cupped her hurting tits. Fingers pinched and kneaded her nipples, as his heat pressed behind her. She felt his cock, barely registering that he was naked before he pressed between her shoulders, making her lean forward, then tugged her sore hips backwards. His cock parted the soft wet lips of her cunt, pressed slowly inward. Her moans now were deeper. Amazed that the beating had created this need to fuck, to be fucked, she pressed back, imploring wordlessly for more.
He took his time, sliding in and out of her dripping hot hole with a steady pace that she found maddening. Where she wanted fierce plundering, he gave gently. She may have whispered that under her breath.
“Nothing…” she uttered a moan as he sheathed inside her again, his thick cock rubbing all the right places. Her clit begged for attention.
“Say it again, slut.”
She hated when he called her that…and yet it was so exciting, too. The freedom of being a greedy, wanton woman, tied up with the nastiness that was associated with that term. She was a slut. For him.
“I want you to fuck me.”
“I am fucking you.”
“You know….” her words trailed off as embarrassment suffused her.
“I want you…to do like you did upstairs.”
Her voice was soft, her eyes closed, her wrists aching as she clenched her fingers into fists.
“Say it. Tell me what you want.”
She felt as though he was battering her emotions. Nice girls didn’t say those things. She was a respectable woman, a woman of impeccable reputation. She didn’t…couldn’t…say those words.
His hips moved in a soft, slow figure-eight, rubbing her cuntlips, her insides, with the most incredible sensations…but it wasn’t enough to get off. He kept her hanging right there on the edge.
“Harder!” she begged, moaning.
“Rough. Use me. Fuck me like a whore. Please? please?” she whimpered the last word, her body alive, alert, poised on the brink of something incredible.
His voice was filled with amusement, and she blushed, felt suffused with the heat of it, for begging for something so dark. So dirty. So….slutty.
Yet her hips were suddenly grabbed roughly, his fingers biting into the already abused flesh as he began roughly fucking her.
His voice became guttural as he ground into her, hard pounding thrusts. She felt his cock stiffen further, she swore it grew a foot as he hammered her pussy, filling her and making her moan in one steady, long, ululation.
When her orgasm clenched his shaft, she felt it pumping, felt the groan leave his chest and enter hers as they came in unison. He filled her.
Darkness overtook her as pleasure turned her body into a living firework of sensation.
The guy who bought his wife had been a friend of a friend. He’d not seen that friend since paying off his poker debt, hadn’t been invited to any more games. That rankled. He had a feeling his shit wife, or the shit guy, had spoken to his poker buddy and told him not to take any more bets with him.
He was fucking Andrew- fucking -Blanford. No one crossed him. Though he was mostly out of debt, he had somehow fallen short on making the mortgage this month. He’d make it up. But for now, he needed to find his wife, needed to bring her home. She had a great job, and he couldn’t be expected to pay for everything himself, could he?
He found his buddy at Mason’s Bar, hanging around a full brew and a buxom redhead.
“Hey, Joe,” he hailed his friend.
Joe pulled his attention from the tits of the girl leaning against him, while his fingers continued to stroke down her hip, over her round ass.
Andrew didn’t notice the lack of enthusiasm in the greeting. He slid onto the stool beside them, ordering a brew for himself.
“I’m wondering about that guy you recommended to help me out of my…situation.”
“Peter?” he said, thinking of the Gambling Anon sponsor he’d recommended a time or two.
“I don’t think his name was Peter.”
“Oh! Ooooh.” Joe blinked, focusing on Andrew. That guy.
Joe looked hard at him.
“I hope you’re not gonna tap on him again…doesn’t he already have…” his voice trailed off, but the words ‘your wife’ hung unspoken between them.
“No, nothing like that. I just couldn’t remember his name. I’m fine. All set, in fact. Things are going well.”
“Yeah, that was it. Michael….Renthal, right?”
With a sigh, Joe nodded.
“Look, I’m a bit busy here…”
“I can see that,” said Andrew with a leer. Joe turned away, then gestured towards a table. With a last look over his shoulder, he and the girl moved away from the bar. It didn’t matter, he’d gotten what he’d needed. He slipped his phone out of his pocket, then typed the name Michael Renthal into his memo pad. With a faint smile, he chugged his beer, threw a five onto the bar to cover the tab, and slid out into the night.
She leaned against the column on the back patio, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, staring out at the maze. It had intrigued her from the first day she’d arrived here, and yet she’d never found the time to get out there. Three weeks had passed by quicker than she had imagined. She’d been fucked and flogged, tickled and teased, until she didn’t know which way was up. He’d dazzled her.
She hadn’t thought that could happen It worried her more than a bit that her “Sir” as she was expected to call him, was coming to mean something to her. She liked him, cared about him, but this need that was growing in her heart as well as her body?
It definitely made her nervous.
More nervous than the way Reg would sneak up upon her silently. He would poke her shoulder while she was doing dishes, just to see her jump. He would blow the hair at the nape of her neck as she read the paper at lunch, and laugh as she yelped. He hadn’t touched her since her first day here. That day, he had spanked her for being a wiseass, which she guessed she’d deserved. She knew that Reg was loyal to Sir, and that they’d been friends for a long time. Still, it annoyed her that he could skulk around so fucking quietly. A tap on her shoulder made her gasp. Speak of the devil!
“He wants you.”
With a reluctant glance over her shoulder at the maze, she followed Reggie into the house, and to Sir’s office. He was dressed to impress, was her first thought. The charcoal gray suit fit him like a glove, the deep blue tie a shimmering accent that drew her gaze up to his rugged face. He had shaved, his dark hair tamed. Hadn’t she tugged and mussed those thick mahogany strands as He had tortured her last night? Sadistically, he had kept her on the brink of an orgasm longer than she felt she could have borne. It was a torment that she had never experienced before. Held, gasping, panting, mewling with sexual frustration, with the clawing need of her belly making her beg and whine for him to please, please let her cum. He’d lain beside her, pinning her in place, unrelenting. His smile was mesmerizing, cruel with a dash of sensual. At long last he had moved over her again, slid inside her again, fucked her like a fury, again. When he finally released her, pushed her over the brink with his cock buried in her pussy and his finger sliding into her asshole, she had gushed, wetting the sheet below her, wetting her thighs, wetting him. He’d laughed, she remembered, as she’d turned a deep rosy glow.
“Do I pass muster?”
He cocked his head at her as she continued to stand there, staring at him. With a quick shiver as desire filled her, she brought herself back to the here and now.
“I’m sorry…what did you say….Sir?”
He nodded. It had taken three weeks to get her to adjust to using the term but by George, she got it.
“You were staring at me.”
“You’re pretty enough to stare at,” she replied, unwilling to share where her mind had really been.
“Wonder why my ‘pretty’ would make your nipples get hard? Remember…honesty, slut.”
How the fuck could he read her that easily? She fought the urge to roll her eyes at him.
“Fine. I was thinking about last night.”
The grin spoke volumes. He was far too cocky for words.
“Yes, Sir. I had the best sleep ever.”
She turned and would have flounced from the room. He spoiled that plan by grabbing a hank of hair, turning her face up to his. His eyes gleamed in that way she had come to read as dangerous, and exciting. She expected the kiss, the torrid heat, the rough taking of her mouth.
She didn’t expect the hard bite on her bottom lip.
Eyes widened as his teeth worried at the plump flesh he’d captured before he pulled back and slowly released her.
