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

by Megan Michaels

  The realization that Silas’s father, Henry, spanked his wife was more than she wanted to know about them. She wondered if Silas knew his father punished his mother.

  Running her hand along his smooth abdomen and then the course hair on his upper chest, she quietly whispered his name, not wanting to startle him. “Silas? Silas, honey. Are you awake?”

  He still startled, sitting up in bed. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

  “Yes.” She ran her hand down the side of his face. “I’m fine. I need to use the outhouse, but I have something to tell you first.”

  “What?” Silas rubbed the sleep from his eyes, reaching for his pants and boots, dressing while she talked.

  Grabbing her robe, she slipped it over her nightgown. “I woke up to what sounded like a spanking and a woman crying. Then after I lay there listening for a while, I heard footsteps on the back kitchen stairs.”

  Before she could continue, Silas shook his head laughing. “Yep, that was my parents. Ma decided today to make Angus feel bad about spanking Clara. My father about had a fit, I guess. The girls were scared almost out of their skin. And according to Nellie, he told my ma they’d discuss it later. I’m assuming that’s what you heard.”

  “So you knew?” She turned in disbelief. She didn’t know of too many husbands and wives that spanked, and none that talked about it. She couldn’t even imagine her parents doing that.

  Did they?

  “Knew what? That my pa spanked my mother.”

  She nodded back.

  “Oh, I’ve known for years. Hard to miss all that wailing and crying on a quiet summer night.” Silas rounded the bed, grasping her elbow. “Let’s get you out to use the outhouse.”

  Once in the kitchen, Minnie grabbed a lantern off the shelf, handing it to Silas. He guided her with a hand to the small of her back out the back door down the porch, walking the short distance to the small wooden outhouse, opening the door and giving her the lantern. “I’ll be right here waiting.”

  She quickly looked around the small area for spiders. These damn little houses were filled with creepy crawly bugs, but it seemed that spiders were the most plentiful. She found a flat piece of kindling wood swishing it in the hole to knock away any spiders inside the area. She hadn’t sat for long to do her business before she heard a loud bump and a grunt against the building.

  “Silas? Silas, are you okay?” Minnie waited for a response, her heart racing. “Silas, you answer me right now! This isn’t funny.” Hearing nothing, she quickly pulled her drawers up, righting her clothes, peeping through to see if Silas was still standing by the door. Not seeing him, she opened the door a little further, craning around the door to see if he had moved to the other side.

  “Silas?”

  Damn that man!

  If he was teasing her, she swore she’d punch him!

  “Silas, honey? This isn’t funny anymore; you’re scaring me. I need you to stop playing and come get me.” She stepped completely out of the house holding the lantern above her head lighting the path back to the house, not seeing him in that direction. “Silas! I’m getting mad. Where are you?”

  Minnie’s heart was racing now, her blood rushing in her ears. She needed to get to the house and alert his family. Maybe Indians had come to get him, or … maybe it was Red or Kane.

  Dear God, don’t let it be them!

  Minnie grabbed her robe with her other hand, starting to run toward the house. But, the cold ground slammed into her chest, the wet, dew-covered grass under her face, and the lantern taken violently from her hand.

  “I’m going—”

  Immediately a cloth was jammed into her mouth; and with the lantern behind her now, she could only see long shadows cast onto the ground. Unable to scream, no light, and her husband nowhere in sight, Minnie’s mind scrambled. Could she shout loud enough in her throat to make Angus hear in the wagon not far away?

  The captor must have expected this because a large calloused hand grabbed her throat squeezing just hard enough that she couldn’t make any sound but a little gurgle. She stopped, willing herself to lie still.

  Focus. Slow your breathing.

  Minnie made a concerted effort to hold her breath for even seconds, slowing her heart rate, not moving an inch of her body.

  Oh, God! What is that?

  Minnie felt something slide around both her ankles; she tried moving her feet but they were held tightly to the ground and now something was being tied firm enough that it bit into her delicate skin. With her feet bound, any ability to kick or run away was stripped from her.

