“You’re hurting me,” she said breathlessly.
He grinned. “I know.” Slowly he began to withdraw, savoring the feeling of his cock sliding along the tight channel that felt so slick and hot. Rose sucked in a gasp.
Alan set his feet to gain purchase and pushed, biting his lip in delight. “If you submit to me, it will get better.”
She whimpered. “It . . . can’t. You’re too . . . big.”
He suspected his answering smile must have a demonic cast. “All the more reason to submit, then.” But the going was getting a little easier now, as if she had begun to adjust to the invasion despite herself. Sweating, he began to pick up the pace, stroking in and out.
“What if . . .” She hesitated and sobbed out a breath. “What if I agree to tell you what you want to know? Will you spare me?”
“No.” The word was out before he could reconsider it, but it was just as well. He was not going to abandon his conquest now. He wasn’t going to stop until he’d come in the depths of her ass.
With a growl, he began to ride her faster.
Rose twisted at the fiery shaft bisecting her bottom. She knew she deserved it for her disloyal impulse to betray her country.
Each long, merciless thrust bounced her against the bed rail as his pelvis ground against her sex. Yet the pain no longer felt like a knife in her ass. He was right that surrendering to his phallus made the penetration easier.
Turning her head, she saw him in the mirror, hunched over her in his breeches and boots, reaming her, his face twisted in predatory hunger. She felt a curl of arousal as she watched him, a spurt of pleasure rising through the pain and shame of his invasion. A strange delight rose at each withdrawal as his big shaft slid from her, only to torment her again on its return.
Alan looked up and his eyes met her in the mirror. He smiled slowly. Reaching between her thighs, he found the hard bud of her clitoris. Slowly he stroked it as he buggered her. She caught her breath as the pleasure strengthened, swirling up from her pearl like a kindling fire. She whimpered.
“Why, darling,” he gritted, driving the next stroke with such power that her breath left her lungs, “is that desire rising in your eyes? Can it be that you enjoy having your ass reamed by a Yankee bastard?” She twisted and gasped.
“Well, I don’t mind telling you, I love ramming your Rebel asshole. What a sweet, tight little butt you’ve got.”
Rose pressed her eyes closed. The fire aroused by his skillful fingers met the painful blaze of his buggering cock, and the two seared her with lust.
“Get used to it, darling,” he purred, leaning over her until his breath stirred her hair. His fingers swirled over her clitoris. “I’m going to be fucking you this way frequently. You’re just too tight and tempting to resist.”
She squirmed. The desire she’d felt all day now leaped hot again, and the smooth, even strokes of his shaft drove it higher. “Thick,” she whimpered. “You’re so cruelly thick.”
He growled. The pace of his hips had picked up, grown erratic and urgent as he buggered her. Her thighs quivered with each stroke of his fingers. She began to shiver in waves.
“That’s it. Come on my Yankee cock. Let me feel that little asshole squeezing me.” His voice was a deep, velvet drawl. She shuddered helplessly.
Without warning, he shoved so brutally deep, she jumped. She could feel his phallus jerking deep in her bottom as he groaned in pleasure. “Take it,” he rumbled. “Take it all!”
Her orgasm crashed over her like a wave, washing away pain and shame and duty, leaving nothing but the raw delight of Alan’s cock pulsing out his cream in the depths of her ass.
• • •
Rose sat on the velvet seat of the closed carriage, wrapped in the folds of her cloak. She wore nothing more, and she squirmed at the feeling of the red silk lining rubbing over her breasts and thighs. Flexing her bound hands, she wondered what she’d do if the cloak slipped.
A silly concern, really. Considering the hard expression on Alan’s face as he sat across from her, she might do better to worry about where he was taking her and what erotic torment he’d prepared for her tonight.
She’d been his captive for a week now. Seven endless days of exploring aspects of herself she’d never imagined—and would have rather remained ignorant about. The leap of her passions as his hard palm slammed down on her bottom, the way she grew shamelessly wet when he screwed tiny clamps onto her nipples, the excitement of wondering when he’d break, when he’d throw her down and ride her in a frenzy of hunger.
