by Nina Lane
Preston’s gaze scanned her fettered body, the reddened welts already blooming on her pale flesh, the tremble of her limbs and breasts, the sheen of sweat coating her skin.
“Preston,” Lydia choked, her full lips parting helplessly on a desperate plea. “Oh, please…don’t…”
“Don’t give a little strumpet exactly what she deserves?”
His smile widened as he rubbed the lewd, projecting bulge at the front of his trousers. Without heeding her entreaty, he flicked the whip expertly toward her breasts, marking them with stinging bruises that caused Lydia to yelp with pain. She dimly realized he knew exactly what he was doing, that he knew just how much pressure to apply to the whip in order to impart a rich, powerful blur of pain and welts without breaking her skin.
Her body jerked involuntarily backward when he cracked the whip across her belly, but the restraint of the handcuffs held her firmly in place and allowed the whip to hit its mark.
Preston chuckled with amusement as he began a stroll around her body, flicking the whip over the backs of her legs and her bottom, aiming it agilely at her breasts. He paused every so often to enhance her humiliation by dipping his fingers into her drenched sex, rubbing his fingers teasingly over her throbbing flesh before he resumed his whip-painting of her body.
Lydia shrieked and cried each time the tails made contact with her skin, her body twisting violently to try and escape the harsh stings even as she knew she never would. Her blood began seething with pain, her heart throbbing with fear over the inevitability of the blows, her muscles so tense she thought she might break in two.
“Please, no more,” she gasped, her eyes glazed and unfocused, her face streaked with tears. “Oh, it hurts….I can’t…”
“Of course you can, darling,” Preston replied. “This is why you’re here, isn’t it?”
As the tails lashed across her smooth mons with an agonizing slap, Lydia lost all sense of control. She began pulling frantically at the restraints, supplications flowing from her throat in an unending stream, her bottom writhing back and forth as she struggled to free herself.
Preston lashed the whip across her breasts and belly again until her skin was stained with multiple, thin lines of crimson that crossed and intersected. Just when Lydia thought that it would truly become too much to bear, when her mind became so varnished with biting pain she felt she might pass out, Preston let the whip fall to the floor.
Lydia cried with sheer relief, uncaring of how she appeared to him as long as he didn’t pick up the whip again. She began sobbing anew when he unfastened her wrist and leg restraints. Her muscles ached from her splayed position, and she collapsed forward onto the bed with a moan. The pressure of the coverlet deepened the sting of the welts, but anything was bearable after Preston’s punishment.
He allowed her sobs to die down somewhat before mounting her from behind, each hard thrust of his engorged phallus accompanied by a deep grunt.
Lydia buried her face in a pillow, forcing herself to thrust her bottom high up into the air for him, fighting not to succumb to the growing pressure that spread so persistently through her loins. As the initial impact of the whip lashes began to ebb, the agony was replaced by a burning heat that only seemed to add to the thorough intensity of sensations.
“Ah, my darling Lydia,” Preston gasped, his stalk pounding energetically into her taut channel, his hands gripping her crimson, bouncing mounds. “I always knew you were a slut at heart, even back then. I wanted to fuck you so many times, wanted to make you come all over my prick, to feel your delicious tits…what gorgeous fantasies you provide me with…but the reality is always better, isn’t it? You’re hotter and tighter than I’d imagined, and now you’ll do whatever I tell you…whatever humiliations I impose…”
Lydia closed her eyes as if she could stop the horrifically arousing power of his crude words.
With a groan, Preston pulled out of her and creamed long and hard over her bruised flesh, rubbing his abating shaft into the valley between her plump buttocks as he rode out his final satisfaction.
Lydia struggled not to lower her hips from her obscenely exposed position, knowing Preston would interpret her withdrawal as a personal insult. And heaven knew she could not afford to insult him further.
Only when he gave her bottom a light, conceding slap did Lydia ease herself cautiously onto her sore belly. She heard him rustling about the room, but didn’t lift her face from the pillow until her body had ceased trembling and she had absorbed some of the lingering pain of the whip.
