by Jane Jamison
He sucked on her, driving the tip of his tongue into the tiny folds surrounding her clit. He was a torturer, a madman intent on burying her alive. She would’ve died happily under his attacks.
This is nuts. Why am I doing this?
And yet she knew why. She’d longed for a man to take control of her. Yet after giving that control to other men, she’d found that they’d always let her down. They’d taken her trust and had abused it. That abuse had turned out to be worse than the abuse her father dealt out.
Hank wrapped his arms around her legs, pulling her even closer. He nibbled, sucked, licked, the sounds of his pleasure echoing in the room.
Ron played with her earlobe. “That’s it. Give it to him. I’ll get a taste of you soon enough and when I do, you’re going to scream my name as you come.”
“I can’t take…” She fought to breathe, fought to cling on to him. If she didn’t, she wasn’t sure what her body would do.
“Tell me, darlin’. Are you getting pleasure from this?”
“Yes, oh, yes.”
“And tell me. Do you think we like giving you this pleasure?”
“Yes. Ah. Oh, God. Yes.”
“Good girl. Now tell us our names.”
What did he mean? Their names? She knew their names as well as she did her own. She’d scribbled them in notebooks during class and had run them over and over in her mind all last night.
She trembled, her strength leaving her far too quickly. Soon, she’d end up on the floor. If she did, she’d beg Ron to fuck her mouth while Hank brought her to a climax.
Her body tensed, then bucked as her orgasm started its ascent. Higher it took her until Ron had to turn her arms loose and wrap them around her. He teased her nipples, snatching them with his teeth, then releasing them, their tender skin aching from his assault. Her entire body was on fire, the decadent delight taking her until she had no choice but to turn it loose. If she didn’t, it would rise up higher and higher until it stole not only her body from her, but her mind as well.
She cried out as the release rode over her and reached out to clutch Hank’s thick hair. His hold tightened on her, refusing to let her go, even as she pushed against him. Sucking on her, he drank up her cream, moaning out a satisfied sound, then coming back at her with renewed fervor. Her body was no longer hers or his, but a wild entity all its own. Her knees finally gave way, buckling underneath her. They carried her to the table and sat her in the chair.
Wrapping her arms around her against the chill of the air conditioning, she let her breath come back to her slowly. Ron brought her dress to her, but it was Hank that helped her slip it over her head.
“Tell me you liked that.” Hank knelt beside her and placed a comforting hand on her leg. “We already know the truth of it. Just say the words.”
“Yes. I liked it.” She licked her lips, noting how he followed the action. “A lot.”
“Good. And you know it gave us pleasure, right?”
“Yes.”
Hank wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “That’s the way it should be. Each of us getting and giving pleasure. That’s the basis for a great Dom/sub relationship.”
“Say it, darlin’. We asked you before. Tell us our names.”
They wanted her to call them master. Calling them sir was one thing, simpler, easier. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Ron frowned at her.
“Shouldn’t you have to earn that title?”
“Yes.” Hank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs.
“And, if I understood what you said, that’s done through trust.” Trust. There was the problem.
“Respect and trust. Right again.” He knew what she was getting at. His wicked expression, one saying that she was clever, told her so. “Do you respect us, Carly?”
“I do. I know you well enough to know that you’re well respected by others. I think you’ve earned that.”
“But you’re not ready to trust us.”
“Right again,” she said, mimicking his earlier response.
Ron groaned, then paced a few steps away. But Hank wasn’t as easily thrown. “Don’t worry, baby. You will. In time.”
“Do you want to keep going? To see what else you might like?”
“Yes.”
Hank had her back on her feet before she knew it. He pushed on her back, bending her over. The thwack of his hand against her rump startled her, flashing surprise that quickly changed into anger. “What the fuck?”
She pushed at him, hard, and stumbled away. Placing her hand over the spot where he’d spanked her, she whirled on him, fury mixing with embarrassment. “You spanked me!”
“Yeah, I did.” He was calm, but confusion shone on his face.
She came at him, then, charging him as she’d wished she’d done to her father. “Don’t you ever fucking spank me again. Never again. Got it?”
He held up his hands, then looked to Ron for the answer. But Ron appeared as confused as he was. “Calm down, Carly.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down, damn it.” She backed off, lowering the accusatory finger she’d stabbed into his chest. “No one. I mean no one, spanks me.”
She was sucking in air, fighting against the memories that came flooding back. Lost in her turmoil, she no longer saw Hank’s face, but that of her father’s. She’d vowed that he’d never spank her again. Not now that she was a full-grown woman. The spankings he’d given her with both his hands and his belt were worse than the lifetime of foul language she’d endured.
Ron eased closer. “Carly, it’s okay. We’re here for you. We shouldn’t have taken it that far. Take big breaths and let it out.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, further humiliating her. How had she lost control? She’d never told anyone about the spankings her father had doled out on a regular basis, not even Suzie. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Shh.” Hank took her arm, holding on to it even when she tried to yank it away. He pulled her against him, his steellike arms snaring her in their hold.