It was no wonder she’d been able to resist his torture, she thought, twisting her bound hands in her cloak. She loved what he was doing too much.
But tonight . . . tonight he’d stripped her and wrapped her in her cloak, slipped a feathered mask over her face, and hustled her out to his coach. And she had no idea where they were headed.
Had he decided to turn her over to the authorities? No, surely he’d have dressed her first . . .
The carriage lurched and stopped, rocking on its springs. Alan opened the door and stepped out, nodding the coachman away. As he reached in and helped her out, he wrapped one arm around her to make sure she stayed modestly concealed by the cloak. Rose felt perversely grateful for his consideration.
Stepping down, she found she stood in front of a huge, very stylish house with peaked gables and gingerbread fretwork. Alan put his hand to the small of her back, urging her forward. She approached the staircase on dragging feet.
As they climbed the steps, one of the house’s double doors swung wide, revealing a tall, handsome blond in a Union uniform. The blond smiled and waved them inside.
“Alan, what . . . ?” Rose murmured as their host closed the door behind them, leaving them in a wide foyer.
“You’re in no position to ask questions.”
“Up the stairs, Major,” the blond said, nodding toward the winding staircase off to the left. Alan tightened his grip on her waist and urged her toward it. She couldn’t fight without giving the blond a tempting view, so she set her teeth and went where he directed.
On the third floor, they found a carpeted hallway lined with doors, all firmly closed. The blond moved around them and led the way to the third door on the left. Producing a key, he opened it and stepped inside.
Rose followed him in, her chin tilted to hide her fear.
It was only when the blond moved to relock the door from the inside that she realized Alan hadn’t followed.
Rose took a step back as the big blond turned to her with an unholy smile. “What . . . what’s going on? Where’s Alan going?”
“He’s left you to my care, sweet.” He began to move toward her slowly. “He believes he has taken too gentle a hand with you, and he’s entrusted me with the task of bringing you to heel.”
Rose backed away, eyes widening. “Who are you?”
“You,” said the blond, reaching for her cloak, “may call me Master Taylor.”
• • •
Alan watched through the hidden spy hole as Taylor bound Rose’s hands and flipped the end of the rope through a hook in the ceiling. She was half bent over a padded bar, but the way her wrists were tied arched her so that her breasts and ass thrust out as if begging for attention. Attention Alan was quite sure they’d get, if he knew Taylor.
And he did, which was precisely why he’d insisted on watching. He wasn’t sure he trusted the captain not to hurt Rose for the sheer pleasure of doing so.
And what a pleasure it was. That, Alan knew from his own experience.
A slight, cruel smile curving his mouth, Taylor walked over to a small japanned casket that sat on the mirrored vanity. He drew out a ceramic jar and Alan tensed in anticipation. Taylor had told him of the cream that jar held, described the effect it would have on Rose. And the idea filled Alan with a combination of lust and jealousy.
Slowly Taylor pulled on a pair of leather gloves and carried the jar back to Rose’s stretched and helpless body.
�
��I imagine you must be pretty curious by now,” the captain said, dipping two fingers into the cream. “Perhaps you even feel a bit betrayed that the major would turn you over to me.”
Rose tossed her head and eyed him haughtily from behind the feathered mask. “I’m sure I’m no longer surprised by anything the major does. He takes a positive delight in cruelty.”
“Of course he does.” Taylor walked around behind her and paused, contemplating the white, delicately rounded curves of her bottom. “Nothing stiffens a man’s cock quite like having a lovely, helpless woman at his mercy. His to torment. His to fuck.”
Leaning forward, he pressed his cream-covered fingers deeply into Rose’s sweet sex. She jumped in her bonds and gritted out, “I imagine such things would be arousing—to a sadist.”
“To any man, Rose.” He dipped his leather-sheathed fingers into the jar again. “Men have a need, an instinct, to dominate. And the conquest is all the sweeter when it’s a beautiful woman who is forced to submit.”