Her sex continued to throb ceaselessly in a bid for erotic release, and she tried to detach herself from the persistent urge. A self-preserving part of her mind filled with relief that she had been able to prevent herself from surrendering to the need to climax. She rose and lowered her legs to the floor, eyeing Preston warily as he emerged from the bathroom.
He had slipped into a pair of cotton shorts, but was otherwise naked. Lydia realized she had not seen him so bared before now. He had a lean, firm body that was not as well-formed and muscled as Gabriel’s and certainly nowhere near Kruin’s bulk, but his chest was broad and covered with a mat of light brown hair, his arms taut with sinew.
He gave her a smile, reaching out to chuck his fingers affectionately underneath her chin.
“That was also for continuing to defy our simple orders,” he explained, his eyes roving over her inflamed breasts and the swell of her belly. “How lovely you look marked with my whip. If you’re not careful, I might be tempted to keep you that way.”
Lydia shuddered with fear at the mere thought. She bent to reach for her discarded dress, only to stop in mid-motion when Preston clucked his tongue in reprimand.
Lydia looked up at him, confusion flashing in her eyes. “I…I thought you’d want me to leave.”
“Hardly, my precious one. Tonight, you sleep with me.”
Lydia stared at him in shock. Of all things, she had never even considered the idea that one of the men would actually want her to share his bed.
She was oddly horrified by the thought, for such an intimate act would truly mean she had lost the last final vestiges of her privacy. At least in her room, she could obtain a respite from the dominating authority of the three men. She could be alone, read alone, bathe alone, sleep blissfully alone….but now…
To her dismay, a fresh wash of tears coated her eyes and her lip began to tremble. Her emotions were painfully raw, hovering just at the surface of her skin, so unprotected that she could not muster the strength to control them. The tears spilled unbidden over her cheeks as despair rose in the depths of her soul.
Preston lifted his eyebrows in mock surprise and patted her damp cheek. “Oh, come now, darling. Think of how fortunate you are to be allowed to sleep in my bed. If you’re good and don’t steal all the covers, I might even let you suck my cock before we arise in the morning. After all, I know how much you enjoy that particular act.”
His eyes hardened with a hint of cold jealousy. Lydia knew he was remembering the night when he had walked in on her willingly bathing Gabriel’s large erection. Would he make her pay for that as well?
“Come now.” Preston folded back the luxurious coverlet and sheets of his bed, patting the plump, feather pillows. “Lie down.”
With a sick sense of dread over spending the entire night by his side, Lydia forced herself to crawl underneath the covers. The heavy sheets rubbed with painful friction against her welts, but she bit her lip and suppressed a moan of pain. Although it would take everything she had, she would not allow Preston the satisfaction of knowing she was still aching.
He climbed in beside her, reaching out to pull her hard against him.
“Rest your head on my chest, my dear. Yes, that’s right. Goodness, you’re still quite hot, aren’t you? Although I shouldn’t have expected differently from you.”
His arm slipped around her as he leaned against the pillows, his fingers tracing the thin, blistered welts crossing her breast, pinching at her
taut nipple.
Lydia closed her eyes and fought not to cry. The smell of Preston filled her head, a mixture of his skin, soap, and shaving cream that only enhanced her dismay. His chest hairs were rough against her cheek, his body moving rhythmically with his breath, his fingers fondling her breast as if he had every right to touch her as long as he liked.
Which, Lydia knew with a feeling of total helplessness, he did.
CHAPTER NINE
Lydia pressed her thighs hard against the horse’s flanks, easing the animal into a gallop so rapid and smooth it felt as if they were flying. Wind whipped through her loose hair and surged hot and sweet against her skin. Her body flowed with the horse’s rhythmic movements as if they were one being, bounding unfettered over the lush grounds. A sense of wild freedom streamed through her blood, driving away all remnants of despair.
