Planet Desire

by Delilah Devlin

  “It’s clear, Kirsten,” she yelled. When Kirsten didn’t respond, Martha’s heart started to thud loudly in her ears. With her gun cocked and ready to fire, she ran to where she’d left the other woman, but when she rounded the curve, it wasn’t Kirsten she found.

  Cantor stood in the middle of the path, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression as dark as a thundercloud. He was so tall and solid he made her feel extremely small and vulnerable—and safe. Her heart ached just looking at him.

  Although relieved beyond words to see him, she knew the fat was in the fire, now. Deciding a little bluster might save the tatters of her pride, she walked the rest of the way toward him, her chin held high. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Cantor’s eyes narrowed, and Martha felt the first tingle of unease creep up her spine. As much as she wished she could fling her arms around his neck and hug him, her intuition told her to stay out of arm’s reach.

  He held out his hand. “Give me the gun.”

  Martha considered resisting, but his expression was growing meaner by the minute. She slapped it in his palm. “Have you seen Kirsten?” she asked, ashamed of her cowardice when her voice trembled.

  “Akron is seeing to Kirsten, now,” Cantor said, his words curt. He bent to the pack lying at his feet and shoved the gun into a pocket.

  “She should like that,” Martha muttered under her breath. To him, she said, “Where are the rest of the men?”

  He straightened, his face hard as granite. “They’re giving us some privacy.”

  “Privacy for what?” By the look of him, it wasn’t the same thing that came immediately to her mind.

  “I gave you and Kirsten specific orders, but you chose to disobey.”

  “Oh, you think this has something to do with your little hunting party?” She tried to laugh, but nearly strangled on it. His stern expression didn’t change, so she tried a different tack—anything to distract him. “How did you know we were behind you, anyway?”

  “We could hear your bitching for miles.”

  Martha bristled and crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking his stance. “You know, I think there’s something to what Kirsten said earlier. You really are a Neanderthal—minus the unibrow! If a man complained about the fit of his boot, you wouldn’t call it bitching.”

  He took a step closer and leaned down. This close, his scowl and the red blotches on his cheeks made him look all the more formidable. “If wanting to keep my women safe makes me a Neanderthal, then—”

  Martha’s heart lurched. Did he realize what he just said? “My women?”

  “What?”

  “You said, ‘my women’.”

  “I meant it in the communal sense of the word. As your governor—”

  “Sure.” She couldn’t help the silly grin that stretched her lips.

  “And stop smiling.” His expression grew blacker. “How am I to punish you if you keep smiling at me?”

  That wiped the grin away. Anger puffed her chest out. “You’re going to punish me? Is that what Akron’s doing right now to Kirsten?”

  “He’s likely taking a strip off her wide ass as we speak.”

  “Because she’s his woman?”

  Cantor bit back an oath, and his lips thinned.

  “So tell me, are you mad because I disobeyed you?” Martha asked, dropping her voice to a husky whisper as she leaned into his chest. “Or are you mad because you were concerned about me—about my safety?”

  “What’s the bloody difference?”

  Martha backed away. She figured she’d pushed him far enough. He was getting so angry the tips of his ears were red.

  “Stand still.”

  “Why would I do that? You planning to take a strip off my hide, too?”

  “Damn right,” he said reaching for the belt at his waist.

  The crotch of Martha’s breeches immediately dampened. This was a game she never thought she’d play out with the stiff and proper Governor. She lifted her chin in direct challenge. “Do you think I’ll stand for that? I’m not yours to command.”

  Cantor stepped forward. “You’re mine all right. My greatest pain in the ass.” He pulled the belt from its loops as he stalked her. “My crack-brained—”

  Martha darted away, dropping her bag to flee into the forest with the sounds of his pursuit close on her heels. She hid behind a tree, feinting right when he circled left, then left to evade him, and she was off again, running deeper into the thicket, fear and desire making her breathless. She wanted him to catch her, but wanted his pursuit—she’d waited so long for this moment.