Her breathing was rough, her pulse knocking hard in her clitoris as she stared at him.
“I have to go into the city for the day. I should be home by this evening. Be a good girl and don’t annoy Reggie too much.”
With a quick swat on her bottom, he strode from the room without looking back. Her gaze followed him; she strained to listen as the door blocked her view, until she heard his steps fade away, then the front door opening and closing. Rubbing her finger over her swollen bottom lip, she frowned. She was going to miss him, damn him.
She picked at her salad.
Slanting Reg a quick look under her lashes, she scowled.
“I’m used to having full days. I’m a professional woman, you know, and I’m used to coming and going, meetings all the time, things to do.”
“Ah, so you’re bored. I have a cure for that.”
By the wicked grin on his face she wondered if she’d fallen into some sort of trap, but hell, she was bored.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What?”
Her knees ached. Her shoulders ached. Her fingers ached. Added to that, sunburn had painted her back and nose a shade of pink, despite the sunscreen Reggie had insisted she wear. Ugh.
Sitting back on her heels, she looked over the large kitchen garden. She’d weeded perhaps half of it, naked. Who did that?
She did, obviously.
Still, the garden looked great, even if she was sweaty, dirty, and aching from the unexpected physical work. Gardening was not for wimps.
“You know, I thought you were smart.”
She looked over her shoulder. Reg stood there, hands on hips, scowling at her.
“Of course I’m smart. It’s part of my attraction,” she quipped.
“It’s hot out, sunny, and you’re getting a sunburn. Did you not think to come out of the garden and get some water? Or shade. Geezuz, woman, I didn’t mean you had to do the entire garden today.”
He shook his head, exasperated. He flung out a hand, which she took. Tugging her to her feet, he put his arm around her waist as she moaned. Dirt fell in clumps around her feet, from her knees, her hands.
She felt his sigh, but for once he was silent as he guided her up the back steps, marble like the front, and into the house. Small bits of dirt fell onto the pristine floor of the kitchen as he brought her through the kitchen, a trail of dirt leaving a trail all the way up to the Master suite. He pushed her to the toilet, silently bidding her to sit, while he turned the shower on.
“First, you rinse all that,” he gestured to her legs “off. Then a cool bath to soothe the sunburn. I have a jungle trick to take the fire out of that. Trust me, you don’t ever give a sadist something like that to play with.”
For an instant, sympathy slid across his face, was quickly replaced by annoyance.
“You’re a piece of work, girl, I’ll give you that.”
With that, he turned and left the room. Grateful for the rough kindness, she slipped into the shower, and began to wash herself clean.
He drove carefully. He was bringing her back, one way or the other. A quick glance at the hardware store bag on the passenger seat reassured him. Clothesline, duct tape, his wife retrieval kit.
He smiled, and drove into the sunset.
She wasn’t sure what was in the lotion that Reggie had rubbed into her sunburn, but an hour later, the burn had faded, and she felt fine. Moving through the house, at ease now with being clothing-free, she stopped to look at a painting in the hallway. Reggie, in his soundless fashion, appeared beside her. Silently the two looked at the image of a giant tentacled beast surrounding a beautiful hapless maiden. It was disturbing, and oddly erotic. He tapped her shoulder.
“I’ll put another dose on it before bed, but it looks better.”
“It is better. Thank you.”
She wasn’t sure why he got under her skin. Maybe it was his always-calm demeanor. Though he played the part of the butler, there was much going on under the surface between the two men that she didn’t understand. He was not obsequious. He didn’t fawn, he seemed every bit as confident as Sir was. He was strong and big without being burly. Reg just defied explanation, she decided. She moved away, feeling lost. He didn’t follow.
She meandered into the kitchen and decided to cook dinner for the two of them. She was hungry from her labors in the garden, and he was there. It just seemed too rude to not cook for him as well. Plus, he had put the salve on her sunburn. As she gathered the tools she needed, she heard the phone ring somewhere in the front of the house. Knowing Reg would get it, and having never cleared it with Sir to answer it anyway, she continued her work, chopping an onion, green pepper, and a bright fat tomato. She wondered if it was Sir, and if he would ask to talk to her if it was. For as long as she had been here, she had not heard the phone ring even once before. As she broke eggs into a bowl, Reg came into the room. She looked up expectantly.
“He won’t be home tonight. He says to tell you to be in bed before ten, to sleep in his bed and dream of him.”
She was both disappointed, and surprised. Disappointed that he hadn’t wanted to talk to her, and surprised that he’d had Reggie deliver such sweet talk to her. Taking a breath, and trying to appear unaffected, she gave a half-shrug as she moved about her task.
Reggie’s left eyebrow rose. She rolled her eyes, broke another egg into the bowl with one hand, then looked back at him.
“Okay, fine. When will he be back? I miss the bastard. So sue me.”
Reg let the smile slide onto his face slowly, making her blush.
“Three weeks ago you would have done the dance of joy to hear he would be away overnight.”
“That they do. Tomorrow, kitten.”
He moved closer, peering into the pan that sizzled merrily.
“That smells good.”
She gave the pan a quick shake, throwing the tomatoes into the mix, stirring the contents with a flick of her wrist on the handle.
“Lucky for you, it’s for both of us. I thought a veggie omelet would be a nice light dinner.”
“Mmmm. Your hidden talents never cease to amaze me.”
There. That just-faintly-there sarcasm was what bugged the shit out of her. She chose to take the high road, and ignore it. Maybe some people couldn’t help being assholes. Inwardly she smiled.
“I worked in a kitchen for a few years while I went to college. Majored in business, but one doesn’t forget.”
She poured the beaten eggs over the veggies, set the pan on a lower heat, then buttered some bread and put that on a second pan she had heating. The quick sizzle sent a cloud of steam up. Reg leaned around her, his warm hand pressing against the small of her back. She tried to quell the nerves. After all it was her, naked, and him, alone in the house. He was much stronger than her. He flicked on a switch, and the overhead fan sucked up the steam. He mouth at her ear startled her.
“You are his. I don’t poach.”
He stepped away and began to set the table in the kitchen. For a moment she paused, holding her breath, then released it with a sigh. A dash of guilt ran through her. She squeezed her eyes closed against the rush of embarrassment, then opened them to attend to the meal.
She buttered the backside of the bread, flipping it, then flipped the eggs in their pan. Folding them expertly, she let the omelet set for a moment, then slid it onto a waiting dish beside her. In moments the buttered bread had crisped, and she slid that onto another plate. Carrying both dishes to the table, she set them down, then placed her hand on his.
He inclined his head, which she took as “accepted”.
Sitting, they dug into the meal with no further conversation between them.
He drove slowly past the stone fence, taking in the wrought iron gate. The fence was on the low side, and looked easy enough to scale. He thought about driving right in and demanding his wife be returned to him, but decided against it. The asshole probably would quote that lawyer-ese chapter and verse to him, and show him the stack of papers with his signature on it. Shit, he’d been under fucking duress when he’d signed. He hadn’t understood at the time what all of it entailed. He’d been screwed. It was time to get what he came for. Concentrating on the property lines, he continued to case the property.
Despite the fact that she kind of liked the nickname, it rankled that in 21 days no one had called her by her given name.
“I have a name, you know.”
“Yes. Slut, whore, playtoy, cunt, pussy…”
Her gasp drew one of his sardonic smiles. Reggie stood there, leaning against the door frame of the kitchen as she cleaned up from supper. He held the tube of lotion for her sunburn in one hand.