  The evil man threw her nightie up, tossing it over her head, leaving her in complete darkness, but it wasn’t until she felt his hard hands tugging on the delicate blue ribbon of her drawers that she realized that he’d be violating her.

  Minnie flung her hands back, desperately trying to untangle from the nightdress, pounding her small fists into his body or head. A punishing, steel-like grip around her bony wrists had her crying out like the bones of each wrist bit into the other. He tied what felt like a burly thick rope around both wrists, leaving them above her head.

  She had lost any ability to fight back and had no choice but to lie there, letting him take her—more than likely violently.

  Where was Silas? He wouldn’t leave me here. They must have kidnapped him.

  Tears stung her eyes, dripping onto the ground beneath her, the mixture of red clay and the evidence of her despair smeared against her face. Would Silas know that she had fought them? How would she prove that she didn’t just relent and let them take her? Did she have to show that? Was it necessary?

  Wasn’t her pain and despoilment enough?

  Her abductor had pulled her drawers down to her roped ankles, her bottom now exposed to the moonlit night and him, the cool air wafting over her alabaster buttocks; she clenched, attempting to restrict his entry—like it would help.

  A loud, harsh slap to her cooling skin had her yelping. The cloth that had been shoved into her mouth was resting on her tongue, tasting of salt and dirt; the thought of where it had been and what was on it made her gag. A stranger’s sweaty handkerchief was in her mouth.

  Her hips were gripped roughly, and she was flipped unceremoniously onto her back. She hoped to catch a glimpse of her captor, but he recklessly tossed her nightie over her head again. When he grabbed her ankles, pushing them straight up into the air, she became hysterical, wagging her head in desperation, screeching behind the vile cloth in her mouth, choking on her spit and gagging from the taste.

  The revolting man’s fingers pressed into her pussy, pumping in and out, her juices oozing out of her, sliding down her perineum. She hated that her body did this, reacting to the fear and humiliation regardless of whether she knew the offender or not. Why? She’d never understand her reactions, especially regarding sex.

  Tears slid out of her eyes, rolling down her cheeks into her ears. She bucked her hips in renewed strength, forcing him to wrestle with her legs to keep her in place. Once she started rolling her hips along with bucking them, she almost successfully turned completely out of his arms. Not that she had a clue what she’d do once she flipped onto her stomach, but at least she would continue to fight.

  The soft flannel of her nightie lightly brushed along her face, making her open her eyes and stop moving; the cool night air brushed along her sweaty, tear-stained face, and she squinted against the night to see her wonderful husband smiling down at her.

  My wonderful, and yet devilishly evil husband!

  Minnie moaned against the handkerchief in a plea for him to take it out.

  “Nope, little girl, that stays in. I think I want some quiet as I fuck you tonight.”

  Furrowing her eyebrows at him, she did her best to pout.

  “You can make a face all you want, it ain’t changing my mind. If anything, it may add a paddling you weren’t counting on and one you won’t enjoy.”

  She unknitted her brow and did her best to appear compliant, relaxing her
body. A steady calm rushed through her veins, easing all the fear she’d felt this evening. She succumbed to the game, the capture, her husband—the submission of it all.

  Until…

  He thrust her legs up in the air again, leaving her pussy and bottom open and exposed to not only his view but also his now released cock. The hard, wide penis jutted out of his pants, which he had loosened but not taken down, and bounced against his soft belly; the purple tip had pre-cum dripping.

  When he pushed her knees to her chest, her sex and buttock yawning open further, Minnie moaned in humiliation. With her hands still held tightly by the rope as well as her feet, she felt like a roped calf, and just as vulnerable as a calf would feel, she had no doubt.

  “Your hot little cunt is dripping. Your brown pelt is wet and musky with your scent. It appears my little whore liked her fright once again. Is your clit twitching, girl?” His large hand covered the purse of her sex, the heel of his hand pressing against her mound.

  Minnie ground herself into him, her hips jerking in response. She nodded her head vigorously.