She struggled against him at first, but when he didn’t turn her loose, when what he was whispering in her ears finally filtered through the heartache, she started to relax. Leaning on him was more than comforting. She closed her eyes and let his warmth and words flow over her, washing away the pain.
“It’s okay, baby. I understand. You don’t want to get spanked. I swear we’ll never do it again unless you say you want us to. That’s part of learning how to treat each other. We have to discover each other’s limits. I didn’t know before, but I do now. Shh. Stop crying.”
Ron stood behind her, his hand making wonderful circles over her back. “It’s all right, Carly. You’re okay.”
“Hey, you three.” Paul sauntered in from the back, then stopped as he took the scene in. “Is the interview over?”
Could he tell what had just happened? It had to be showing on her face. She looked away, then gathered herself and faced him. But it was her fault. She shouldn’t have given into her desire. “I, uh, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m cut out for this job.”
Hank checked her out, his intense perusal sizing her up as though they’d just met. “Carly, don’t let what happened change your mind. It’s all a part of learning about each other. Take the job.”
“No.” She pulled herself together as best she could and held her head high. “Thank you for giving me the chance to interview, but I don’t want the job.”
Paul stayed where he was. “Hank, what’s going on?”
“It’s her decision, Paul. Let it be.”
Damn. She’d wanted the job. More than that, she’d wanted Hank and Ron to talk her into it. Until the spanking, she’d thought she could handle it and would get to spend time with the men of her dreams. But she couldn’t help how she felt or how she’d reacted.
“Like I said. Thank you, but I don’t want the job.” She glanced at all three men, half hoping they’d say something, anything that would change her mind. Swallowing her
disappointment, she strode past them toward the back door.
Chapter Five
Carly was so mad she could spit bullets.
Her car’s engine purred as it idled in front of her father’s home. It had been years since she’d thought of it as her home. She’d grown up there, all too fast, and couldn’t wait to get away again. But not without her mother.
Damn it. Why did I have to react like that? It was just a spanking, one that hardly hurt.
She was sure she’d gotten the position until Hank spanked her. Then, all at once, the years of horror at her father’s hands had roared to life, swelling inside her until she’d had no alternative but to lash out.
I blew it big-time.
She wanted to feel wronged, wanted to think that she’d let Ron and Hank play with her because it was part of the interview. But her gut told her she was lying. She would’ve let them touch her, suck on her, finger-fuck her if they’d been anywhere else. Her years-long craving for them had taken over. Hell, if the spanking hadn’t happened, she’d have wanted them to go farther, longer.
Damn it all to hell and back.
The noise of her father’s rust-covered pickup roared behind her. She ducked down, twisting her body across the front seat. Staying as still as she could, she listened for his heavy footsteps and his mumbled curses as he stumbled past her car and toward the front door. It was always the same. He’d stop on his way home from work, buy a couple of six-packs of beer and whatever rotgut whiskey was on sale, then head home. The only thing that ever changed was the time. On good nights—good nights for her mother and her—his friends would convince him to go to the bar. At least then he came home at a later hour, giving them less time to endure his cruel words and quick slaps.
Once she heard the slam of the front door behind him, she pushed back to a sitting position. She’d hoped to make it home and into her tiny makeshift bedroom before he came home. If they got lucky, he’d fall asleep before the night dragged on too long.
But it didn’t look as though it was going to be a good night.
If only Suzie weren’t out of town visiting her aunt in Dallas, she could go over there and spend the night in a sleeping bag on Suzie’s bedroom floor. Her friend was the lucky one. She still lived at home and never felt the need to get her own place. And why should she? Suzie’s parents, Jim and Dorris Wittacre, were great people. They were loving and kind, and always treated Suzie and her two younger brothers like they were special. The Wittacre home was filled with laughter and love.
Suzie’s home was everything a home should be. Everything her own home had never been.
Faced with the prospect of yet another awful night, she slid out of her car and headed toward the front door. Maybe if she were quiet enough, she could slip past him as he guzzled down his beer and yelled at some stupid game on television.
But luck had never been good to her.
She hadn’t made it ten feet through the door before her father tossed an empty beer can in her direction. Her mother, the familiar fear a constant expression on her face, stood at the entrance to the kitchen. That was her usual place to skulk whenever her father was in one of his “moods.”
At least it was a can and not a bottle.
“Damn you, you little skank. You’re just beggin’ for a beatin’.”
Aw, shit. Why can’t I catch a break?
She’d been afraid of his finding out. If his slurred rant was any indication, the gossip mill had already done its work. Word had gotten back to him about interviewing at the club.
Carly faced him. Trying to ignore him only made him madder and the torturous time she had to deal with him longer. “I guess you heard I interviewed out at the Club at Pleasure Ranch.”
“Carly? Why? Don’t you like your job at the market?”
Her mother couldn’t be serious. She’d told her often enough that she hated working there. It was her mother’s attempt to deflect some of her father’s anger toward herself.
“You know I don’t, Mom. Plus it pays basically nothing.”
“Yes, but at the ranch? At that club? Do you know what they do there?”
