Chaning Cheyenne

by Reese Gabriel

  "You have a long way to go,” was all he would say.

  "Yes,” she replied. She had nearly said yes, sir.

  "What is something good your father could say?"

  "That everything isn't my fault, that something else in his life could actually make him as miserable as I do."

  Reed frowned. “If you make him miserable he is a sick man. You are nothing but a joy, Cheyenne, even when you challenge me, I only find myself enjoying you more."

  She licked her lips.

  He let her have another taste, running her tongue around the tip of him. She forced herself to slow down.

  "Yes,” he approved. “That's it."

  Reed let go of her hair.

  "Another question,” he said.

  She removed her mouth from him voluntarily. It was his voice controlling her now.

  "What do you remember about your mother?"

  "I was little. I remember her reading to me sometimes, playing with my dolls. She was sick a lot. I learned later it was ... about alcohol."

  Reed held out his hands. She took them, squeezing hard.

  He drew her close.

  She took him lovingly inside her mouth, applying suction, subtle but very real. Reed arched his back in pleasure.

  Once, twice, three times he let her slide him in and out, luxurious, languid. With each caress, she felt closer. It was only physical, though, she had to remember that.

  "Do you blame your father?” Reed resumed the questioning with some difficulty. “For ... her death?"

  Cheyenne took her mouth away. He was leaning back, losing some of his vaunted control. She might turn the tables yet.

  "She drank, that was her decision,” Cheyenne said. “But he didn't create good conditions, he wasn't able to love her."

  She moved to suckle him again. He tried to stop her advance, half heartedly.

  "I answered you,” she said. “I get another turn."

  Reed clutched her shoulders, indicating how close he was to coming. She could feel him swelling in readiness.

  "Do you have another question?” she said, abruptly abandoning him.

  He looked at her with glazed eyes. There was only one thing on his mind now.

  "Yes,” he said with a grimace, clearly battling. “Tell me ... why do you punish yourself."

  She owed it to him not to be glib. He would be coming in her mouth this next time whether he liked it or not, so it was important to make this answer as deep as she could.

  No pun with regard to deepness.

  "I don't think of it as punishment,” she said. “This life I lead doesn't really net me much, though, does it? Maybe it's some last ditch effort to please Rutherford, by becoming what he tells me I am."

  It was the first time she had called the man anything other than Daddy.

  "It's time,” she whispered, approaching his cock once again.

  "Not yet,” he tried to stand.

  She pressed him down, palms on her thighs. Her ability to impede him was the surest indicator he had no real wish to get up.

  "That's it, Reed,” she approved. “Let go. Let me worship you."

  She pushed her hand up under his tee shirt, digging her nails into his flesh. She lowered her head, this time to nibble with her teeth.

  Reed jolted into action.

  He was not going to let go after all.

  Like a rag doll he lifted her to her feet. Where had this strength come from?

  "Take off your panties,” he said in a fierce whisper.

  Cheyenne skinned them down after lifting the hem of her dress. Her immediate accessibility and quick obedience seemed to drive him even more wild if that was possible.

  Without asking, he lifted her by the waist, positioning her over his lap.

  Knowing what was expected she spread her legs wide and hiked the dress to her waist. The expression on his face was almost painful as he lowered her, slowly, agonizingly over his erection.

  Cheyenne accepted his hardness, yielding in hot, wet heat, her pussy muscles clutching at him, spasming a million times a second, tiny little releases that promised bigger ones very soon.

  "Oh, god,” she moaned, collapsing her head to his shoulder. Cheyenne was on top, but she was not in charge. Not by a long shot. Reed controlled the motions, controlled her body. He would go fast or slow, as long as he wished and then he would come.

  And if he said so, she would be allowed to come with him.

  He hadn't said this specifically, that he was in charge of her orgasms, not since the cabin, though she felt the rule in force.

  It would be up to him to rescind.

  "Take off the dress,” he said, voice deep with primal need. “Show me your breasts. Play with them for me."

  "Yes...” She marveled at his willpower. How was he not exploding deep into her canal, showing his domination, marking her once more in the only way a man truly could mark a woman.

  Cheyenne struggled to pull the material over her head. The bra underneath was one of those underwire supprts, the kind that lifted the breasts up and out while leaving the top part bare.

  Tossing the dress over her head she seized hold of her twin mounds, massaging with her fingers. She worked the nipples free, feeling their rubbery softness against her palms.

  They were erect, at attention, charged to the max like the rest of her.

  Reed lifted her now, nearly freeing her of his cock.

  She arched her back, groaning, begging wordlessly.

  He lowered her once more, causing her to clutch at him with her thighs. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her, the way he was reigning in her body, making it an extension of his own will?

  What wouldn't she do now for the pleasure, to see it continue, to reach the explosive, mind blowing end?

  "Cheyenne...” He said her name and she tried to come back to reality. They were in some lust-filled fog, their bodies intertwined, curled like heat, like smoke. Were seconds passing or years.

  "Yes?” she said, or thought she said.

  Her own voice felt non-existent. The only real thing was his hands, clamping her waist, moving, directing.

