The Renegade's Captive (The Widow Wagon Book 4)

by Megan Michaels

Her mouth watered staring at it—she loved his cock. That steel rod had given her many, many hours of pleasure. Her screams had woken the birds many a night during their wagon train travels.

  The dark curly hair dipped from his naval down to the dark curly patch of hair surrounding his beautiful penis. He pushed his pants over his narrow hips, slipping each leg out, standing only in his shirt. Silas slid his length through her slit, the pulsing warmth bumping against her clit. She swiveled her hips, the plug jolting in her channel, causing her to still, gasping loudly.

  The deep, rolling chuckle erupted from Silas. “Is your plug nudging you, girl?”

  Minnie frowned, keeping her head down, hoping he wouldn’t see her attitude and scowl through the veil of her hair.

  “Do we need to discuss that you’re supposed to answer me when a question is asked?”

  “N-no, Sir. Yes, it nudged me.” She rolled her eyes, hating when he made her answer silly questions like that.

  Of course it nudged her, and he knew it. What the fuck?

  His cock slid easily into her slick sheath, bumping the mouth of her womb, stilling, throbbing against her sensitive flesh.

  Minnie pushed back, pushing against him. The fullness almost uncomfortable, but the jostling of the plug with the now slow glide of his rod within her made her eyes roll. She threw her head back mewling with her desire.

  “Holding this plug in today will remind you to keep your nasty words in. Maybe we’ll put a dilator in every morning until Oregon. Will that be necessary, bad girl?” Slapping her right hip—hard—Minnie partially rose, clenching against the pain, until she realized that the slap had moved the intruder. She quickly bent back over, widening her stance, panting and willing herself to release her muscles, keeping them flaccid and loose.

  Silas’s hips swiveled, he skated over her sweet spot—the one that made her scream and fall quickly into an orgasm.

  “Oh… Oh, God! Silas!”

  His large hand swatted her sore left buttock several times. “Don’t you dare come, girl.” Leaning forward, both hands pinched a nipple and her clit at the same time.

  Screeching, Minnie swore she saw stars. The pain killed her imminent orgasm. She grit her teeth against the pain. Tears rose into her eyes.

  “As my captive, you do as I say, when I say it.” He thrust violently into her, his hips slapping roughly against her inflamed ass. “Maybe I need to use my knife on your nipple, cut it just enough to let the blood drip onto the floor. The blood can be a reminder of your disobedience and what happens to naughty girls.”

  A flash of light danced to the right of her periphery.

  A knife. Shit!

  He tilted the blade, letting the light reflect on the shiny silver length, pulling it back to graze along the outside of her nipple, the scraping sounding loud in her ear.

  “Just a flick of my wrist and I could cut that hard, little nub off… does that scare you, Little Captive? Does the idea of your blood letting onto the dirty barn floor make your clit gallop?”

  “I… I don’t know, Sir.” And she didn’t know. Part of her wondered how it would feel, and yet the fear of how much it would hurt scared her.

  It was the fear that she liked.

  Her breathing became shallow, and she wondered if he could hear her panting. Her heart raced, the blood pounding in her ears. Would he cut her? She wondered how far he’d go with their games.

  Silas twisted the large intruder in her bottom. She quickly moved forward with the impale, groaning with the tightening of her muscles, her belly cramping. The thrust went straight to her breasts. They tingled causing her womb to clench in sympathetic response.

  “Look at the floor, prisoner.”

  Minnie dropped her head, watching drips of blood pool into a puddle on the dusty barn floor. “Oh… is that?”

  “Yes. You didn’t even know I’d done it. I wrenched the plug and nicked your skin.”

  The blood dripped consistently from the tip of her nipple, onto the knife, the throbbing sting at the site making her clit pound. Before she could contemplate why her red iron-tinged fluid pooling under her somehow fascinated her, heightening her sexuality, Silas pounded into her so hard she had to grab the back of the chair before falling forward.