  “Let me see for myself. You keep those legs up.” He slowly took his hands down, relying on her to keep in position. He spread her labia apart. “Oh, look at that. Your little clit is quivering. Like a little kitten in the cold.”

  His finger tapped the throbbing button, and she almost dropped her legs before remembering. She groaned.

  “Uh-uh, girl. Keep those legs up.” He tapped her clit again. This time she swiveled her hips, unable to contain herself. “Hold still.”

  He blew a soft breath over the little nub. Her labia spread wide, blowing gently down the crevice and into her channel. Her womb clenched, her hips thrusting.

  “Are you ready, whore?”

  Minnie stiffened. She hated when he called her names. Yet her clit went from a slow throb to a fast gallop. Obviously her body didn’t agree with her mind—which seemed to be her fate.

  He pushed his head and upper body between her legs, her bound legs now rested on his back, her roped hands lying on the ground above her head.

  Silas thrust into her hard, hitting the mouth off her womb. Stilling, he pressed deep into her, nudging her sensitive slick flesh. “You like being impaled by my massive cock, don’t you, whore?”

  That damn word again!

  He pounded into her pussy, his hips slapping against her ass. In this position, her legs were obscenely spread open and over his shoulder, her pussy pressing tightly against his groin, with his cock deep, pounding the mouth of her womb. With every thrust, she grunted, pulling in long breaths through her nostrils. She dragged in a ragged breath, exhaling loudly in the dark, still night.

  “Jesus, I love fucking this hot, tight cunt of yours, whore. See, Little Captive, I called you whore again; you can’t fight it neither.” Silas stiffened, sucking air between his teeth. “Oh, shit! That cunt of yours just squeezed me. You like when I call you nasty names, when the name-calling makes your honey drip over my cock. Cunt. Whore. Bitch. Trollop.”

  Silas smiled down at her, his devilish grin almost making her smile.

  Almost.

  “Ohhhh. You squeezed really hard on, trollop. You like that, don’t you? Trollops are bad women, aren’t they? But, then again, you’re a bad, bad, little girl, aren’t you?”

  Minnie nodded quickly. Her orgasm teetering on the edge.

  “My bad little trollop.” He threw his head back, groaning, his eyes closed. “Jesus, you squeeze me like that again, and I won’t be holding my seed. Oh God!”

  She pressed him so hard, clenching the walls of her pussy, throwing herself over the edge, screaming around the handkerchief with her orgasm.

  His seed spurted rope after rope into her, her pulsating flesh reacting to the warmth, catapulting her into an immediate renewing of her orgasm. This time, her hips thrust upward, jerking violently.

  Silas growled. “Chrrrrist!”

  She milked his now sensitive cock, unable to stop the multiple orgasms and quaking of her sex. Her throat now raw from her bellows and groans.

  “Are you okay, baby?” Silas fished the now wet cloth out of her mouth, her tongue feeling unnaturally dry.

  And just like that, it was over. Her sweet, protective, and ever stern Silas was back, her captor hidden until the next time. He would never hurt her in a million years—took pride in the fact that he had rescued her.

  He boasted that his Little Captive was now his bride, loved retelling the story about kidnapping her, almost violating her, staying in a room at a hotel, thus compromising her status as a widow, and keeping her from Red and Kane; he’d actually retained the rights to his bride—free and clear.

  Then he’d laugh and say that he believed in divine intervention, and he’d always be thankful for being put in her path and been given the privilege of protecting her honor, preserving her innocence, thus sealing their love and devotion to each other.

  What they never told strangers, or anyone for that matter, was that a seed had been planted that night. This in the chase, in the fight to keep her away from Red and Kane, he had to prove that he was taking her by force. Who knew that they’d both enjoy forced sexual situations?

  She hadn’t come to terms with him calling her cunt, whore, bitch, and trollop. She fought him on it some nights, pushing him to paddle her bottom because she’d become disrespectful. Other nights it made her cry. Those were the difficult nights; those were the nights where even he would tear up. It was never his goal to make his bride cry.

  Never.