When they began to near the edge of the swamplands, she reined in Sugarfoot and turned. Gabriel was approaching astride Pirate, his body moving with a similar ease as the horse galloped toward them. He reined in beside her with a smile, his green eyes bright with the exhilaration of a good ride, his dark hair tousled.
Lydia looked at him, wondering not for the first time how such a seemingly kind man could ever possess a criminal past. Without thinking, she reached out to brush away a dried leaf clinging to his thick hair.
“I’ll race you back, but you don’t get a head start this time,” he said.
“Okay, but…” Lydia wanted him to answer a question that had been lingering at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t gather the courage to voice it.
“But what?” Gabriel asked.
Lydia shook her head, breaking her gaze from his intent expression. Sugarfoot stomped and snorted restlessly beneath her, and she patted the horse’s neck in a soothing motion.
“Nothing,” she muttered.
She shifted in the saddle with a bit of discomfort, as the welts on her thighs and bottom continued to sting. She had questioned the wisdom of attempting to ride only a few days after enduring the lashes of Preston’s whip, but nothing would keep her from the freedom of riding. She had so few moments of liberty that she was determined to make the most of each and every one.
“You okay?” Gabriel asked, noticing her little writhings.
Lydia nodded, but reached beneath the elastic waistband of her jodhpurs to rub at a particularly thick welt. She took a deep breath of hot, humid air, surprised to discover she was rather enjoying the mild stinging sensations that covered her bottom.
Ah well, a good, long horseback ride never failed to do wonders for her constant confusion of carnal pleasure, need, shame, and pain. Somehow, it all seemed strangely gratifying when she was galloping unhindered over the plantation grounds.
Riding Sugarfoot also heartened her soul, filling her with the knowledge of hope and the ever-present reminder that she was extremely fortunate to be sheltered at this plantation. It made her remember this pervertedly erotic use of her body was a privilege compared to what she would have had to endure beyond the boundaries of La Nouvelle Vie.
“Ready, then?” Gabriel asked.
Lydia nodded, digging her heels into Sugarfoot’s flanks. “On the count of three. One, two…”
With a mischievous chuckle, she propelled the horse forward before finishing the count, laughing at Gabriel’s surprised expression as Sugarfoot began pounding back toward the stables.
“You’ll pay for that, Lydia!” Gabriel shouted behind her as he urged Pirate after them with increasingly rapid strides.
Pirate was a more powerful horse than Sugarfoot, so it wasn’t long before he overtook them, galloping past in a rush of hot wind. Gabriel and Pirate had already reached the stables by the time Lydia and Sugarfoot slowed to a trot.
Lydia grinned at the angry expression on Gabriel’s face as he jumped from his horse and stalked toward her. He was frowning darkly, his eyebrows drawn together in a scowl.
“Uh, I was just joking,” Lydia said hastily as a pleasurable, little glimmer of fear sparked inside her. “Really, I mean, you have to give me a head start if you…”
She gave a small shriek when he reached up to grab her around the waist and pull her from the saddle. For an instant, she fell against him, her breasts pressing hard against his chest, her eyes level with his beautiful mouth. Her heart began to thud wildly, and not just from the effects of the ride.
“You little cheater,” Gabriel muttered. “You’ll definitely pay.”
Lydia shrieked again when he hauled her over his shoulder in one movement so the upper half of her body was hanging against his back and her bottom was right beside his face.
“Wait!” she yelped, pummeling his rear ineffectually with her fists. “I’m sorry! I was joking!”
Without a word, Gabriel strode toward the stables, reaching up once to give her a firm spank on the buttocks.
“Ow!” Lydia squirmed, trying to escape his iron-clad grip even as something within her thrilled at the realization that she could not. “You know, you men are all the same. A woman gets the better of you, and you turn completely Neanderthal…ow!”
Gabriel entered the stables and proceeded to dump Lydia unceremoniously onto a pile of scratchy, sweet-smelling hay. He pulled the stable doors closed and stood before her, looking not a little menacing with his hands planted on his hips and that scowl still darkening his expression.
“Remove your boots,” he ordered, his voice laced with menace. “And turn around.”