  His hips slapped against her sore bottom, the skin-on-skin sound echoing throughout the empty barn. The birds in the rafters squawked loudly, obviously the noise interfering with their morning peace. Minnie had barely adjusted her stance to accommodate the pounding of his cock when his hand wrapped around the back of her neck, squeezing just enough on the sides that she gasped, struggling for air.

  “Sil—Sir. I can’t—”

  “Are you allowed to speak now?” He squeezed minutely harder, before lightly grinding the heel of his hand on her mound.

  Minnie felt light-headed, struggling to take in small breaths, all the while her hips grinding against him, her orgasm barreling closer and closer. Eyes shut, stars flashing, she shouted, “God. Sir, please. I’m coming. May I?”

  “Yes, you may, baby.” The warmth behind those words belied the violent crashing of his hips against her, his cock bumping at the mouth of her womb.

  Between the plug, his cock, the heel of his hand, and the lack oxygen, Minnie felt as if she’d come under the influence of laudanum. She’d only had it once during an illness in her teens, but it was similar to this—floating weightless, her body tingling, but adding an orgasm to the mix had sent her tumbling into a long tunnel.

  Her throat was raw from screaming and growling with her release, her head had dropped to the seat of the wooden chair, her finger ached from gripping the wood so tightly, and currently it felt like her husband may split her in two with his cock. She had no doubt that there would be bruises on her hips (as well as other places) by morning.

  His fingertips had her flesh aching, and then he shouted, his hot seed spilling into her, coating and sliding over her still sensitive tissue.

  Reflexively she clenched, squeezing the hot steel rod, milking every last drop of cum from him. Her thighs trembled and with no warning, she tumbled again into another release. This time it wasn’t as strong, but the tremors and quakes with each contraction had her mewling and shaking. Her body still rhythmically vibrated until he slipped from her, the semi-erect, sticky rod pressing into her cleft, bumping against her clit, nudging and urging her into another orgasm. Mentally, she shut it down—it just… it wouldn’t be right… would it? I mean, do women come three times in one episode of lovemaking? Whores may—but not wives. She had always heard that women say they let their man throw their nightie up, letting him rutt at her like the animals do.

  But Minnie did anything but endure sex, she looked forward to it, fantasized about it and even when he wasn’t around (or looking), she would rub her little button until she groaned into a pillow finding release yet again.

  Since getting married, Minnie felt like she’d become insatiable, yearning for her husband most of the day, staying awake screaming with pleasure over and over. And she couldn’t very well tell other women; they’d think she was wanton or a whore. It would be something she’d carry inside her—happy as she may be, no one must ever know.

  “Are you done, baby?” Silas lightly stroked her clit while she did mental math, fighting the need to come again. “I thought you had one more in you.”

  “No, Sir. I’m plumb tuckered out.” She hoped he didn’t sense a lie or she’d be getting another few strokes of the leather.

  He eyed her suspiciously, one eyebrow quirked up. “I reckon you probably are. You had a pretty rough evening all told. But that plug, it’s staying in all day as a reminder. Every time you feel it jostling around, what are you going to think?” He helped her stand straight, tilting her chin up to ensure respect and truthfulness.

  “I will remember to hold my words and swearing in—just like I’m holding the plug in.” Her face flushed in embarrassment.

  “Good girl.” He slipped the chemise over her head, guiding her arms thr
ough the openings, picking her drawers up in one hand and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll carry these. You won’t be needing them for your nap.” He slowly walked her toward the house bringing her to their bedroom, situating her in bed and tucking the covers under her chin. “Clara’s sleeping by now too. When my pa and ma come back with the kids, all us men are going up to the neighbor’s house to figure out the water situation.” He wagged his finger in her face. “You stay in bed napping. I’ll let you know when you can come downstairs. Don’t disobey me on this, Minnie. Your little ass can’t handle it.”

  Of that she had no doubt, and she didn’t intend on breaking his rule either. “I’ll stay in bed. I promise.”

  Chapter 11

  Silas peeped into their bedroom, and his mischievous wife was sound asleep—mouth open and dead to the world. Curled on her side, her red, striped bottom peeking out from the lightweight, white bed sheet framing the inflamed flesh. He swore she couldn’t look lovelier. The shiny metal from the rectal dilator peeked out from her buttocks making his cock quiver behind his pants, lengthening in anticipation.

