Surprisingly, Catey didn’t flinch. He’d almost expected her to spit at him again but instead she assessed him with a cool, reasoning stare.
“I see,” she said. She closed her eyes and was quiet for a very long time. Finally she spoke. “I don’t suppose there’s any use in just pretending that we… That we…” Her cheeks flamed.
“No,” he said. “These men aren’t stupid. They may be animals but we can’t take any chances. They have to believe I’ve truly made you mine—in every way. I’ve never done this sort of thing before, so they’ll be skeptical of me, too. I’ve got to make them accept that I’m like them and have claimed you forcibly as my own. If they’re certain your virginity is mine, much of your appeal will wane. Those men out there are licking their lips at the thought of an untouched woman.”
Catey cringed inwardly. The thought of being turned over to that group of shaggy-bearded, lice-infested men made her ill.
She looked up into Jess’ face and studied him. Her instincts hadn’t steered her wrong after all. She could still see the compassion in his eyes. But she couldn’t deny she also saw a spark of excitement and desire.
If he wanted permission, however, he wasn’t going to get it. She was certainly not going to reveal to him she’d felt an inexplicable tingling ever since their eyes first met. She wasn’t going to let him know his touch made her hot and cold and caused her breath to catch. She wasn’t going to tell him because she had her pride. It might not be much but it was all she had.
Jess was anything but reluctant to perform his part of the plan. The girl had captured his attention the moment he’d set eyes on her. There was something different about her, different from all the other women he’d met—something that brought out base instincts he’d kept under control for a very long time. Was it the round, flashing sapphire eyes? Or the soft pout of her lips? Or was it the fire and courage that she showed, despite her vulnerability? Whatever the reason, her magic was working very nicely indeed. Already his shaft was straining against his breeches and small beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead.
He’d have to be gentle. He didn’t want to frighten her. At the same time, he wondered how long he could hold back.
“You know what I have to do, sweet lips,” he murmured, “and we don’t have a lot of time. I promise I’ll be gentle.”
He dipped his head and touched her forehead with his lips. “But before… Well, I’d sure like to know your name.”
She closed her eyes momentarily and took a deep, steadying breath. “Catey,” she said. “Catherine Mary Allendale.”
He sighed and she felt his breath warm on her forehead.
Catey knew what had to happen. She knew when he began to trail his fingers down her neck there would be no stopping him. What she didn’t expect was the feeling of anticipation that began to grow in her groin—an overwhelming need that titillated her deepest core and made her nether region throb. But the time for rational thoughts was gone. She knew what must happen and she would have to make the best of it.
His eyes followed his fingers and she felt her skin hot where he touched her. But they were gentle, like the brush of a feather. Then suddenly, with one motion, he grabbed the neck of her undergarment and ripped it cleanly down the middle, exposing her breasts to his gaze.
Her cheeks flamed but she refused to cringe, watching as the look in his eyes turned hot and fiery.
He produced a knife from his belt and her eyes widened, not knowing what he intended. Carefully, he cut away her pantaloons so she was completely naked. He gathered the rags of her clothing and tossed them into a heap in the corner of the room.
She could feel gooseflesh rise on her skin as he gazed down at her. His eyes were bright and she could see that the bulge in his trousers was enormous.
He began to remove his own clothing. Catey watched as each article dropped to the floor. His skin was bronzed and muscles rippled in his chest and arms.
“Can you cut me loose?” she asked tentatively.
He shook his head. “The first time can be…difficult. I don’t want you running amok with my men just outside. If they get hold of you…” She shivered. “Just relax, darlin’.”
But despite his soothing words, she squirmed nervously as he lowered his trousers and his turgid penis sprang free. She was shocked at the size of his shaft but some primal part of her drew her eyes to it.
She was confused by the feelings raging inside her. She pulled futilely at her bonds, afraid of her own emotions, afraid of what was about to happen. He came closer and she could smell the musky scent of him.
He reached out a hand and covered her breast with his hand, squeezing gently so she made a mewing cry. He lowered his head and put his lips over the nipple, drawing it into his mouth and running the tip of his tongue around it. This sent zigzagging bolts of lightning from her nipple to her vagina and she gasped, her hips rising of their own accord.
Seeing this, he smiled.
Her eyes widened as he climbed onto the bed and straddled her, his rod hot on her belly. She tried to move to one side but this only served to rub her pubic bone against his soft furred scrotum and he smiled wider. Slowly he rubbed his penis against her abdomen. She was horrified to realize she was becoming wet between her legs and her opening ached with desire. He bent his head to claim her lips in a kiss that sent the blood pulsing through her body. At the same time his fingers drifted down between her legs.
He moved his mouth lower, gently sucking her nipples, first the right, then the left, sending shivers throughout her body. His probing fingers found the throbbing lips of her opening and she was lost to sensation. His fingertips circled her pussy, gathering the wetness there, then slowly she felt him insert one finger into her aching aperture. She cried out softly then became very still, lost in the feel of his finger moving inside her.
She should be mortified—horrified—but instead she was burning with a need she’d never felt before.
Then he removed his finger and she heard him murmur something about bedding a virgin.
Without warning, he shifted lower and thrust his penis hard into her tight opening. A knife-edged pain shot through her and she screamed. She began to thrash again. He was too big! He’d surely tear her apart. Her wrists and ankles were sore from jerking against the bindings.
