Taken at Midnight: Black Mountain Academy

by Amelia Wilde

  One tentative step, then another. Something like approval glows in his eyes, but he remains still, the only movement the belt slipping through his fingers again and again. Seven steps, and I’m at the side of his knee. My mind flies out of my body. This is no time to be self-conscious. I just have to get through this, I have to live, and then I can fight another day.

  Not that I put up much of a fight before.

  That doesn’t matter now.

  He reaches up one hand and tugs down on my upper arm. Thank you, I want to say. Thank you, because I don’t know if I could have bent over like this all by myself. And then I’m over his knees, his hard thighs meeting my hips and belly, and his hand is working at my ass.

  I freeze at the touch and he delivers a light slap to my ass. “If you’re going to take your punishment like a good girl, you’ll need to be in the proper position.” My kidnapper nudges my thighs apart. “Toes on the floor. Dig in—that’s it.” He spreads my legs wider and wider until it’s an obscenity, it’s mortifying. The first tear slips out and melts into my gag. “You’ll hold this position while I punish you. Move out of it, and I’ll add more strokes until you’ve learned.”

  Learning has never sounded so vicious.

  And—worst of all, the worst possible thing—so intriguing. I’m pinned over this man’s lap with my legs spread wide, my toes buried in expensive carpet, my hands tied behind my back, and all of me burns for it. I don’t know if it’s just the adrenaline or if I really want this. Does it matter, in the end, whether you want your feelings or not?

  Yes, that voice whispers in the back of my mind. It does matter. You’re sick if you like this.

  I squeeze my eyes shirt and try to breathe.

  An enormous palm strokes over my ass, testing the flesh there, and then he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and pulls.

  They resist. The fabric goes tight around my thighs, right under the crease where my ass meets my legs, and with the first lick of air I discover that I’m soaked. Wet. Ready.

  I hope he doesn’t see.

  “Twenty strokes,” he says, hand squeezing my ass hard enough to bruise. “Be a good girl, and I won’t give you the belt afterward.” Leather kisses the small of my back. He’s put it there like I’m a clothing rack. Like I’m furniture. It’s so bad and wrong and dirty. Filthy. Demeaning. “Be a good girl and I’ll take the gag out.”

  I want the gag out more than anything. I have so many questions. I’ll have to be careful, I’ll have to be so careful, but I can at least—

  The first blow shocks me so much I scream against the gag, the fabric soaked, choking on it. He delivers the second a moment later without hesitating, without soothing the pain, without so much as a hitch in his breath. The third. The fourth. The fifth. One of my legs kicks up and he knocks it back down. “Next time, I’ll add five strokes,” he growls, and my entire consciousness shrinks to my toes in the carpet and the unbelievable burn at my ass. It creeps down the back of my thighs and up toward the small of my back. Everywhere. Everywhere. Not a single square inch left unspanked.

  By the time he reaches twenty I’ve been obliterated. I’m trembling over his lap, gasping, still tied up, tears streaming down my cheeks. It hurts. It hurts so much.

  And what hurts the most of all is that he’s not touching me where I want to be touched.

  It’s not lost on me how fucked up this is, how wrong it is to want this, but through choking sobs I keep my toes in the carpet.

  I obey.

  “You could do better.” It’s dismissive and harsh, and the next moment he yanks me up from his lap and stands me between his legs. I let my head hang. What is this? Why is he so awful, so cruel? What made him kidnap me in the first place? Why do I want more from him. “But you did well enough.”

  Part of me wilts. I wanted a ringing endorsement. I wanted an A+. I got satisfactory. But most important, he unties the gag and slips it out of my mouth. I press my hands to my cheeks and suck in big breaths, not caring how I look in my stage bra with my panties around my thighs.

  “Little princess,” he says, and I meet his dark eyes to find no mercy there. I swallow the next sob. “What did you learn?”