  His large hand closed over her shoulder, and she shrieked. The ground rose up to meet her as he tackled her, rolling her in the carpet of leaves until she lay beneath him.

  “You’ve jeopardized this mission. Wasted valuable time with your little game.” He rose up, reaching for her hands.

  She shoved him hard, toppling him to the side, and tried to crawl away. But he was too strong, and his body covered hers again, pressing her into the soft bed of leaves.

  Martha writhed and bucked beneath him, her excitement growing with her struggles. She pounded his shoulders and back and kicked at his shins.

  He wrestled her for dominance, rolling and cursing until finally he pinned her to the ground, his legs trapping hers beneath him, his loins pressed to hers to hold her hips still. With quiet efficiency he bound her hands together above her head with his belt, cinching it tight.

  Her shirt had worked its way free of her loose breeches, and his clothing abraded the bare skin of her belly. He lifted his torso off her and roughly shoved her overlarge pants down her hips, binding her legs in the twisted fabric.

  Martha was helpless against his superior strength—and loving it. When he’d subdued her struggles to his satisfaction, he looked back up at her. The black passion written on his face took away her breath.

  Cantor rose, lifted her from the ground, and carried her like a bag of potatoes to a fallen tree. There, he seated himself and dragged her over his lap, face down, a heavy arm in the center of her back pinning her to his thighs.

  Not ready to end the battle, she squirmed and wriggled, all the while excitement beat a tattoo in her veins. When the first loud slap of his palm met her bare ass, Martha gasped. He’d hit her harder than she’d expected. “Bastard,” she screeched. “You have no right.”

  Smack!

  “I have the right you gave me when you agreed, along with the rest of the women, to be governed by me,” Cantor shouted back.

  Smack! She reared up and scowled over her shoulder. “I’m sure this is not what we had in mind.”

  Smack! His face was dark and dangerous, passion and fury riding high in his red-stained cheeks. “I have the right any sane, responsible man has to teach his woman a lesson in obedience.” Smack!

  Martha’s buttocks smarted from the sting of his slaps, but her cunt gushed with excitement. His woman, he’d said this time. “I don’t recognize that right. I’m responsible for me.”

  Smack! “You will learn to obey me.”

  She wriggled her ass, lifting it into his strokes.

  The next slap stroked her cunt, and the sound of it betrayed her arousal. His palm met moisture.

  Martha groaned and rested her chest and head on the tree in surrender. Cantor’s hand remained on her ass, and she heard his loud breaths, felt his burgeoning arousal poke at her thighs. His hand circled, smearing the wet, then lifted off her buttocks.

  Smack! Smack! Not as hard this time and aimed at flesh he hadn’t touched, but stinging all the same.

  His hand rubbed her hot skin, caressing first one buttock, then the other. He slid his palm between, smearing more of her fluids.

  Martha didn’t move, waiting to see whether he’d continue her “punishment” or elect another form of domination. Her body trembled with anticipation.

  When his fingers prodded her sex, she wriggled in earnest, trying to entice him deeper. “Cantor!” she sobbed and held her br
eath.

  Smack!

  Chapter Eight

  ‡

  Cantor aimed his palm at the center of her buttocks and struck her creamy cunt again. The scent of the woman’s arousal, and her fierce struggles that ground her thighs into his swollen cock, distracted him from his purpose.

  Martha must be punished. Lacking a place he could lock her away, or a chore he could set her to, he’d settled on physical punishment, hoping the humiliation of being treated like a child would somehow penetrate her stubborn brain. She had acted outrageously, recklessly.

  Now, with her delight in her “punishment” smeared across his palm, he realized he’d underestimated her—and her passion. Martha was driving him out of his mind.

  Looking at her buttocks, he felt revulsion for his violence. He’d never left a mark on a woman, but there was the reflection of his hand in red relief on her tender skin.

  Never mind, the minx seemed to enjoy it. He’d dipped his fingers into her well to test the water, so to speak, rimming her cunt, only to discover the little witch was primed for sex.