Her face was crimson, and she turned back to rinsing the pan. Now he laughed outright.
“Part of my charm, kitten.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Charming is not the word that came to my mind.”
“Let me guess….lovable?”
She shook her head, trying to not let him see the smile that was attempting escape from her lips. He strode over to her, pinning her against the counter with just the heat from his body.
“I saw you rolling your eyes there.”
“Well really…lovable?” The giggle erupted when she turned her head and saw his frown.
The cool salve was squirted onto her shoulders suddenly, making her jump and yelp. His fingers smoothed it into her pink flesh gently, but still–that had been shockingly cold against her burn!
“You have a wicked bedside manner, Reg. What a bastard!”
“That’s ‘lovable bastard’ to you.”
“riiiiiight,” she replied. The shiver ran up her spine, the medication taking the last of the heat from her sunburn.
“Are you done now?”
“Impatient wench. Planning on running away?”
“No. Why would I? I….like it here.”
“Hmmm…looks like kitten is growing up. No regrets?”
“Regrets? Plenty. Why I married that asshole to begin with. He fucked around, he gambled, he insisted we buy a house that was too much for us, and he was just as prone to “wham-bam-thankyou ma’am” as he was to sitting around all night watching sports on the tube.”
She turned, poking Reg in the center of his admirable pec’s.
“And you know what else I regret?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” he said, capturing her poking finger, squeezing her hand in a quick gesture of comfort for a moment before moving to put away the dishes.
“I am a fucking idiot for not getting out sooner. I just ….took it, you know?”
“Sometimes, kitten, the bars to the cages we put ourselves into are invisible.”
She blinked. That certainly described the ending time of her relationship with her ex. She knew that if not for the many-paged document in her purse upstairs, that she might still be in that cage. That Reggie was perceptive enough to grasp it was a surprise.
“Thanks. You seem very ….comfortable here. But you’re not the sort of man that one pictures as a…butler.”
She hesitated over that last word, but she still didn’t really have a handle on what he did here.
He laughed. Holding the saute pan in his big hand, he threw back his head and let out a roar of a laugh. Shaking her head at him, she tugged the pan out of his grasp and hung it on the rack.
“Men are idiots,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear.
He wrapped her in a bear hug, and kissed the top of her head.
“Yeah, but we’re sexy, strong idiots.”
Releasing her, he moved to gather the plates, neatly slotting them into the cabinet. Companionably, they set the kitchen to rights as Reg answered her first comment.
“We served together–been friends for years. When he needs me, I come and hang out here for a while.”
“So…he called you out of the blue and said ‘hey I need you to help with my slut?”
Reggie threw her a sharp glance.
“No, I didn’t know you were coming until you showed up. He was playing ‘lord of the manor’ that day, but no…I don’t work for him.”
She blinked, not quite sure about this sudden development. Well, and…who knew?
“How come you don’t….I mean…I’m….geeze.”
She blushed, not knowing how to ask what she wanted to know.
“Jump you because you’re naked and pretty and all that?”
Embarrassed more than she’d ever been, she nodded, keeping her eyes averted.
“You know, I said we went back a long, long way. Kinda speaks to honor. I don’t poach my friends ….woman. You know, despite the “you’re the slut” business, unless he specifically says “you can fuck her” to me, I wouldn’t. And…you’re very attractive, and hell, naked tits, right? But you’re not my type. I’m not the kind of guy who is going to fuck someone just because she has a slit and tits.”
She leaned back, staring at him.
“I thought all guys wanted to shag all girls. Anyone. Anytime.”
“Honey, it goes way beyond a key in a lock, at least for me.”
He tilted his head, looking at her with that damned half-smile of his. Didn’t she have a lot to think about now.
“I may hate myself for this in the morning…but I like you Reg.”
He laughed, giving her a rough hug.
“I know, it’s part of my raw animal magnetism. You simply can’t help liking me.”
He laughed when she punched him in the belly.
They never seemed to come out of the house. That would be a problem . He’d assumed that she’d be out and about all the time, but he’d only seen a single light on, in what might be the kitchen. Then even that went out. After a few minutes, a light went on upstairs, but the curtains were a bit too thick to see through, even with his binoculars. He thought he could make out the form of a woman, but he wasn’t really sure. That light went off, while another light went on downstairs. With a sigh, he started the car, then headed for the motel down the road. He’d be back before first light and continue scoping things out.
(yes, a two-fer, coz I’m in the mood…. *grin*)
H’d decided to scope out the property by using the public library internet. Thank goodness for g-maps, since they made canvassing an area much easier. With that, and finding out the property lines, he discovered that the guy owned a huge chunk of property, much of it woods. The woodland conjoined publicly protected land, and thus went on for a while before a road crossed the area. It was a rough, pitted, raw sort of track, but it would be a great place to park his car, and to bring her back unseen. Then they’d take a little trip, maybe out west.
Likely the guy had had enough of fucking his cunt of a wife, and wouldn’t even miss her. Fucking pervert.
Stealing another man’s woman like that. He shook his head, closing down his search and heading back to the motel.
Just thinking about it made his blood boil; popping open a brew and sucking it down helped calm him. He grabbed a breakfast pastry from the bag on the other bed, to give his belly a base for more brews later. First, he had to go and see what the routine was. Maybe he’d see her there. Gosh, didn’t he hope so. Thinking about touching her, roughing her up for being such a cunt and leaving him that way gave him a nice woodie. Maybe he’d rape her tight ass, stretch out her little shitter. Rubbing his boner through his jeans, he made sure his ‘tool kit’ was in the grocery bag on the passenger floor beside him, and headed off to the woods.
She woke, stretching leisurely. Turning her head just a little, she could smell the scent of him on the pillow next to her head. How had it come to be that she’d miss him so much after such a short time together? He was always touching her, caressing the curve of her breast, swatting her bottom, poking his finger into her belly, or catching her hair and scorching her mouth with a burning kiss. She missed that. Missed him.
Sliding from the comfort of his bed at last, she moved into the bathroom. After peeing, she decided a quick shower would be nice, washing away any last sleep-webs from her brain. If she thought she was primping a bit for his return, well, what of it. If she was his ….slut…than he deserved the best of her, right? Stepping into the hot spray, she washed her hair, thinking of how much her mind had changed. There would be bumps ahead, to be sure. She was strong-willed, and had a busy professional life. Hands buried in the foamy mess of her hair she paused. But..wait…
There was only one week left in their contract.
What if…somehow…it was over in seven more days? Here she was, making plans for the future, when they had never even discussed… And rightly so, as she had been so pissed for the first week, resigned for the second week, and only now discovering how truly happy he made her.
Biting her lip, she rinsed her hair, trying to not cry. He wouldn’t would he? Push her away and be all done with her? Surely he had some feelings for her? She had a small nest egg from the settlement, and could find suitable housing…but she wanted to stay here.
With Him, she self-corrected, Capital H. As her Master, her Sir, the one she answered to. She would enjoy going back to her career, but she wanted to be His, and for much longer than another mere week.
Downstairs, she trailed her hands along the chair rail, feeling unsettled. Of Reg there was no trace. The house was quiet, still. In the kitchen she dug a container of yogurt out of the fridge door, and ate it as she wandered through the house. It wasn’t just the material things…things were just…things. She was lonely for the man who had left marks on her body, indelible marks on her spirit…and her heart.
No one fell in love in three weeks.
Apparently no one had told her heart that.