  My voice has gone hoarse and unreliable, though it can’t have been that long since I was on stage. “I learned—I learned not to walk alone at night.” There was something else. “And I learned that—”

  “Oh, no. You haven’t learned that things can get worse. I haven’t taught you that yet.” He strokes a hand down the outside of my hip. I barely breathe. I do not want the belt. I don’t want to know what else this would do.

  But I’m also frustrated in a way that I’ve never been frustrated before. My pussy aches, needy, and I can’t stand how it makes me feel. Ashamed and hot, brazen and shy. I contain multitudes.

  I press my lips together. If I feel anything else, I’ll cry, and I can’t cry now. I’ll never stop.

  “Now,” he says, and snaps his fingers. My muscles all tense but I don’t know what to do. He hasn’t told me. “For the rest of your punishment.”

  “No,” I breathe. “It’s—it’s enough, I swear, it’s enough. I won’t walk alone at night again.”

  A wicked smile. “There are other things to learn. Back over my lap.”

  I hesitate for only an instant, and he pats the belt with one hand. My chest collapses, a sob rising that I swallow back. My bottom still feels bruised and heated, and I don’t know how much more of this I can handle tonight. I’ve already been bound and gagged in the back of an SUV.

  His eyes.

  His hands.

  The belt.

  I move to the side of him, dig my toes into the carpet, and bend. This time, his big hand meets the small of my back. He’s not guiding me down this time, only reminding me that he could, and I settle my hips into their place.

  A disapproving noise.

  I spread my legs wide again, finding purchase on the carpet, exposing my wet pussy to the open air. My shoulders ache. My wrists ache. If he would just untie those, then maybe I could take it.

  His hand sweeps down over my back, over the curve of my ass, and then...

  Then it goes lower.

  He cups my pussy and strokes a finger through the center of my folds.

  I arch my back up, desperate now for the gag that I hated so much. It would keep me from making the pathetic noise that tears from my throat. Words—I need words, not desperate mewls. “Please—please don’t.”

  He’s already dipped the tip of his finger inside me, and now he takes it out and slides it lazily up and down, up and down, every stroke longer until it’s almost—almost—touching my clit. When he grazes a finger over it I throw my head back, then let it drop. There’s nothing I can do to stop him. Somehow, that makes it even hotter. “I’ll do whatever I please to my property.”

  “Why—” There’s a question there, a very important question. “Why—” I try again but fail because he’s circling my clit again and again, small relentless circles. It’s not mean, exactly, but it’s cruel because it’s making me hot for him. It’s winding up pleasure at the base of me, even though I don’t want pleasure from this man, and if he doesn’t stop I’m going to come. It feels like the way I come under the covers in my own bed, fast and furtive, only this will be more. I can already tell. The burn of my ass combines with the pleasure radiating out from my clit.

  It’s deadly.

  So deadly, and it’s an embarrassingly short time before those circles he’s drawing push me over into a new place. Into a burst of heat and light. Once again, I’m reduced to a quivering mess on his lap, shaking, little grunts escaping my throat, my wrists crying out for freedom and begging to stay in his bonds at the same time. He makes me ride his finger until it’s over and then he winds me up again, dragging me bodily to the peak and pushing me off the edge into another orgasm.

  My thighs shake, my pussy contracting around emptiness, and oh, fuck, if he’s going to take my virginity then he should
do it right now when I’m slick and wanting and embarrassed. That’s what he should do.

  But he only stands me upright again and turns me away, undoing the knot at my wrists with sure hands. It occurs to me in this moment stupid I look with my bra and my wet thighs and the tears in my eyes, but Mr. Prince—my captor—stands up and rolls down his sleeves. “Take a shower.” The mildest flicker of disgust. “And get into bed. We’ll continue with your lessons tomorrow.”

  5

  Maximus

  The door to her room locks from the outside.

  Of fucking course it does. Do you think I’d leave a business asset free to roam around my estate? No, obviously not. The mechanism clicks home and I take my first real breath of the past few hours.

  I allow myself a moment of weakness, leaning my forehead against the cool hardwood.

  Fuck.

  Oh, fuck.