  "I want you to come for me,” he said.

  She moved to protest, wanting to know about his own orgasm, but he hadn't offered an invitation to debate.

  He had given her an order.

  A sexual command.

  How could she deny him? In bed this man was Master, Lord ... her god.

  Her body did not wait for her brain to check off on things. The orgasm hit her like the lash of a whip, triggered by his words.

  That he did not come with her was a sign of his will power, his essential sexual superiority.

  Cheyenne writhed and screamed and cried, giving away her soul's deepest secrets, the imprinted dreams of pleasure writ on her heart.

  She felt doubly helpless, doubly naked ... doubly his.

  He continued to raise and lower her, sliding her along the length of himself, the movements designed to wring the maximum surrender, the largest meltdown from her.

  At one point he touched her clitoris and she went through the roof. Only his hands, his tongue and lips on her neck kept her grounded. At the periphery of her reality were other sensations. The way his hand occasionally slapped at her ass, conspiratorial, playful. The way he took kisses, small but deadly thefts from her lips as she bobbed up and down.

  He knew how to torture a woman. Each kiss opened a door to eternity, she wanted to be swallowed whole, but he made them dry and much too short to do anything other than make her need more.

  A needy, multi-orgasmic wench in all her glory, that's what she was.

  Wave crashing upon wave, all the more intense as she felt Reed remaining intact, waiting, hanging back.

  What was he waiting for?

  At last he let her collapse. She wanted to curl up on his lap and sleep forever. He gave her such a feeling of peace and safety, it was uncanny. Never before had she been able to resist the impulse to run when the heat and fireworks
were done.

  Did it have something to do with the hard on he still had?

  "I want to take care of you,” she murmured in his ear. “Tell me how."

  "No,” he said gruffly. “Not yet. I have to earn it."

  She ran her hand over his chest, wanting him naked. “You're more than earned it, Reed."

  He grasped her wrist, denying them both. “You have to ask me questions. You have to tease me like I did you."

  Cheyenne didn't exactly hate the idea, though she had no clue how she could take control and make it happen. “I'm not sure I am up to that,” she said.

  "I'll help you."

  Reed assisted her up. She stood, unsteady on her feet.

  "There are handcuffs,” he told her. “In the dresser drawer. You will use them on me."

  "On ... you?"

  "That's right. It's the only way you will be able to get me to really open up to you. And you deserve that."

  She went for the hand cuffs, silver and gleaming inside the ornately decorated drawer. The metal was heavy in her hands. It brought back memories of her captivity, the way he had possessed her body under steel constraints.

  Cheyenne was instantly aroused again, her pussy dripping.

  "Here,” she said, dangling them in front of him.

  Reed nodded and stood. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers he began to undress. A wave of shyness overcame her, silly really, considering all the sexual contact they had had.

  "Go on,” he encouraged. “Enjoy it. This is for you."

  He pulled the tee shirt overhead, his biceps and pectorals flexing. He was perfect, really, smooth skinned, muscled in just the right way, hard from combat and not hours in some gym.

  He smiled slightly, unbuttoning his pants. He pulled them down along with his underwear. Cheyenne did not think she could ever get tired of seeing this body, the toned thighs, sculpted, the lean waist. And those balls, heavy with sperm.

  Reed dispensed with shoes, socks, pants and underpants.

  She drew a breath as he straightened himself, proud but not vain, utterly confident as though nudity were nothing at all to be ashamed of. This was a man who believed in himself and his body but wasn't obsessed. He knew what he could do, in combat to other men and in love to women. He had nothing to prove.

  "You will cuff my wrists behind my back,” he instructed.

  "That's a lot of trust in me,” she said.

  He offered no reply.

  She moved behind him as he put himself in position.

  "I don't want to do it too tight."

  "It will be fine."

  Cheyenne clicked the bracelets, one by one. Just like that Reed was helpless. Her naked prisoner. He didn't seem like a prisoner, though. She hadn't a clue what to do with him, for one thing. She didn't even want to try. It would be like commanding some natural force.

  All in all he was this self-contained specimen of manhood, this closed off system. As horny as she knew he was and as desperate to come she still felt like she needed him more.

  "Stop looking like a deer in headlights,” he teased. “This is your chance for revenge."

  "Er ... right,” she said.

  Reed laughed. “Here's what I have in mind. You will lie on the bed, my job will be to pleasure you. Each lick of your gorgeous pussy will cost me an answer to a question you ask."

  Cheyenne had no clue what she would ask. “And when will you come, exactly?"

  "After you climax again, you can decide if I deserve relief. You can have me masturbate for you, whatever you like."

  She cocked her head. “You really sure you are ready to go through all that?"

  "I have endured worse."

  She didn't doubt it. “Well I haven't. This might be too much for me."

  "Do I have to order you, girl?” he said. “Because I will."

  "Keep talking like that and I won't want to be in charge anymore,” she said, feeling the twinges all through her pleasure wracked body.

  "Who says you are in charge?” He had a twinkle in his eye, but he was all business.

  She cleared her throat. “I'm going to lie in bed now,” she said, indicating her desire to get on with the plan.