With a sigh, she rinsed her container and spoon, and tossed the one in the recycling, the other into the dishwasher. A note by the sink said
Out in the shed working on the fucking lawnmower.
The note made her smile. Well, she’d head off and attempt the maze. Maybe that would keep her busy until Sir came home. Taking a pen, she added her note to Reggie’s.
Going to try the maze. If I’m not back by lunch, please come find me! (LOL!)
Taking a water bottle from the fridge, she headed out the back door.
She dove right in, and by sheer luck, found the center point in under 20 minutes. The day was warm, sunny, and she felt the prickly growing of yet another sunburn on her shoulders. Off in the distance she heard the lawnmower running, and smiled. Reggie had fixed the “fucking mower” after all. She sat on the marble bench for a while, looking at the gorgeous nude statue that faced her. She was sitting on a small platform, head thrown back, arms behind her, supporting her, breasts pointed perkily to the sky. That she was in some kind of ecstasy was readily apparent. There was no Hitachi nearby, she thought with a giggle. Maybe her lover had just left her. Maybe she was fantasizing about him. She put a story to the statue, of loneliness and need. The bench was cool on her bottom, despite the warmth of the air. She felt good, albeit lonely, just as she thought about the statue woman. She lay down on the bench. It was just long enough to fit her. Rolling to her side, she cradled her head in the crook of her elbow, and fell asleep, still looking at the breasts of the statue.
Something clamped over her mouth. She woke with a start, unable to remember where she was for a moment. Fucking Reggie! The hand moved away, yet her mouth remained gagged shut.
“Hello naughty slut wife. You fucking cunt, you’re outside fucking bare-assed naked.”
His hand squeezed her tit hard, making her slap at him. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her up by it, and slipping a rope over her hand. She realized suddenly what he was doing and tried to fight, but it was too late by then. She smelled the beer on his breath, and knew he had his ‘mean’ on. He was more than unpleasant then. Usually she left the house when he was drunk and pissed off at the world. Her arms were pulled behind her back hard, and she whimpered.
He cuffed the side of her head.
“Shut the fuck up, cunt.”
The hum of the mower sounded, off in the distance. Closer, came the sound of plastic crunching.
“Get th’ fuck…geezus, fucking thing…”
He shook his foot, dislodging the water bottle that stuck on his sneaker. Water flew from it in a wild arc. Panic rose in her belly, a sick feeling of fear, of nausea. What the hell was her ex doing here?
He tugged her out of the maze, opposite the way she had come in. Stumbling as he half-dragged her, she tried to scream, to struggle. He hit her once, hard, in her temple. Dazed, she fell to her knees, only to be dragged a few feet.
“Get the fuck up you stupid piece of ass, and walk, or I will drag you.”
Stumbling, she rose awkwardly, shoulders throbbing.
“Help me…” she thought, hard, sending her silent screams skyward.
Thank god he was drunk. He wobbled his way through the trees, the pace bearable. She breathed heavily through her nose, terrified that she’d gag or choke and wind up dying in her own juices. The tape covering her mouth pulled and itched, her shoulders throbbed steadily from the hard pull from her bound wrists. Yet, as they walked, she twisted and wiggled them. Just as she felt a bit of give, feeling the rope loosen just a bit, he stopped walking, turned and stared hard at her. It gave her a sick feeling in her stomach.
She nodded. He stepped up to her, grinned down at her. His fingers moved over her tits, rubbing and molding them with his sweaty hands. The slap came, unexpected and brutal, rocking her head, making her dizzy. Her cheek burned.
“Too fuckin’ bad. You stay right there.” Pressing her back against the tree, he moved away from her. Ducking behind a huge boulder, he pulled out a partial six-pack that he’d stashed there earlier. Good planning, he thought, feeling sweat trickle down his temple. Leaning back against the rock he popped the top, guzzled it down, all the while staring at her. Tossing the can aside, he opened another, taking a long slurp from it.
“You’re a fucking whore. Naked. And a mess.”
She shivered. He didn’t blink, just drank, stared. Maybe he’d get so impaired he’d fall down. Surreptitiously, she rubbed her wrists slowly on the tree bark behind her. Her cheek throbbed, tears threatened, but if she let go and cried, she’d drown herself. The knot was loosening!
When he pushed off the rock and moved towards her, she pressed back against the tree. Did he know how loose her bonds were? His hands enveloped her tits, squeezing and twisting them as his mouth cruised her cheek, his tongue slurped along her ear. The sharp tang of beer and bad breath made her want to choke. Turning her head away, she shivered. His words were as mean as his hands.
“You’re one hot fuck like that. Like in some girly magazine, all fucked up. Fucked up. I wanna fuck you up some more. I’m gonna fuck you, right here. Throw your ass on the ground and fuck you like a dog. Fuck you like a whore. Fuck you bloody, fuck you rough. No “wifey” nice stuff, not anymore, you cunt. You get what you deserve.”
He slapped her face again, hard. She came close to falling, but grabbed at the trunk behind her. Her ropes slid even further apart.
He leaned on her, pressing against her. The bark bit into her arms, her shoulders throbbed. She whimpered. The hard lump of his cock strained forward in his jeans, pressing against her belly. She shook her head, yelled behind the gag. No! No, she didn’t want this, didn’t want him. Tears she’d thought she’d held away slid down her cheeks, hot against the cold revulsion shuddering through her. Pain exploded along her nipples as he pinched and pulled, grinding his pelvis against her belly, the zipper hasp scraping along her tender skin.
The rope slid off one wrist.
He leaned away, eyes boring into hers.
“I think I’m gonna take my conjuglug rights now.”
‘Fucking idiot,’ she thought, hatred filling her. ‘He couldn’t even say ‘conjugal’ correctly.She looked at him with disdain, would have sneered had her lips not been taped closed. He stepped away, lifting the can to his lips. Moving to the rock where he’d put the rest of the dwindling cache of beer, he tilted his head back to get the last of the brew. His eyes closed with pleasure; he felt strong as a beast. He had caught his wife, he was gonna fuck her like a man should, rough and raw in the woods. He felt like First Man, taking his woman. The last drops of beer slid along his smile, as he raised the can over his head, crushing it in his hand. That’s what he would do to her. Crush her. Pound her. Take her cunt and mark it as his. Fuck the fifty grand the dumb asshat had paid him for her. His bills were paid now, ‘cept for the fucking mortgage, no way to get that cash back, fucker. He grinned. He won! He hurtled the can away, opening his eyes as his other fingers worked at his belt. His cock was harder than he ever remembered. He was gonna give that cunt wife of his a real treat. A real man, with a cock on fire, ready to plunder, to take, to remind her of who was boss. Not some fucking rich turd who likely couldn’t get a hard-on more than once a fucking week. Reaching for another can, he glanced over his shoulder,
What the fuck? He froze. She was…gone. What the fuck? Turning, scowling, he saw her, running flat-out, back they way they had come. That fucking whore! He had planned to be merciful with her, but now? He was gonna catch her fat ass and drill her a new hole. He’d fuck her so hard his cock would poke out her fucking tonsils.
Throwing the can hard, he took off after her at a shambling, drunken run.
He slammed the car door, wriggling his shoulders. He hated the drive from the city, it seemed to take forever. He could have had the driver pick him up, take him back and forth, but it had seemed that it would be quicker to do it himself. He knew the length of the drive was colored with his impatience to see her again.
Damn but he’d missed her.