  Meaning to soothe, he massaged her buttocks, torn between the need to wring satisfaction for her foolish prank and the need to pump his cock against her thighs. Martha moaned, so softly he might have mistaken it for a quiet sob, except that she raised her buttocks to press against his hand. Intrigued, he administered two sharp spanks, taps really, in comparison to his previous slaps.

  “Harder,” she whispered.

  He shoved her pants past her knees and pushed open her thighs, just far enough to fully expose her labia. Then he slapped her cunt.

  Martha sobbed, and her sweet, generous ass trembled.

  Smack! Smack!

  She bucked on his lap, her back arching upward. “Cantor!”

  Smack!

  “Please, harder,” she begged. “Baby, now!”

  Cantor couldn’t bear the pressure in his breeches for a moment longer. He lifted Martha off his lap and draped her over the trunk of the tree. Then he wrestled with the buttons on the placket of his breeches to free his sex. It fell from the opening against her rump, and Martha wriggled until it rested in the crease of her ass.

  Taking a deep breath, he told himself to take this slowly—extract the maximum enjoyment for himself and ultimate torment for his captive. Now that he was past the haze of his anger, he realized what the ultimate goal of his punishment really was.

  The problem that confronted him was how to teach Martha to be obedient. If the physical punishment he’d administered hadn’t done the trick, perhaps he could use her passion against her.

  He backed away to look at her. Her round, heart-shaped bottom was red from his efforts, her cunt redder still and engorged, the slick folds parting slightly to let him see into her dark channel.

  Cantor placed his hands on her ass and pushed apart her cheeks. He decided to test another well. He pushed a finger into her asshole.

  Martha cried out, rising up partway. “More!” she cried hoarsely.

  He slid a second finger inside her and groaned. Bloody hell, she was tight. He circled, pushing and withdrawing, finger-fucking her ass.

  Martha squirmed, fighting the stricture of her trousers still bunched below her knees. “Free me! Please Cantor!”

  “No, love. You must accept my punishment.”

  Her pink ass quivered. “Yes, please. I’ve been a bad, bad girl,” she said in a soft little voice.

  Cantor grinned. The girl had spunk. She had to be desperate about now, but she still wanted to play games. He withdrew his fingers and stood. “What shall I do with you, Martha?” he said, infusing disappointment in his voice.

  “Spank me, again?” she asked, her tone hopeful.

  “I’m not sure that’s harsh enough, love. And I can’t bear to mar the skin of your pretty little bottom. What else could I do?”

  “Take my ass? I’ve been especially wicked.”

  He sighed. “I suppose there’s nothing else that might get your attention, but you must tell me what you feel so I can judge how effective this punishment is. If you’re silent, I’ll assume it isn’t working.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Placing his feet on either side of her body, he took himself in hand and aimed his cock at the little rosy orifice. He pressed inside her, meeting resistance from the tight ring.

  “Oooh! It hurts, it hurts bad, Cantor.” Her breaths were short and sharp—he judged the slight pain he caused was exciting her as much as the spanking had.

  He withdrew his cock and dropped spit onto the head, spread the moisture with his thumb then directed it back to her tiny hole. “You were very good. Now, keep it up. I have to know what you feel.” He pressed slowly inside her, pulsing his cock to ease past the tight muscles. “Tell me, Martha.”

  “My ass is burning. You’re too big,” she said, her voice strained.

  He held himself still. “Shall I stop?”

  “No!”

  Her reply came so quickly, he smiled.

  “Deeper, I need more…punishment.”

  He braced his legs wider apart and flexed his hips, shoving several more inches inside her. Her tight ass, virginal in its resistance to his presence, gripped him like a glove several sizes too small.

  “Cantor!”

  “Tell me, Martha, tell me or I’ll stop,” he said, even as he thought he’d die if he didn’t finish this.

  “I can’t. Can’t think.” She moaned, and her head thrashed. “Feels so good. No, hurts! It hurts bad.”

  “That’s better.” He pumped his hips, driving deeper with each hard stroke. “Will you be a good girl, baby?” His strokes were longer now. He pushed her cheeks apart to grind the base of his cock into her buttocks.