  Reed nodded. “On your back,” he specified. “Legs nice and wide."

  "You're awfully pushy for a sex slave,” she teased him back.

  "You'll own me soon enough,” he said seriously. “You have no idea how intoxicating your sex is."

  Cheyenne's heart slammed in her chest as she crawled onto the bed. No man had ever spoken to her like this or done such things.

  Then again she had never met a man like Reed before.

  What in the world was she going to ask him?

  She didn't really want to know about his personal life, did she?

  Earlier she had wanted to know his thoughts, but now she was terrified of the answers.

  Would it be worse to find out that she meant nothing to him ... or something?

  Chapter Ten

  Reed had backed himself into tight corners before, but nothing like this.

  Nude and handcuffed, with the prospect of sexually servicing the most beautiful, desirable woman he had ever known.

  And also the most willful.

  So far she had been hesitant to take the role of dominant but she could grow to like it fast. The power she had, though far from absolute, was real. She could taunt him with her body, forcing him to take on the role of sex slave for real. There were women quite adept at leading willing men. He could find himself kissing her feet, groveling, submitting to her authority.

  It would all be consensual, of course. There were spare hand cuff keys in the lower drawer of the dresser and he could manage to free himself.

  But he wouldn't want to.

  Cheyenne was a goddess and only a fool would decline to worship her.

  The going would be rough, especially when it came to divulging answers. Reed did not like to talk about himself, least of all to women. What had he gotten himself into? Was he suddenly turning masochistic? Or had Cheyenne touched off something in him that made him want to stretch his limits?

  The bottom line was this. He saw her struggle to find herself and the goodness of her character underneath, the honesty and loyalty. He didn't see how he could deny her the same. He had come into her life as just one more strong man imposing his will.

  There had to be more to it.

  In bed he wanted it his way, always did. Even now he was topping from the bottom as the saying went, putting the basically submissive Cheyenne into the position of having to dominate him on his terms. And all because it was his mood at the moment.

  There was the possibility it could change.

  He could want the cuffs off, back to where they were before, the sated, soft spoken Cheyenne asking on his lap, pleading for instructions to bring him to orgasm.

  The self offering had been implicit.

  He could have her any way he wanted.

  That balcony dream, that had been big. What were the odds of picking up on some fantasy of hers? The components of it were interesting, the sexual submission combined with exhibitionism. It meant some kind of release for her, a way to be accepted by the world for who she was.

  And the key was a dominant man who would play his part.

  Reed had wanted all his adult life for a submissive female who would really let him help her. That's what most people didn't get. Domination and submission was only superficially about spanking and cuffs. It wasn't even really all about giving orders. That was for sexual charge. The deep down thing was nurturing, trust, one soul guarding over another.

  Reed had freed fellow soldiers, guarded countless civilians, saved more lives than he remembered and yet he had been denied so far the opportunity to save one woman in a relationship.

  Scratch that, an opportunity to help a woman save herself.

  "I can tell you now,” Cheyenne announced, arranging herself on the pillows in the desired position. “I won't be able to concentrate for spit when I
get worked up. My questions will not be nearly as sterling as yours."

  "Ask from the heart and you can't go wrong,” he said, noting the lines of her body, the exquisite curves in all the right places, the smooth hollow of her belly, the gentle rise of her breasts, the slope of her hip. And in between her thighs, the golden paradise, nectar of the gods.

  She rolled her eyes, half imp, half goddess. “Whatever."

  Reed grinned. Moving to the bed, he placed one knee on the mattress, preparing to climb on.

  "Did I say you could get in this bed?” she said sharply.

  His cock felt a sharp zing. “No,” he admitted.

  "No, Ma'am,” she corrected.

  "No, Ma'am,” he said. His nipples were tight buttons. Her exercise of power was indeed turning him on, most especially because it was, in the end, fully and completely subservient to his own.

  She pointed to one lovely foot, the nails dipped in pink. “You may kiss my foot and ask permission to get on the bed."

  He arched a brow. “I thought you said it would be hard to concentrate. You seem to be quite articulate."

  "The inarticulate part is later, after you start in on my pussy,” she explained.

  Reed licked his lips. Bending at the waist, he lowered his mouth. She quivered slightly at the contact. He could lick every inch of her without qualm. “Please, Ma'am, may I get in bed?"

  "That depends, slave.” She fluffed the pillows, imperiously. “Do you intend to be a good boy, pleasing to me."

  He clenched his fists. “Yes, Ma'am."

  "You may kiss my other foot,” she decided. “Then you may kiss your way up my leg to my thigh."

  Reed was more passionate this time, bestowing his affection on her small foot. He recalled what she had looked like with a chain on her ankle. He would like to have her that way for a week or so, confined to bed, available to him every time he wished to touch or love her.

  Which would be every minute of the day.

  "Don't rush, slave boy."

  Admonished, he slowed his pace. He gripped her calf, gently as he worked. She stopped him at her knee cap. Reluctantly he pulled his head from her soft, fragrant skin. She smelled of lilacs in spring, she smelled of pure femininity.