  Her dark hair like a fan around her head splayed over the pillow in dark contrast to the bright white. Faint white tear tracks on her cheeks, no doubt crying herself to sleep, were a reminder of her punishment and. He didn’t relish the idea of his bride crying, feeling like a bad girl. But he knew it’d been necessary. As a woman—his woman—she would be part of the social clubs in town and required to attend dinners and functions as the wife of a US Marshal, and he would not—could not—-tolerate her swearing like a saloon harlot.

  And until she submitted to his authority and rules—at least more consistently than currently—she’d be sporting a paddled hind-end most days; and he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last time she cried herself to sleep either.

  Her obedience was paramount in his book—not just for social occasions, but to meet his needs and desires. Silas needed and wanted a woman who would do his bidding, yet have just enough sassiness and disobedience to keep his married life lively. He didn’t want a mealy-mouthed, subservient wife. Although Silas had many friends who loved a quiet, meek woman who rarely spoke, Silas’s personality was strong enough that he couldn’t have someone like that; it would be a recipe for trouble. He needed a woman who spoke her mind, was intelligent, had a sharp sense of humor, and when necessary, would let him know that he’d crossed a line. He had no doubt that his Minnie would meet all those mandates.

  He loved that they were home, no longer sleeping in a wagon, and yet living back at home meant he would need to build their own house on the property for privacy. It also meant he’d need to become more creative with his punishments and captures, finding different situations on the farm or in town to meet their needs.

  Unable to contain the urge any longer, Silas reached out, tenderly running his finger along her sore bottom, the warmth surprising to him. Her little ass would be tender for a couple of days, no doubt. He pressed and tapped the plug, her moans and slight arch of her back letting him know that the tight ring of muscle was just tender enough to partially wake her with its jostling.

  And, he meant to keep that plug in her until bedtime. She would learn to hold her words in one way or another, and holding a colossal, annoying dilator in would be just the reminder his sassy wife needed.

  Shutting the door quietly behind him, Silas tromped down the wooden stairs to find both Angus and his father waiting for him.

  “She okay?” Angus asked, apparently still looking out for his charge even though she’d been married off.

  “Yeah. She’ll be sore for a couple of days. But, damn that woman, she needs to learn, and she doesn’t learn easy, I’m telling you.” Silas grabbed his hat off the tree stand in the foyer of the old farmhouse.

  “Tell me about it. My Clara is sleeping with her red backside up and a dilator. How’d we end up with two women like this? And I swear as God is my witness that nearly all of those hens on my wagon—this last trip—were cut from the same cloth.” Angus laughed, slapping imaginary dirt off his pants.

  “Take it from me, boys, women like those—fiery and sassy—they keep the marriage bed hot and your lives full of fun. You won’t be sorry—well some days you may have regrets, but trust me, over the years, it’s worth every minute of grief.” Henry slapped his worn brown suede hat on his head. “Y’all ready? These men aren’t dangerous—I don’t think. But, I will tell you that they’ll wear your patience thin.”

  “It’ll be all right, Pa. I’ve dealt with their kind many a day. They ain’t any different than the lot I’ve experienced.” Silas patted his father’s shoulder. He hated seeing him concerned.

  “I just want you both to remember that sometimes a good retreat is better than a bad stand. There isn’t any need to cause danger to them, or to us. We have families and wives relying on us.”

  Silas moaned, rolling his eyes. “Pa, I know how to make a point without making an enemy. Trust me.” Would he always be a child in his parents’ eyes? He suspected the answer to that question was yes.

  It was at that moment he heard a ruckus in the kitchen. Pots slamming, bowls banging on the wooden counter, and silverware clattering. “What in tarnation is up with Ma?”

  “She’s been in a horn tossing mood ever since she found out that you two were whoopin’ your women’s asses. And if she keeps tossin’ that horn, she’s getting her backside paddled—and soon.” Henry looked down the hall, narrowing his eyes.