Lydia scrambled backward, her feet slipping on the hay. A deliciously apprehensive excitement surged in her as she met his emerald gaze.
Although he certainly looked threatening, there was a glimmer of amusement in the depths of his eyes that aroused her even more than his vexation. The knowledge that he was feigning anger, that he wouldn’t truly hurt her, stimulated her every nerve. She hastened to take off her riding boots, tossing them to the side.
“Turn around,” Gabriel repeated, snapping his fingers with a sound that echoed against the warped wood of the stables.
With a sharp intake of breath, Lydia turned onto her hands and knees to present him with her rounded backside clad in a tight pair of jodhpurs that stretched over her full globes.
“Pull them down.” A husky note entered his voice.
Lydia unzipped the trousers and tucked her fingers underneath the elastic waistband, her breathing hard. Their earlier sense of fun dissipated rapidly within the confines of the stable. The smell of hay, horses, and rotting wood invaded Lydia’s head like a potent aphrodisiac.
Slowly, she pulled the jodhpurs over her hips, exposing the reddened cushions of her bottom in the dim shafts of sunlight. Riding never failed to stimulate her incessantly seething arousal, and today was no exception as her sex pulsed.
She waited with expanding tension as Gabriel approached and brushed his hand lightly over her welt-riddled flesh.
“What did he use?” His voice was oddly strained.
“I don’t know, some horrible thing with a bunch of leather strips.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“A little.”
Lydia’s teeth sank into the plumpness of her lower lip as Gabriel began tracing the painful marks with his fingers. He pulled her jodhpurs down farther to examine the bruises on her thighs. Feeling his fingers brushing against her skin elicited a curl of arousal deep in her loins. Her eyes drifted closed when his hand touched another welt. She experienced a strange desire to feel him pressing them harder, to make them sting.
“What else did he do?” Gabriel asked.
Lydia was mildly surprised that he didn’t know. She blushed when she heard the words coming from her mouth.
“He…he cuffed me to his bed. He made me tell him about losing my…my virginity. Then he fucked me, of course. And he’s forced me to sleep with him for the past three nights.”
She shuddered at the memory of waking several times a night to feel the weight of Preston’s arm across her chest, the bulk of his
body next to her, his leg thrown possessively over hers. Even in sleep, she seemed to be constantly aware of his presence.
And this morning he had instructed her to ride him before they had climbed out of bed, while the previous mornings, he had insisted she suck him to orgasm. Both acts had served their intended purpose of further shaming her.
Lydia turned to look at Gabriel, who was watching her with an unreadable expression.
“That’s the worst,” she confessed, her voice low. “Actually sleeping with him. Worse than the humiliations, worse than the belt, worse than the whipping. Isn’t that strange?”
Gabriel shook his head. “No. It’s not strange.”
Lydia looked at him for a long minute, her heart beginning to throb as his hands lingered on her exposed buttocks. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him why only Preston and Kruin had enjoyed the liberal plundering of her sex. Neither man had hesitated thus far to stroke his rod thoroughly in and out of her body whenever he felt the inclination.
Gabriel, by contrast, hadn’t made the slightest move to indulge himself in that particular manner.
“Do you want…” Lydia’s voice tapered off hoarsely. The tip of her tongue flickered out to moisten her lips, but she still could not summon the courage to ask him.
With a desperate sigh, she lowered her forehead onto her crossed arms, her eyelids drifting downward as the sweet smell of hay invaded her nose. She was already perspiring from the humidity and the exertion of the ride, and droplets of sweat began to trickle between her breasts and along the length of her spine.
Despite her aversion to sleeping naked with Preston, the contact with his body when combined with her incessant simmering arousal had put her in a state of suspended erotic urgency. One she desperately wanted Gabriel to satisfy.
She shifted a little in invitation, her curved hips swaying. The decline of her upper body pushed her bottom farther outward, the full orbs cleaving apart to reveal her posterior crevice and the moist petals of her labia.
“Did you control yourself?” Gabriel asked.