  He would do anything to prevent her tears—unless, of course, it was her disobedience or recklessness that caused him to punish her. Then he was immune to her tears, not giving even one little whit. He told her that her tears were sweet to him in those situations.

  When punishing her, he needed to know that she felt sorry, that she had become penitent—contrition was never more evident than by the salty tears tracking down her cheeks and her hiccuping gasps.

  He had told her many nights he loved watching her nose turn red, seeing the dried tear stains on her skin, knowing that by his hand and perseverance, she’d learned a lesson—a lesson that wouldn’t be forgotten or discarded anytime soon.

  His job as her husband and disciplinarian was to ensure she grew as a human being and matured to her full potential, and what better way than to see genuine remorse in the face of his beautiful, red-nosed, sniffling, penitent girl.

  But, there were other nights when he called her those vile names—cunt or whore—her juices ran down her thighs. She loved thinking of a kidnapper violating her verbally, calling her disgusting names and belittling her. She loved when Silas spent some nights only humiliating her, not spanking or fucking her even, just stripping her and calling her names that made her blush, and yet, confusingly, dripping with desire. Those were the nights that he could scoop her honey from her sex, filling her dark channel and fucking her ass until she screamed with her orgasm.

  “Hey… hey. Are you all right?” Silas slipped out of her still upheld, bound legs, quickly undoing the ties on her leg and wrists. Rubbing the chafed skin, he eased any slight pain and tingling; he watched her carefully.

  “Yes. I’m more than all right. I love when we do this. Do you think people will think us both morons for doing this? I mean, we could probably be committed to the insane asylum for something like this, you know. I hear people say that women who have orgasms are considered idiots, morons, and imbeciles. Do you think we are, Silas?”

  “I believe that nobody has to know. And I also think that the doctors that sit with their white coats condemning others to the asylum for the sexual deeds they do are more than idiots; they’re evil hypocrites.” Silas stroked her hair off her face. “And this is another reason we won’t talk about it to others either. Many many men play with their wives and perform sexual games. They’re shown in magazines in large cities. There are men who play with dilators as I put in your bum that have horse hair attached to the plug, and they put horse
heads on their wives, taking pictures of it for memories and others’ entertainment. We all find things that are fun, my dear. It does not make us ready for an institution.”

  “I heard of a couple in North Carolina that liked enemas, and my mama said that there were many men who enjoyed giving their women enemas for punishment… and for pleasure. So I know you’re right.” Minnie felt her face flush just thinking about something so humiliating.

  Silas slipped a finger between her labia before entering her sex. “As I suspected, there’s a part of you that finds it very exciting, girl. You’re pulsing around my finger just talking about it. It seems we may have to purchase one from Doc the next time we’re in town.”

  Minnie put her hand to her mouth. “Silas… you can’t… I mean, will I have to see him in church or when… if I ever need to birth a baby.”

  Silas’s lopsided grin that she usually found endearing pissed her off tonight. He smirked at her, thinking a little too long, which never fared well for her. “Would that make the enema more exciting to think that Doc would be sitting at home wondering about it? Oh, Minnie. You’re milking this finger so hard. Yes.” He slipped his finger out, tapping and teasing her clitty (as he called it), before wiping it dry on her thigh. “Yes, indeed. I think we’ll be visiting Doc’s office, and I’ll have you ask for a clyster for home.”

  “Oh. Oh, Silas. Would you? I mean—would people talk?”

  “Only if they know. Doc won’t tell them. I’m pretty sure he sells many of them. I’m kind of looking forward to this now after your reaction. This will be fun, my dear.” He pushed and tugged her drawers back into place, tying the pale blue ribbon to keep them up.

  “It’s time to put my little captive to bed. You must be tired.” He pulled her to standing, wrapping his arm around her. “Your bottom still looks pretty red, girl. Are you still sore?”

  “Yes, Sir. I won’t swear anymore. This lesson was the worst I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to have one harsher than this.” She rubbed her bottom through her skirts. “I’m sorry, Silas.”