Rubbing his hands together, he could barely wait to see her. Amazing what 36 hours away from her had done to his heart, not to mention his very active libido. He wondered what she was doing. From the back of the house he could hear the roar of the lawnmower. Reg had managed to fix his machine, thank god. He generally liked taking care of his lawn, but the frigging thing kept sputtering until it died. He had to hand it to Reg–the guy was a marvel with anything mechanical. Pulling his jacket from the passenger seat, he jogged up the front steps and into the coolness of the house. He wondered what she was doing right now.
Shaking off the last of the rope from her wrists, she cried at the pain in her shoulders as her arms relaxed. Wincing, running, she reached up and tore off the tape covering her mouth. Her breath came in an explosive gasp. Being able to breathe more freely meant she could run faster.
“You fucking cunt!”
The shout came from behind her. Risking a quick glance, she saw him, weaving as he ran. With any luck, he’d fall and break his fucking neck. He was, however, gaining on her. Ignoring her pain, using it to fuel her, she sped up, leaping over logs, and cutting straight through the woods. On the trail he could catch her. Bushwacking, she stood a chance. She no longer felt each whipping sting as branches slapped her body. She ran.
Moving through the house, he listened for her. Nothing. He went up to his room. Perhaps she was still abed, or in the shower? The room was empty. He sighed. He unloaded the pockets of his jacket, hung it in his closet, moved into the bathroom to take a piss. The bed had been slept in, the shower used. For all that she was neat, it was pretty clear that someone had been there. Sliding off his suit pants, he slid into his jeans. Scooping up some of the items from his jacket, he shoved them into his pocket as he moved downstairs continuing his search. He checked the art room, the library, and the kitchen. No sign of her. A frown flitted across her face. He’d thought she’d settled in…no. He knew she’d settled in. She was happy now. Reggie had told him last night how much she was missing him. Next to the sink, he saw a note, read it. Aaah, she was in the maze. Glancing at his watch he noted that it was just past lunch. Likely she was lost inside.
Stepping out to the back portico, he met Reg coming up the steps.
“Hey…thanks for fixing the beast!”
“One does what one can…” Reg buffed his fingernails on his sweaty tee-shirt, gloating.
“So, where’s my slut?”
“She’s not in the house?”
He held out the note; Reggie scanned it quickly, then grinned at his friend.
“Well, I guess we need to go rescue our fair maid.”
He dug in his pocket, tugged out a pair of blue boxes. One was small.
He fingered the pale blue ribbon wrapped around the pale blue box.
“What’s in the other one?”
“Figured I’d try your route, Reg, and give her a collar, too.”
He pulled off the cover to reveal an intricate series of interlocking circles. Three colors of metal gleamed in the sunlight. The necklace looked light, ethereal.
“Not your typical collar,” Reg said, looking at it, “but very you. And very her. Going to show me the other box?”
He looked atypically nervous. He slid the catch, opening the box. The diamond threw rainbows, glowing in the sunlight. Along each side of the band, six square-cut small diamonds added their luster. Reg whistled.
“Man, I’ve been a gardener for a long time and I’ve never seen carrots like that!”
He snapped the box shut, tucking both back into his pants pocket. His grin flashed as bright as the ring had.
“Well, first I need to find her…”
“I wonder if she figured out that you had this made to your military cadence?”
“Left, right, left,left, right!”
The two men laughed, turning one last right before ending in the center of the maze.
“Wait.” He held up a hand.
“Something’s not right here.”
Years of special ops work as SEALS had trained them well. A change came over them both, moving from easy rapport to sudden keen alertness. Reggie bent to look at the water bottle, lying crushed on the ground beside the statue.
“It’s a shoe print. Man-sized. Some prints in the grass here, too.” He pointed with a finger to where a series of steps led to a crushed area. “Whoever it was, she didn’t go without a fight.”
They followed the tracks, pausing now and again and backtracking when the steps led into dead ends. A broken series of branches caught His attention.
“Fell, or was pushed here.”
From off in the woods they heard a roaring yell. The words were unintelligible, but both heads went up, eyes sharpened.
“That fucking bastard.”
They moved as one, Reggie’s visage as terrifying and grim as his own. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. In silent tandem, they moved through the twists and turns of the back of the maze. Shortly, they came to the back entrance, where He paused again. A roll of duct tape lay in the shadows.
“He has her. That fucking shit found her. He’s contacted me twice saying he wanted her back.”
“Too fucking bad. Any bastard who sells his woman …”
The thought was cut off by a sharp scream. The two men took off at a run.
When he found her, he was going to mangle her tits, he was gonna punch her cunt, he was gonna rip her ass to shreds. He was drunk, mad, and mean with it. A red haze of fury colored his brain, narrowing his gaze to the faint flickers of white as his cunt of a wife ran naked through the woods. The whore. His cock throbbed in his pants as he stumbled and ran through the undergrowth.
Her side ached. Her head throbbed where he had struck her twice. She blinked blood from her eye, swiping at a scratch above her eyebrow that oozed slowly. She ran uphill, certain that she was close to Sir’s property. She worried that perhaps she’d gone too far westward; though she thought she’d corrected her course, she knew that if she wasn’t careful, she’d run deeper into the forest instead of home.
Pausing for breath, leaning back to a tree, she remembered when He’d told her of finding this gem of land. He’d come back from war, from bleak dry desert, and found this oasis. They’d been standing on the balcony outside his bedroom, looking out towards the darkening woods, where fireflies danced in the underbrush. He’d been brushing her hair. She remembered the sensuality of that moment, the feel of His hands stroking over her scalp, the brush moving gently, firmly. How His hand would stroke down her hair, down her back, and sometimes, snake around and slide along the sensitive side of her breast.
She’d giggled, she remembered. She, no longer a girl, had giggled as if she were twelve again.
Pushing off of her resting spot, she began to haul herself up the embankment, tree by tree. As she neared the top of the hill, she risked another look behind her. She had gained a bit of space, but not much. And….he terrified her. The face of her former husband had been replaced by that of a monster intent on destroying her. Done with the past, with her ex, she wanted to giggle again, wanted to be stroked, to be held. She wanted it so badly, to be with Sir. With a gasp, a small moan, she struggled upward. As she stepped over a branch, she teetered, fell backwards. With a short, sharp scream, she rolled down the hill until she fetched up against a stout tree.
“Where did it come from?” Reg paused, listening intently, as they entered the woods.
Sir paused a moment, orienting himself with the maze to his back, pointing to the west.
“I think perhaps there. Somewhere down that way is a small but wicked ravine. Geezuz…” He swiped a hand across his eyes, praying that she hadn’t gone that way, hadn’t fallen. Reg’s hand on his shoulder steadied him.
“Let’s go get our girl.”
Moving like one, the two moved quickly through the forest.
There! He heard her scream, and looked hard through the trees. Up ahead, he could see her round white ass. She was climbing the hill, the fucking cunthole, which was gonna slow him down, but maybe if he cut around the base he could angle up and catch her. In his pants, his cock oozed precum, throbbing with a jungle rhythm. This was what it was all about. The hunt, the chase, and in the end, the wild fucking of his prey. With renewed vigor, he picked up his pace.
He kept her flashing rump in his view, watching as she staggered around one tree, over a rock, around a slight bend. Where the fuck had she gone to now? Turning, he began his ascent up the hill.
“Ravines over this way. But I thought the scream came more from there.” Part of Him wanted to bellow her name, but he knew stealth was better. If that jerkwad was out there, it was best to not alert him that he and Reg were en route to her.