  Silas didn’t relish the idea of his mother getting spanked—didn’t even want to think about it for too long. “We don’t have time. Let her get her frustrations out in the kitchen. We need to solve this water issue.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I can deal with her attitude later.” Henry’s hand twitched at his side, a trait Silas was familiar with. Hopefully his mother would be her calm, placid self again when they returned.

  For the most part, the men rode silently upon their horses, their hooves clomping on the hard dirt trail winding up the hill past the furthest horse pasture from the house. And, as his father had said, the streambed that normally was full of clear spring water was now as dry as the path that led to the Jenkins property.

  “Jesus, it’s a wonder you haven’t lost most of your cattle this year.” Silas peered over the bank, shaking his head.

  Henry pulled back on the reins, stopping the horse. “It’s taken more work than you’ll know. I’ve had to send my men armed and loaded for trouble every morning to bring back barrels of water just so we can keep the cows milking and the rest of the livestock barely surviving.” He tipped his hat back wiping the sweat from his brow, leaving a swath of dust across his forehead.

  “Well, it ends today, Henry.” Angus’s eyebrows were furrowed, the tic in his jaw present.

  Just over the crest of the hill, a small wooden cabin came into view. It probably only had two or three bedrooms and a large living area that housed the kitchen and living space. It was a modest house for a man with three sons.

  As they were climbing down from their horses, the creaky wooden door on the cabin opened and stepping onto the porch, an older man who Silas assumed was Clem, stood with a loaded shotgun aimed right at Henry.

  “Henry Stone, what are you doing here? I believe we have nothing to discuss at this point.”

  Silas’s father tipped his hat back on his head, ambling up to the steps of the porch. “I thought so too, but it appears we still have an issue with the spring water. You’ve blocked the stream bed again.”

  “I keep tellin’ ya, Henry, this is my property and this spring is on my land. I can do with it as I will.” Clem lifted his rifle, taking better aim at Henry’s head.

  It was at this point that the Silas and Angus walked up the steps. Silas was the first to extend his hand. “I’m Silas… Silas Stone, Henry’s son. I’m a US Marshal.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Angus, lumbering up the steps behind him. “This is Angus, he’s a Sheriff from Missouri, and
head of the Widow Wagon taking the Oregon Trail to its end.”

  “Missouri?” Clem angled the rifle down, shaking both men’s hands.

  “Yes, Sir.” Angus shook his hand heartily. “You know someone out there?”

  “Know someone? I used to live out there. I lived in a small town called Chillicothe, about sixty miles north of Independence.

  “Well, my God. I know that town. I worked out there with Conrad Dixon who built the Missouri Training School for Girls. It’s a mighty fine thing he did out there to keep those girls out of jail. Are you familiar with it?” Angus took his hat off, running his forearm over his brow and hair before replacing it to shield his eyes from the blazing midday sun.

  “Familiar? I helped build the building. Most of the town folks were involved in that project.” His gaze narrowed. “Anyone who has been kind enough to work with Conrad Dixon and the School for Girls is worth listening to. How do you know Henry here?”

  “It’s a bit of a story, and it’s hotter than two rabbits screwin’ in a wool sock. Do you think you can give us some water and let us sit a spell while we talk?”

  Clem squinted at Angus, obviously not feeling overly neighborly, but not wanting to upset someone he felt a kinship to either. “All right. Come in and set a spell.” He shouted over his shoulder. “Joe, Henry and some of his friends are here to talk. Go fetch us some water from the…” He looked over at the men obviously uncomfortable. “Get some water from the spring for them.”

  Henry made eye contact with both the men before following Clem into his cabin. Silas took his hat off before entering, unable to see much of the house shrouded in shadows while his eyes adjusted. They waited until offered a seat at the large table in the center of the main living area of the house.

  By the smell filling the air, they had a beef stew simmering in a cast iron pot suspended by a chain over the hot coals. Although it lacked a woman’s touch, the place seemed clean and orderly. Not a mess like Silas had suspected with four men on their own.

  Clem tossed a pouch into the center of the table, along with papers and a couple of corncob pipes. “Feel free to chew, roll, or smoke the tobacco in there. I’ve got more.”