Taylor paused and contemplated her pouting sex, then began to work the cream inside. His smile was slow and hot. “Her cries of pain and surrender heat his blood until his rod is as hard as a sword.”
He dug his fingers into the jar again, scooped out a generous portion, and, before she could move, thrust them deeply into her anus.
Alan growled in rage, the sound drowned out by Rose’s startled yelp.
“Oh, come now, Rose,” Taylor said, grinning as he screwed his fingers more deeply into her. “I’m quite sure Alan has made use of this little hole already. How could he resist? Your pain was his pleasure, your submission, his victory.”
Briskly he drew his fingers out of her and turned to the rack of whips hanging on the wall. Alan tensed, but Taylor abided by their agreement by choosing the lightest silk cat-o’-nine-tails for the next phase of the punishment.
Rose watched him saunter toward her, flicking the cat. Her brown eyes were bitter. “I’ve been whipped before. That toy will do you no good.”
Taylor’s smile stretched, slow and deadly. “It will,” he purred, “where I’ll use it.” Drawing his arm back, he laid the silken lash hard, right across her rosy little nipples.
She cried out in rage and pained surprise, bouncing on her toes. Taylor’s second strike caught her before she had time to recover from the first, making her generous breasts jiggle. She writhed, throwing back her head until the long tendons of her throat slid and worked.
Taylor stopped and deliberately began to unbutton his breeches. Alan noted with surprise that he wasn’t totally hard yet; apparently such scenes were common enough to him to lose some of their erotic impact.
Alan himself was hard as a rifle barrel.
“I want you to watch what flogging your big, pretty breasts does to me,” Taylor said softly. “Watch, and know how little mercy you can expect.”
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
Rose’s shoulders worked, her torso twisting as she fought to get away from the burning sting of the little whip, her nipples swelling and flushing. The captain’s cock lengthened, slowly going a deep red as it hardened to impressive proportions.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
She was crying out now, in high, gasping yelps of pain.
“That’s right, sweet. Sing for me,” Taylor crooned, his massive organ swinging with every stroke.
Suddenly he arrested his hand in midair and looked closely at Rose’s face, her eyes screwed shut, her teeth clamped in her lip. “It’s taking effect, isn’t it?”
“What?” she gasped without opening her eyes.
“The drug in the cream,” he said, running a hand over his big shaft. “The drug that makes you crave cock.”
• • •
Rose gasped. Her breasts burned, her nipples swollen from Taylor’s relentless whip, but that pain was negligible next to the fire blazing in her sex and rectum. An image floated through her mind: Alan, looming over her, shafting her in long, skillful strokes. She whimpered, wishing desperately that he was here now. He’d take her, he’d put the fire out . . .
“How,” said Taylor seductively, leaning closer, “would you like to feel my cock sliding into your tender little quim?”
Her eyes flared wide and flew to the big phallus that thrust from his unbuttoned britches. She licked her lips. It looked so hard . . .
He smiled slightly, sliding a hand over the object of her fascination. “Just imagine, Rose. It would be so hot . . .”
She couldn’t. She didn’t even know him. It would be wrong. It would make a whore of her. It wasn’t like with Alan, the man she loved and once dreamed of marrying . . .
But she was burning, itching for a long shaft driven deep, and Alan wasn’t here.
“You need this, Rose,” Taylor told her, his voice seductive, tempting as Satan’s.
“Yes,” she whimpered, deeply ashamed. But the hunger in her didn’t care about shame. It cared only for his cock.
“I wonder,” Taylor said with a smile she found chilling even in her present mood, “just how much you do need it. Would you like to find out?”
She struggled to concentrate past the flames licking her core. It was so hard to think. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll see.” Moving closer, Taylor pulled a folding knife from his pocket. A few passes of its sharp blade and Rose could straighten from her bent pose over the rail. Her back ached savagely, but not as much as her sex. She braced herself against the rail and tried to catch her breath.
“Well,” Taylor said abruptly. “You’re free now. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t . . .” she began, and stopped, rubbing her abraded wrists. She couldn’t think. Her sex felt twice its normal size; her every breath tormented her clitoris.