  That was—

  My cock is so hard it hurts. It’s already leaking in my pants, and she didn’t say a word about it. Not my little princess, who is too afraid to challenge me.

  The doorknob rattles.

  I stand up straight, a shot of pride glowing at the center of my chest. Perhaps she’s not too afraid to challenge me. A lesser woman wouldn’t have even tried the door.

  It rattles again, but doesn’t give. From the other side I hear the whisper of a sigh, and then I find myself—a grown man—pressing my ear to the panel and listening for her footsteps. They don’t leave immediately. She stands there considering for a long minute, and then her presence is gone from the other side, no doubt to the simple en suite bathroom there. The hush of running water follows a minute later.

  I straighten up and tug my shirt back into place. Fuck—I left my jacket in there. No matter. I have my phone in my pocket and I won’t go back, thought I want to go back into that room more than I’ve ever wanted anything. More than I’ve wanted money or love. I want to go back and stroke my hands over the work I did on her ass. I want to make her put her hands on the wall of the shower and coax more orgasms out of her until she sobs.

  The fact is that I only have a day or two at most with her, and since she bent over my lap that first time, I made another decision.

  I need to keep her.

  And if I’m going to do that, then I’ll need to bond her to me. A sweet body like that won’t be able to resist the heady mix of pleasure and pain. I’ll train her to want it in a matter of hours, and then—

  Then I’ll roll the dice.

  My own bedroom isn’t far down the hall. I want her closer than that, but every move from now on must be carefully calculated. She has to think I’m only gradually letting her in.

  She’s already under my skin.

  I’m heading for my own shower when the phone rings in my pocket.

  “Yes?”

  “What happened, Maximus?” The voice on the other end of the phone isn’t one I’m particularly interested in hearing, but I knew when I took that exit that it was a matter of time. “You’ve missed your delivery window for Desiree.”

  It’s strange, hearing her name. I don’t plan to use it.

  “The delivery couldn’t go on as planned.”

  “And why not?” Irritation, barely disguised.

  “The target isn’t well.”

  “Not well?” A pause, and I can hear his mind racing through the phone. “How is she not well? We’ve been tracking her for days.”

  “A case of the sniffles. You don’t want to deliver a snotty teenager to Hades, do you?”

  He sighs. “I suppose not.”

  No, of course not. The pieces of my plan fit together so nicely. The girl is to be traded as part of a debt settlement deal, and Hades is not the kind of man who accepts less than he signed for. And he did not sign for a girl with a cold.

  He didn’t sign for a girl damaged personally by me, either, which is the only way she’ll get out of this. And even if I fail...

  “Is there anything else?” I keep my voice even and light. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Nothing else.” The call disconnects. I spend several moments checking on the security of the estate anyway. We did not agree on a new date for the transfer, but I can guess it will be two days from now, when we’re scheduled to board the helicopter that will take us to Hades’ mountain for the exchange.

  That’s not much time.

  Part of me wants to rush back into that room and yank her fresh from the shower. Destroy her now. But I’ll take all the time I have.

  I can be patient.

  At least for this.

  I strip off my clothes and leave them in the big hamper in my bathroom, then turn on the water as hot as it will go. It batters my shoulders and my back when I step in. It does nothing to soothe my aching cock. Only my hand will do that.

  And soon, my little princess will.

  I take myself in my fist. Fuck, she was perfect. The way she cried when I spanked her made me so hot I can’t fucking stand it. But then the way she tried so hard to keep her toes in the carpet—oh, she’s ideal. But the most perfect thing about her was how wet she got.

  The little pout when I took off her gag almost drove me to insanity, and I don’t think she knew she was doing it. Her want was written in every line of her body. Every single line. She might as well have begged me out loud to do what I did—to confuse the pain with pleasure, to make her want me even while she hates me.

  A flush of warmth shoots down to the tip of my cock and I plant one hand against the wall of the shower. I’m going to fuck her. I’m going to mark her so that she never forgets who she belongs to.