“Cap’n–” Reg pointed off in the distance. Through the thick woods they could see a form moving quickly, until it was lost in the undergrowth.
Grimly, the pair moved silently, quickly.
Her hair hung in her face, her breath came in deep, heaving gasps. Visions of water, icy cold, danced before her as she licked her parched and swollen lips. Her head hurt, she felt dizzy. Leaning against a tree, trying to catch her breath, she knew she was in danger of fainting. That would not be good. The ground leveled off here, and she moved on, slowly. Her side ached, her legs were wobbly. She must have made a wrong turn somewhere. The maze should have been there, Sir’s yard. But instead there was only the woods, deep and dappled with light. The scent of green growth surrounded her. It was tranquil here–
His body landed on hers. Toppling to the ground, she struck and struggled. His hand closed on her mouth and she bit, hard. He howled as she tasted the sharp tang of blood. A long-lost memory rose; swiftly she raised her hips, lifting him, then fell back to the ground and shoved her knee up.
The explosion of pain in his engorged groin far eclipsed the pain of his hand. His animal cry of pain rang through the woods as she scurried from under his curled up body.
“Gonna fucking kill you for that. Gonna fuck you dead.”
She knew he would. Her feet took flight, racing for her life now. The slap of leaves, of branches against her face, on tits, on thighs, ignored. Now it was only the urge to run, to flee, to put as much distance between them as possible while he was writhing on the ground. Yet all too soon she heard the crashing behind her, knew he’d be on her if she didn’t run for her life.
No one was there, but she screamed for help anyway.
“GONNA FUCK YOU UP YOU CUNT. KICK ME IN THE NUTS? FUCKING WHORE!!”
His roar gave her the impetus she needed to surge ahead. Her feet hurt, but–
She shrieked, grabbing onto a young sapling. It kept her from tumbling headlong into the long open split in the earth. Below, far too far below, the silver thread of a stream ran. The jagged edges of granite upthrusts jutted out. If she’d fallen…yet she hadn’t. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him coming. Rubbing his groin, he was close, too close. The opening of the gorge ran left to right. She had no place left to run.
The scream for help froze them in mid-stride.
“There.” Reg pointed to the right.
“She’s at the gorge. Geezuz…”
He took off at a full-out run.
He caught her at the point where a thicket of trees made moving forward impossible without backtracking down the hill. His fist caught her cheek as she turned, and she fell into a star-filled blackness.
His breath caught, ragged from charging up the hill towards her. She lay at his feet. His balls ached. He fell atop her, the strain from his abused balls making him groan. His hands grabbed at her throat, squeezing, shaking her.
He fell back onto his heels. His wife lay motionless, her body crisscrossed with scratches, welts, and the bruises he’d put on her. Her nipples mocked him. Pinching them he tugged and twisted them.
A soft moan came from her lips.
“good, you’re not dead, cuntwhore.”
He slapped her cheeks.
“Wake up, cuntwhore. Wake the fuck up.”
He rubbed his balls, hoping he could get it up, hoping he could fuck her here, put her in her place, the little fucking bitch. Standing, still straddling her, he reached for his belt. He turned at the tap on his shoulder.
“Pardon me, but is this the way to Blueberry Hill?” Reg asked him. Andrew turned, jolting.
“What the fuck…?” He hadn’t heard anyone coming up behind him. He wiped his hand over his face. He wasn’t that drunk, was he? The first blow was to his midsection, making him gasp, bending over. Twisted as he was, his feet tangled in his wife’s legs.
“oh no you don’t.”
He was spun around, pulled forward. He hit the ground. What the fuck? He coughed, rising up to his knees. He was pissed now. No one sucker punched him and laughed about it. When he stood at last, there were two of them.
Maybe he was that drunk?
“Reg. Take her down from here.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” came the crisp reply.
“YOU. You fucktard bastard. I want my wife back.”
“She is not yours anymore. She is her own person. And that person is now mine. Look at yourself. Drunk, for starters. You hit her, tried to strangle her, but you want her back? Pathetic. You have no idea what her value is, yet you abuse and misuse it? Which of us is the fucking bastard, really?”
His sarcasm bit through the last of Andrew Blanford’s sanity. He launched himself at the cocky bastard.
And became airborne.
His scream ripped through the woods. The silence afterwards was nearly as shocking. He tugged his cell phone out of his pocket. No signal. Ah well, it would have to wait until he returned home. His smile was ferocious. Turning, he jogged down the hill to where Reg waited with his woman.
She woke with warmth beside her. He was home, she was safe. She was free. The horrible afternoon with her ex-husband lay in the past now. Sir had given her comfort. A warm bath, the gentle massaging of her wounds with some of Reggie’s salve. He’d sat by her side when she told the police about the abduction, though she hadn’t mentioned that she’d been running through the woods with only a pair of canvas sneakers on. His body had been removed from the ravine, his death ruled accidental. The car had been found on the access road that ran through the parklands, the rest of his ‘kidnap kit’ inside.
He didn’t touch her, except in comfort.
A week had passed, then another. The bruises faded from her throat. From her breasts. Scratches healed, welts receded, until she was fully whole.
He hadn’t touched her.
Oh, He cuddled her, surrounded her with His warmth, kissed her, brushed her hair. But the casual intimacy was gone, as dead as Andrew.
Her thirty days were done. The contract lay in her purse in the closet. He hadn’t asked her to go, nor had He asked her to stay. Her job had given her an extended leave of absence after “The Incident”, so that she could heal. She didn’t want to go back. But she couldn’t stay here, not in this sort of limbo.
He was in the City, coming back tonight. He was bringing food, she wasn’t to fret about dinner.
But dammit, she wanted to fret. She wanted to yell, to scream, to pound Him on his chest and make Him see her.
She wanted to make him want her.
The idea, when it came to her, almost lit up the room.
So did her smile. She wouldn’t fret. She’d make things happen. She jumped out of the chair. She had a million things to do before he got home!
Only a few lights were on when he pulled the car into the curved drive at the front of the house. Good, maybe she’d gone to bed early. She still needed rest–it was the best curative for her recovery. The ordeal had put an enormous strain on her. He hoped that in the not too far distant future they could work back towards where they had been, but so much had changed for her. He wasn’t going to rush her. He wasn’t going to risk a setback. Yet inside he still had those needs, to sexually tease her, hurt her. It was hard to justify them, considering what her ex had done. She’d been beaten, bruised, shocked at the brutality of the guy she had married. He had done all he could to ease her recovery. The burial of her ex had been attended to, and the sale of the house. He’d made certain to personally deal with the moving of her personal items here, and the last of the settlement of the estate. It had been a busy few weeks, as she healed and he dealt with the remains of her life with the asshat. How he wished he’d been able to bash that idiot. Use his training and break some ribs, blacken his eyes, give that piece of shit double what he’d given Anna. And the dumb fuck had managed to throw himself off the cliff instead. How he wished to get those last five minutes back. Instead, he done what he did best, and handled the details, setting Anna’s world to rights. He didn’t touch her except to hold her during her nightmares, to bring her comfort. He didn’t hint at what he wanted for a future. First she had to heal from her past. And he had stuffed those dark needs deep down inside of himself.