  “I promise. I’ll be good. Soooo good.”

  “Will you obey my every command?” He slammed his hips at her ass now.

  “Every…command.” Her breaths gusted with his pounding. “Anything… just rub my clit, please!”

  “This—” He crashed into her, lifting her ass off the tree. “—is punishment, love.” A second thrust, and he felt his thighs tense. “Not—” A third and his balls squeezed. “Not release for you!”

  “But I’m so close,” she wailed.

  “Tough! I’m there!” With a shout he exploded, come jetting into her ass.

  Even before he stopped moving inside her, she cursed him. “You sorry son-of-a-bitch! Bastard! Liar!”

  Draped over her back, Cantor enjoyed her energetic abuse. Her body still shook with need.

  He lifted himself off her, slowly pulling out of her body. Leaving her helpless on the tree trunk, he walked back through the forest to find the backpack he’d left beside the trail. He felt deliciously boneless. He pulled out his canteen and a cloth and returned to Martha.

  She’d finally quieted down. Having managed to roll off the tree, she lay on her back, watching his approach. He ignored her and poured water onto the cloth then proceeded to clean himself. When he finished, he tossed the cloth onto the ground, laid down the canteen, and tucked his cock inside his breeches.

  Without saying a word to her, he knelt beside her and removed her boots. Her eyes glittered with rage, but when he pulled her breeches down her legs, she whimpered.

  “Did you learn anything, love?” he asked, throwing the trousers onto the tree.

  “Do you mean, besides you’re a selfish misogynist?” she said, spoiling the effect of her smartass comment with a hiccup.

  “Yes, besides that.”

  “No.” She sniffed, and her mouth trembled. “I don’t think I’ve learned my lesson…yet.”

  Admiration for the courage she showed, despite her obvious distress, caused his chest to tighten. He stepped between her legs and nudged them apart with the toes of his boots. “Do you need another lesson, baby?”

  Her lips pressed together, and she blinked away tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. She nodded slowly.

  Cantor knelt in front of her. Just looking at he
r for the longest moment. Her shirt had bunched beneath her armpits and one rosy, dimpled peak was exposed.

  “Push your shirt up,” he said. “I want to see both of them.” He needed every inch of her creamy skin vulnerable to his touch.

  Martha’s bound hands clumsily pushed at her shirt until both lush breasts quivered into view.

  His gaze followed a path down her belly to her open cunt. Her sex was fragrant and glistening. “Raise your knees.”

  She did so, whimpering. “Wh-what’s my punishment this time?” she asked in a small voice.

  He stared at her pussy for a long moment, and then lifted his gaze to hers. “I’m going to cram my fist into your cunt. Do you think you can take it?”

  She licked her lips. “Oh God.”

  “I just realized that in all our previous…encounters,” he said slowly, skimming his hands along her inner thighs, “I’ve never gotten a taste of your pussy. Martha, do you think I’ll like it?”

  Her lips parted, and her gaze pleaded for his touch. “I hope so.”

  “Lift your hips to me.” He leaned forward on his hands and knees.

  Martha planted her heels on the ground and slowly raised her hips until her pussy was level with his mouth.

  He liked that her legs trembled. “If your ass falls down, I’ll stop. You got it?”

  “Y-yes.”

  He blew air over her open cunt and fought a smile when Martha sobbed. Then he leaned into her and lapped at her slit, licking away the juice that coated her hot flesh. She tasted like sex—dark, juicy, dirty sex. He rubbed his face in her, inhaling her musky scent.

  Martha’s thighs hugged his cheeks, holding him in place as he continued to learn her textures and flavors. He stroked her plump outer lips, delved between to tongue the edges of her furled inner lips—stabbed into her cunt.

  Martha shivered and moaned, and her hips gently undulated while he plied her pussy with deeper kisses and strokes. Judging her ready for more sweet torture, he slipped an arm around her hips, and his hand crept over her belly to comb through her silky down.