Then, as she watched in bewilderment, Taylor walked to the door, inserted the key, and twisted it. With a flourish, he swung the wooden portal wide.
“There, Rose. You’re free. You can go.”
She blinked at him suspiciously. “Go?”
“Yes. You’re not a captive anymore. I’m releasing you.”
Rose took a step toward the door—and groaned as the fires leaped. Her hand flew to her sex before she could stop herself. Involuntarily her eyes slid to Taylor’s big phallus, jutting so temptingly as he stood by the doorway.
He smiled and moved closer. “I wonder which you would rather do: leave—or kneel at my feet and suck my cock.”
Outrageous suggestion. She wished her head would clear enough to let her tell him so. The very idea that she would go to her knees and take that big, plum-shaped head between her lips, caress the thick shaft, swirl her tongue around it until he grew so hard with lust that he would fling her to her back and drive to her depths in a deep, pounding fuck. Of course she wouldn’t do any such thing.
Rose directed her feet to take another step toward the door. She was quite surprised when her knees gave out and dumped her in front of Taylor’s massive prick.
She was even more astonished when she felt its great plum head slide seductively between her lips.
• • •
Alan watched in angry jealousy as Rose’s sweet mouth engulfed Taylor’s cock. He knew it served him right; he’d brought her here to be punished, and now he’d been hoisted on his own petard.
But that self-aware thought vanished like smoke as Taylor’s prick began to slide deeper between Rose’s full, moist lips. Her lashes fanning her cheeks, she closed her eyes and suckled him with desperate force. Taylor leaned back a bit to watch her, smiling a purely male smile of triumph that made Alan want to punch in his teeth. If she was to kneel submissively at anyone’s feet, it should be his.
“That’s it, girl,” Taylor purred, wrapping a big fist in her long, dark hair. Slowly he flexed his hips to shove his cock deeper down her throat. “Come on, sweet, I know you can take more of it than that.” Rose widened her mouth obediently and forced her head closer to his belly, making a little choking sound of distress at his width. After moments of fruit
lessly attempting to engulf him, she drew back and eyed the big shaft a moment as if trying to come up with a strategy of attack. Then, delicately, she put out her tongue and began to swirl it over the sensitive head. Her tongue looked long and pink, describing an erotic curl as it went to work.
One small hand came up and reached into Taylor’s breeches to fondle his heavy balls. Her fingers appeared very white against the dark, wrinkled skin with its thick pelt of wiry blond hair.
Taylor shuddered, his eyes sliding shut as his head rolled back on his shoulders. With slow, even thrusts, he worked his dick against Rose’s eagerly laboring tongue.
She looked up at him, her dark eyes shining with a feverish kind of hunger. “Do you want me?” she breathed, and licked at his organ again.
“Ohhhhh. Oh, yes. Suck me, you little bitch.”
Rose darted her head forward and took him in again, sucking so vigorously that her cheeks hollowed. Taylor’s knees buckled, then straightened again.
She pulled back again and looked up at him, one long hand holding his cock in a possessive grip. “I’m so wet, Taylor, so hot. Wouldn’t you like to . . .”
Damn her! With a snarl, Alan whirled away from the spy hole and strode for the door. His booted foot hit the wood and it bounced open, making Taylor and Rose jump.
“Any fucking you get, you slut,” Alan snarled, “will be done by me.”
• • •
Rose squealed, kicking, as Alan’s hard, callused hand descended again and again on her bare bottom.
“She’s pinkening nicely,” observed Taylor in a tone of polite interest in direct contrast to the size of the bulge she could see in his uniform trousers.
“I know. It’s such a lovely shade.”
“Bastard!” Rose spat, struggling desperately. But her legs were clamped between Alan’s thighs as he gripped her wrists in one hand. There wasn’t a damn thing she could do to save herself from his violently stinging blows. Worse, the spanking made the heat in her belly flame even higher.
“You know,” Taylor said, “technically speaking, it’s not her fault. We did drug her with that cream. Otherwise she would never have been so willing to wrap that sweet mouth around my cock.”
Wicked Games Page 29