They needed to talk about the future. Grabbing the bag of Chinese take-out, he slid out of the car and headed up the steps. In a few days Reggie would be leaving, heading back to his place, picking up his life again. It had been great having him here. He’d been worried about leaving her alone at the house on those occasions he’d needed to go into the city and deal with the mess her idiot ex had left behind. Reg had stayed, watching over her as he’d done for this last month.
He let himself in, tossing his keys in the basket on the foyer table. A yellow sticky note was on the table. The arrow pointed down the hallway. What was that about? Picking up the bright paper, he moved off down the hallway.
“You have to help me.”
Her voice was urgent, her hand on his sleeve holding him in place. He could have easily shrugged her off, but her eyes, dammit, they implored.
“What’s between you…”
“That’s just it. There is nothing between us. He treats me like I’m made of spun glass. I don’t need that. I didn’t need it before,and I don’t need it now. I know He gave me ….space, I guess, to work things out in my head. But now? I don’t know Reggie. I don’t know if…that is space or just His way of letting me down easy…?”
Thinking of the two blue boxes that the Captain had shown him the day of her abduction, Reg interrupted her.
“He cares. He doesn’t want you to go.”
“I think I know that…but Reg? He won’t touch me. He hasn’t touched me in weeks.”
She tugged at the tee shirt she now wore.
“No more naked sex slave. And …” she paused, dropping her eyes and still feeling that embarrassed flush cover her cheeks, “and … I liked it. I didn’t at first–it was my way out– to get away, to get back at, that bastard I married. I was so mad at first. But…later? I liked it. Oh, I know–I can’t live forever as a naked slave, real life isn’t like that…but…it could still be a part of things…if He still wants me.”
Reg rolled his eyes to the ceiling. How had he gotten embroiled in this? The ubiquitous man in the middle, he’d been involved in both sides of this ‘wondering’ conversation. From the Captain at night after she was in bed, sometimes over a glass of whiskey, or a beer on the porch. And then from her during the day as she protested the clothing He made her wear, the naps He made her take–it was driving him fucking nuts!
“I don’t know how I can help. You two need to talk to one another. Work it out.”
“He won’t talk. He cuddles me and tells me to sleep. Sleep. And dammit,” she stamped her foot, her fingers clenching on Reggie’s arm “…then to sleep some more! I’m tired of sleeping.”
She gazed up at him, her face yearning, willing him to understand her case.
“And then…I had an epiphany! Please say you’ll help. Please?”
She turned her baby blues full wattage upon him. What else could he do but agree. Fucking woman! She was too damned cute for his own good. Her brilliant smile made him sigh. He needed to go home. Soon. His smile grew as she laid out her idea. He had to hand it to her…she was a clever little slut. Yeah, he wanted to go home…but first, he kind of wanted to see how this would play out.
He followed the note down the hallway to his study. An arrow on the doorway pointed him inside. Another note pointed him to his desk. A shotglass held two fingers of his favorite scotch. Another note told him to “Place Tie Here”. Loosening his necktie, he took a sip from the glass and smiled. She was quite the gal. He wondered what she was up to.
The next arrow was on the tray where he customarily placed his empty glass. It had an arrow pointing back to the door, with “go to kitchen” written inside the shaft of the arrow. Willing to play along, he moved through the house. In the kitchen he was directed to leave his jacket on the back of the chair, his shoes under it. His slippers were there, and as he slid his feet into them he found yet another note, this one directing him to the second hallway. Moving along he found himself in front of the dungeon door. The arrow here pointed down. For the first time, He frowned. What was she thinking?
He opened the door and moved down the stairs.
Her heart raced. She heard the soft fall of his footsteps on the stairs. Reg had thoughtfully left the door to the playroom ajar. Though she couldn’t hear his car or him moving through the upstairs, Reg had told her that Sir was home.
They were posed, ready.
His brows drew together as he frowned.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
His eyes almost burned her flesh. Reg had tied her in an intricate series of rope and knots. While it had been embarrassing to have him working on her so intimately, she appreciated his deft hand. The knot over her clit was driving her crazy. The bonds holding her hands behind her were gentle enough to not stop blood flow–yet sturdy. Her legs were held open with a long wooden bar, the leather cuffs securing her ankles to each end of the pole.
She knelt on a pair of small pads, while Reg’s fist in her hair helped hold her upright. Her breasts jutted out, and a series of clamps lay on the floor between her spread thighs.
“I repeat,” He said, his gaze moving between the two, “What the fuck is going on here.”
“Your slut prepared this party just for you. Consider me your personal decorator. We left a few finishing touches for you to finish the design with.” Reg pointed to the clamps on the floor. He raised his brow.
“Well? Are you coming over here or do I need to tie a whip onto your hand?”
He took a step, then paused. “I’m not playing this game. I don’t know what you two thought you were doing but…”
“Hey, it was her idea. And if you’re too stupid to act on it, why not go back upstairs and let me take advantage of her offer?”
She knew Reg was baiting Sir, but she wanted to speak. But he’d forbidden her to. It had been one of his ground rules for doing this. She bit her lip, watching the two growl at one another.
“No fucking way. She’s mine.”
“Really? She’s been complaining of being neglected. She has an itch and if you don’t have an interest in scratching it, I am sure I can find all of her…itchy places…..to rub.”
She watched a muscle twitch in His jaw. Reg stood a moment longer, then laughed.
“You dumb ass. Play with your slut.”
With that, he strolled from the room, shutting the door firmly behind himself.
He crossed to her, cradling her face in his large hands.
“Because….I…need it. And I think you do, too.”
Her eyes locked on his. He could see the truth in her words laying inside those blazing blue pools. He sighed, and felt the beast in him begin to twitch off the chains he’d been bound in for these last weeks.
Hooking his hands under her armpits, he lifted her to her feet. She balanced, feet splayed widely, feeling whorish. Feeling wanton. Feeling alive for the first time in weeks.
“I want this.”
She paused, cocking her head at him, giving him a saucy look.
“And I think, Sir, You want me.”
This was the pivotal point, right there. He would answer yes, or he would say no. Either way she wanted-needed-resolution.
“You get to choose now. Over there,” she gestured with her chin to the small table beside the bed, “is a contract. You should go read it, Mr. Legal Eagle, and see if my terms are acceptable.”
He moved to stroke her nipple. She smiled, then spoke.
“No, Sir. You need to read first.”
“Actually, first I need to put you back on your knees so you don’t keel over trying to stand that way. Despite how pretty you look straining.”
He lowered her back to her knees, the crossed the room. She heard the rattle of paper as he picked up the document, the creak of the bed as he sat to read it.
“Did Reg help you write this?” He wondered if his good friend had had a hand in this.
“Oh, no Sir. I just had him tie me up. I found the outlines for that at that legal document website and…adapted it. That’s what we do, right? We take things that are …vanilla…and adapt them.”
He laughed, then went back to reading the document. Clever wench, indeed. She kept her eyes forward, refusing to look at his face while he read. The wait was driving her nuts, but she knew how methodical he was.
The bed creaked as he rose. His slippers were quiet as he crossed to her. His fingers cupped her chin. Eyes met, clashed. He bent, and bit her lip hard before kissing her. His tongue swept into her mouth, twirling and dancing with hers. He tasted her lips, her teeth, the very essence of her breath before releasing her. Her eyes were huge pools of blue when he stepped away.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, as he turned and stepped from the room. In a second he was back.
“Oh, forgot this.”
Bending, he took a pair of clamps that were affixed to a heavy chain, and attached each end to a nipple. A gentle tug confirmed that they were on tight.