  And yes, yes, I know it’s fucking crazy to do this. I know she should never have been mine, but now she is. Now my palm has come down hard on her ass. Now I’ve seen the look in her clear blue eyes when I tell her to stay still.

  She might hate me for what I’ve done, but her body loves it.

  Her body wants more.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  I tip forward into a full-blown fantasy—a crying little princes bent over my bed, taking my thick cock, and shamefully that’s all it takes to make me release all over the floor of the shower. My orgasm is quick and vicious and grips me around the hips. It doesn’t let go until it’s thoroughly wrung me out and I’m left standing there in the scalding water, struggling to catch my breath.

  But not for long. I never struggle for anything very long. I rub absently at an ache behind my breastbone—one I’m sure has to do with her—but dismiss the emotion. This isn’t about emotions, not really. It’s about ownership. And I want to keep what I own.

  If only she could see me now. I force my breathing back into a normal pattern and put a nonchalant look on my face. It doesn’t matter that there’s no one here to see me. All that matters is that I master myself as well as I’m going to master her.

  As well as I’m already mastering her.

  I shut off the shower when I’m finished and catch a glimpse of myself in the fogged-up mirror. For the first time in years, there’s a light in my eyes, color in my face. I have something now. And yes, I have a lavish estate and people on staff and a thousand other things that poor people crave, but none of them compare to her.

  This little princess is my most prized possession.

  I glare at that man in the mirror and turn away, running the towel over my hair. It’s a weakness. No denying that, either. A person should be clear-eyed about their decisions, and though I’ll never admit it to her, she is a weakness.

  If this goes wrong—

  I won’t fucking think about it. I’ll make it go right. When the day of the exchange comes, she’ll beg to stay with me.

  Clothes. A soft t-shirt. Low-slung sweatpants. The adrenaline I felt from earlier has worn off, worn down, and now I feel like I’ve done a hard workout. Like the laziness is setting in at last.

  I let myself laugh at that. I’m not a lazy person. Only an unpredictable one.

  It’s almost two in the morning when I climb into the bed I�
�ve kept empty for years. Years. And why? I don’t think of this often—I won’t allow it—but one of the reasons is a card reading I had long ago.

  Foolishly, drunkenly, I’d asked about love.

  And I’d gotten death instead.

  I can still see that card on the table, the finger tapping the center. Love will be the end.

  Of what? I think petulantly. The end of what? I don’t know. They weren’t clear about that. It seems to me that charlatans should be crystal clear about that they mean when they pronounce such prophecies.

  Not that I believe in prophecy.

  I turn over in the bed, my hand searching for something. Yes, the bed is empty. It’s been that way for a long, long time. But now the emptiness has a character. It has a name.

  On the other side of the wall, the little princess will be climbing into the bed. I know she’s tired. She was tired when she stopped to send that text message and now I’ve punished her and made her come over my lap.

  She has no idea what’s coming tomorrow.

  Or maybe she does, and she’s thinking about it even now with her sweet face pressed to the pillow, her mouth screwed up in a worried pout.

  I would like that.

  At first, I think it’ll be a process to fall asleep, but my mind wanders through the wall to her bed and I fall asleep thinking of the neat rise and fall of her chest.

  6

  Desiree

  I don’t know what to do in the morning.

  Last night I found the bathroom, with its glass bottles of shampoo and conditioner and body wash, and I found the single washcloth that he’s allowed me, and the single hand towel. The toothbrush. The toothpaste.

  I found the nightgown.

  And I don’t have anything else, other than my costume. I wake up early, sitting upright, the covers clutched to my chest. I never put the bra back on, or the panties, and now all I have is this white nightgown, almost a shirt, it’s almost like a men’s shirt.

  What do I do now?

  I hustle for the shower again. It’s the only thing I know to do. I get up in the morning and I take a shower. I brush my teeth and comb through my hair with my fingers, tying it back into a bun at the nape of my neck. The curls are destroyed now, from two showers, and I’ll just have to live with that.