“Of course she does. Why do you think she wants to work there? She can get her jollies off while the men tip her like some fucking whore.”
Her jollies? “I wanted to make good money, yes, but I wasn’t going to do anything else.”
“Bullshit. You can’t wait to get paid to open your legs.”
She had to get away from him before either he lost it or she did. “I’m not talking about this with you. Besides, I’d make enough money there to pay half of your rent. You should be happy if I worked there.” She didn’t bother telling him that she hadn’t taken the job. Even that wouldn’t end his verbal barrage.
“Are you trying to make a fool out of me?”
As if he didn’t do that all by himself.
He must’ve bent his elbow at the bar before heading home. So much that he tried to get to his feet, but couldn’t. Too bad he hadn’t stayed longer.
“I’m not trying to do anything to you.” She planted her feet apart and dropped her purse onto the nearby chair. If he got enough steam under him to lunge her way, she’d be ready.
“You made me the damn laughingstock at work. All my friends want to know when they’ll get a peek at my daughter’s pussy.”
She finally gave in. “Well, you don’t have to worry about it. I turned the job down. And your friends? They’re a bunch of perverts anyway.”
She shouldn’t have said it and knew that it was stupid to do so as soon as she’d spoken. It gave him the incentive to pull himself up and onto his feet. He staggered toward her. “You’re nothing but a fucking whore like your mother.”
Carly could handle him calling her names, but when it came down to her mother, that was more than she could stand. “My mother’s not a whore and you’d better stop calling her that.” She ground out the words, trying to hold on to her last bit of restraint.
“The hell she’s not. And I call them as I see them.” He laughed, giving her a good whiff of the stench of his breath. “Fuck, I don’t even know for sure that you’re mine.”
She plastered on a shit-eating grin. “If only that were true.”
His face turned red from the fury boiling up inside him. “Fuck you, you little cunt.”
If he hadn’t been as drunk as he was, she wouldn’t have been able to duck in time. As it was, she saw him rear back his arm as if in slow motion and strike out. Weaving out of the way, she hurried toward the kitchen, intent on getting away by running out the back door. She’d just flung it open when she heard her mother cry out.
Whirling around, she saw her mother lying on the kitchen floor and her father standing over her. Her hand was pressed against her mouth, but it didn’t hide the trickle of blood sliding down her chin.
“Damn you, you asshole!”
“See what you made me do?” He pointed at her with a beer can still in his other hand. “If you weren’t such a bitch, I wouldn’t have had to hit her.” He flung the can at her mother. “Get up and get my dinner cookin’.” He pivoted around, getting off-balance, then grabbing the doorjamb to keep himself upright. Stumbling, he made his way back to his chair.
“Mom, let me help you.” Carly took her mother by the arm and drew her into the kitchen. Using a towel, she blotted her mother’s mouth and saw the cut on her lower lip. “I’m calling the sheriff.”
“No, honey. That’ll just get him more upset. It’s over now and I’m all right.”
“No you’re not. You need to see a doctor. Maybe even get stitches.”
Her mother gently pushed her away, waving her hand in dismissal. “No, no. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve ever had a split lip. I’ll mend just fine on my own. I always do.”
Carly’s heart broke when her mother tried to smile, then grimaced at the pain. “No. I’m fed up with living like this. I’m calling Sheriff Ray. You have to press charges.”
She was the one to p
ush away this time. Taking her cell phone out of her pocket, she stepped into the backyard and dialed the Sheriff’s Department.
Calling it a department was a joke. Sheriff Ray had his office in his home and rarely did anything more than watch television all day while he collected his pitiful pay as the only law enforcement officer for the towns of Pleasure, Hard Luck, and High Times, Texas.
She had to let the phone ring a long time before he finally answered.
“Sheriff Ray here.”
“Sheriff, this is Carly Rivers. You need to come to my father’s house and arrest him. He just attacked my mother.”
The silence that followed was anything but comforting. “Carly, what’s going on? What do you mean by attacked?”
“He hit her. Backhanded her most likely. Her lip is bleeding.” Her knuckles turned white from gripping the phone so hard. A lot of people complained about the sheriff’s complacency, but she had to make him do something.
“Most likely? So you didn’t see him hit her?”
What did she have to do to get him to help? “If I see the damage from a head-on collision, I don’t need to have actually seen the cars hit, now do I?”
“Don’t get testy. Just answer my questions. Did he threaten to kill her? Is he holding a weapon like a gun or a knife on her?”
“No, but he did hit her. That’s assault. Damn it, do your job or I’m calling the state police.”
“Aw, hell, Carly. Don’t do that. They’ll come and make a big deal out of it and I’ll have to spend hours filling out their damn paperwork.”
“It is a big deal.” If he were standing in front of her, she would’ve kicked him in the balls.
Why didn’t they get someone else, someone who would give a shit and do the job? Maybe they could talk Georgia Fox into taking over. But that would have to come later. Until the next election, they were stuck with him.
“It’s up to you. Either you get over here and take him in, or I’m calling them. You’ve got ten minutes. Make your choice.” She clicked off the call, then checked the time.