“Just to keep you busy while I’m upstairs.”
Reg was fixing a sandwich when he bolted up the stairs and into the room.
“I need water.”
“Really? Did you cum that quickly? They have a pill for that….”
“Fucktard! For her. I’ll be right back.”
He turned, moving quickly down the hallway, then up the stairs. Turning into his bedroom, he opened the large armoires. Reaching up, he opened the topmost compartment and pulled out the two blue boxes. Laying these on his end table, he doffed his work clothes, and slid into the pants he often wore at the club. The leather hugged his thighs, while the tied crotch would give him quick freedom when he decided to fuck her.
And he would most decidedly fuck her.
He pulled on his tight white tee-shirt, slid his feet into the dark leather boots. He didn’t normally “dress Dom” unless the situation warranted. Domly dressing was more a joke between Reg and he…but he knew it would make an impression on her.
He planned to make many ‘impressions’ on her tonight. It was as if something in him had torn loose. He was still very much in control, yet his inner beast, kept on short chains these last weeks, was sensing freedom.
Jogging downstairs, he kept the boxes in his hand, snatched up the water bottle Reggie had placed on the counter, and kept moving downstairs. He left the boxes on the bottom step, then entered the room.
She was breathing a bit heavily now.
“I want to see, to really see, if you’re up for this before I agree to all your terms. If you agree to that, we shall proceed.”
Well and damn. She’d wanted to be the driving force here, but perhaps this was as it should be. After all, he was the one in charge. Once again. She smiled, and nodded.
“Yes Sir. I agree to your terms about my terms.”
“Eyes closed,” He snapped. Her giggle was quickly swallowed. He was gratified to see that she obeyed without hesitation.
Reaching around the door, he took up the boxes from the step and shut the door firmly. Moving across the room, he put the boxes where she wouldn’t see them, inside one of the drawers of the wall unit where he stored his arsenal. He took out a long thin cane, and smiled.
Crossing to her, he took her hair in hand and smacked one tit. She gasped, but kept her eyes closed. He tugged her head backwards, making her lean further and further back, opening her delightful chest to his predation. He tapped her tits, hitting chain, clamps, and flesh. She gasped. She moaned. And the warm scent of hot pussy wafted to his nose.
The cane struck her thighs.
“I smell wet cunt. Is your cunt wet for me, slut?”
“My….” His fingers tightened in her hair, a warning. “…cunt…is….wet…Sir.”
“Again. No stuttering. Tell me about your fuckhole.”
And just like that, he was back, he realized. In charge, taking her. And she, he could see from her face, was back as well. Enraptured, even as his cane stroked her thighs, tapped the deep cleft between, and returned to her tits.
Enraptured. He thought about that for a moment. And wondered which of them it was more suited to.
Sprawled on the mattress, she may have been asleep, or floating along in subspace. Gradually she became aware of her body. Throbbing tits, clit, and nipples, her body had that loose and languorous feeling that one had after a really good, hard, fucking.
And it had been more than that.
He’d touched her. Everywhere. Mouth, cock, fingers, lips, over and around her. Her body had sung to the tunes he’d played on her. A bit cheesy, that expression, yet there was no better one to describe what he did to her.
“You’re awake. Take some water now. Kind of depleted you a bit…”
His voice sounded as raw and happy as she felt.
“More than a bit…Sir.”
They both drank of the water bottle. He opened the door with the intent of heading upstairs for some snacks and found a tray on the bottom step. ‘Nicely done, Reg,’ He thought to himself, bringing the tray to the bed and laying beside her. They talked, ate, touched. The tray emptied, he carried it to the table, and picked up the contract that he’d placed there earlier.
“I think its time for me to finish reviewing this.” His eyes danced as he help up the two-page document. Moving back to the bed, He pushed her upright, hugging her against his side as he read. He made small sounds of agreement, a few curious ‘hmmm’s’ and as he read to the end, an outright chuckle.
“Hey Sir, this isn’t funny stuff in here!” She flicked at the paper with her finger.
Tugging her bangs, he rose, moving towards the cabinet. Taking the larger box out, he kept the smaller one hidden for now.
“Before your ex came back, I’d planned to do this.”
Prying open the lid of the box, he handed the collar to her.
“This is my version of a Collar. I want you, want you to be here. Want you for sex and companionship. Wearing My collar makes you My slut. It is how things are done in the D/s world.”
He paused, watching as her finger traced the interlocking rings floating on the ‘invisible’ strands, the small half-smile on her face pleasing Him.
Her face lifted, her eyes glowing with happiness.
“I don’t know what to say? Yes? YES! or just a calm ‘yes Sir’…because I don’t feel calm at all. My heart is racing, Sir. I–I want this, very much.”
“Well, hold on, slut. There’s a complicating, possibly mitigating factor.”
She blinked, frowning.
He turned away, hiding His smile, and palmed the small box. He held a ball gag in hand.
“If you can say “Yes Sir, I want you to be my Lord and Master from this day forward’ with this in your mouth and make it understandable, then you’ll pass my test.”
He paused. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. His laugh was rich, filling the room with the robust sound.
“You should see your face.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Bastard.”
He knelt between her legs, fingers of one hand teasing its way up her inner thigh.
“mmmmm….smells good here…”
He leaned closer, sniffing deeply. She blushed, closed her eyes. Propping the small blue box on his other hand, he tickled her pussy with those wandering fingers.
“Open your eyes,” He whispered.
He slanted a look up at her.
He saw her swallow hard, look at him, then back at the box. He waited her out. Her fingers found the clasp, opened the box. The ring shone out at her. Gratified at her gasp, his eyes begged the question his lips had yet to ask.
His brow rose in that way she found infuriating. And sexy, damn him.
“You didn’t sign my proposal,” she said, looking at him, trying to ignore the glistening diamonds in her palm.
“You haven’t accepted mine.”
“I was first–and you haven’t asked.”
He inclined his head, pushed off the floor, and scooped up her contract.
“The last page, Sir. That’s got the key clause in it.”
“Throwing some lawyer at me, are you?”
She inclined her head at him, saucy wench. Daring him. Leaning over, he pinched her nipple, making her moan.
“Just so you remember, pet, which of us in in charge.”
She giggled, the naughty girl.
“Will you two fucking get on with it?”
As one they jumped, looking at the door where Reggie leaned against the frame.
“The two of you. Read this. Say that.”
Shaking his head in somewhat feigned annoyance, Reg strolled into the dungeon.
“Kitten? That’s one fucking impressive ring. I think there is no doubt that this big jerk is head over ass for you.” He nailed Anna with a stern glance, then shifted to stab his finger at his best friend. “And you, lugnuts. It’s more than obvious that she is nuts about you. And not just nuts about your nuts….or any of the rest of your package. And yes that was a double entendre. Will you two marry one another and be happy ever after?”
“Yes,” her voice was full of suppressed giggles.
“Yes, you pain in the ass,” spoke her Sir.
Reggie pulled a pen out of his pocket, handing it to the Captain with a flourish.
“I believe your signature is required to make this contract legal and binding.”
He signed quickly, then took the ring from the box and slid it onto her left ring finger. It fit perfectly.
“There,” spoke Reg. “I’ll be back for the ceremony. Until then, consider yourselves contractually, morally, sexually, spiritually signed, sealed, and delivered of one another.”
With a cheery whistle, Reg headed up the stairs, knowing exactly what would happen in that room now that all the necessities had been taken care of.
He was right.