But he didn’t move, remaining stationary with his thick shaft deep inside her until, gradually, as the pain subsided, she slowed then ceased her struggles. He knew it was better to break the hymen quickly. The pain would be brief. He had to wait—be patient.
Catey cursed him roundly, using words that shocked even herself. His organ was like a tree trunk inside her. She blinked away tears. Then, ever-so slowly, he began to move and she realized the pain was gone, replaced by just a dull ache. The feel of his shaft moving inside her brought a quickening of that need that engulfed her entire groin and she soon forgot the ache completely.
Without thought, she moved her hips in time with his gentle agitations, wanting to take his shaft deeper, needing to take it into her as far as she could.
But he stopped and raised himself on his arms and looked down at her. He smiled, his teeth very white in his sun-browned face. His hazel eyes held her own reflection—a woman flushed with a desire she didn’t completely understand.
“Should I stop, sweet Catey?” he asked, cocking his head to one side and withdrawing his penis slightly from her slippery vagina.
Her eyes widened. She was desperate. Her vagina was no longer her own but a throbbing vessel crying out. She didn’t know what she longed for but she knew she couldn’t bear for him to stop now. Without hesitation, she shook her head and his smile grew. He dropped his hips and pushed his penis deep inside her again.
“Good,” he said. “Let’s see if we can make this fun for you too.”
And with that, he moved his fingers to her clitoris and began to stroke it gently, as he moved his shaft in and out, his eyes never leaving her face.
She writhed and mo
aned shamelessly, closing her eyes as she became lost in the sensations. She could feel herself tightening. Feel her heart beating harder. Feel an unbearable mounting of emotion that became greater and greater, tighter and tighter until, with a starburst of spasms, she dissolved into orgasm, the muscles in her vagina clenching hard and fast on his rock-hard rod. He thrust hard—one, two, three times—then groaned and collapsed against her, his hot lava flow spewing into her.
They lay that way for some moments, her muscles continuing to clench sporadically. She’d never felt anything so wonderful in her life. And she hated herself for her weakness.
Chapter Two
Jess lay in a half-slumbering state of bliss. He’d never experienced anything quite like this. The velvety touch of Catey’s skin, her pouting lips soft against his… He groaned inwardly, wanting her all over again, his penis responding automatically.
“Get off me.” Her voice was hard and low. He raised himself on his forearms and looked down at her, surprised to see the icy glint in her eyes. He’d been gentle. He was sure she’d responded. He thought she’d even liked it. Was he wrong?
“I said, get off!” She struggled, thrusting her hips hard upwards, trying to throw him off balance. This only served to excite him further.
“I’m afraid if you want me off, you’d better stop doing that,” he said.
Alarmed, she could already feel his shaft thickening within her and it incensed her that her fickle body welcomed the feel of it. She bit her lower lip in confusion. What was wrong with her? Was she a wanton harlot? How could she feel such pleasure from rutting with a complete stranger? What would her mother say?
At the thought of her mother, tears pooled in her eyes. Seeing her distress, Jess disengaged himself with considerable regret and rolled onto the bed beside her, forcing his rising need into submission.
After a moment he turned to her and reached out a finger to wipe away a tear that’d overflowed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried to be as gentle as I could. I’m afraid the first time is always painful for a woman.”
She sniffled and more tears began to flow.
Feeling suddenly helpless, he began to untie her bonds—first her ankles, then her wrists. It pained him to see the bruising and red welts that were left from her struggles but he knew these marks would be necessary proof to the men waiting outside that she hadn’t submitted docilely.
Catey turned on her side and pulled up her knees as though in defense. Jess reached out a hand and stroked her shoulder, not knowing what to do. God, he’d give anything not to have hurt her!
“I’m so sorry,” he said again.
She shook her head against the pillow. “It’s not you,” she said. “It’s me!” Suddenly she turned and threw her arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably.
Automatically he pulled her close, cradling her against his chest, kissing the top of her head, his fingers stroking her back.
“Shhhh,” he crooned, “it’ll be okay.”
They held each other for several minutes. Catey’s mind was a whirlwind of confusion but she felt safe in Jess’ arms and for now it was all that mattered. It’d been so long since she’d allowed herself the luxury of tears. She forced the vision of her mother’s frowning face from her mind and concentrated on the soft stroke of Jess’ fingers, his comforting words and his breath warm and gentle on her forehead. Gradually her sobs ceased and she lay spent, half dozing, emitting only the occasional hiccup.
The feel of Catey’s small form pressed desperately close brought out Jess’ strong protective instincts. If he hadn’t fully realized the extent of Catey’s innocence before, he realized it now. With her arms wrapped so tightly around him and her face pressed against his chest, she was like a helpless child. She’d wordlessly turned to him for safety and just as wordlessly he’d accepted her cry for help. He knew without a shadow of a doubt as long as he had breath in his body he’d do anything to protect her.
* * * * *
Captain Leroy Clemens rode up the gravel drive of Pine Ridge plantation with five of his men close behind. The grounds were unkempt and the house door stood open. Undoubtedly the place was abandoned.
Still, he pulled his gun from its holster as he looked around, keeping an eye out for any sign of movement.
Clemens was not a tall man but he was tough, strong and barrel-chested, with thick thighs and neck. His hair was black and shaggy, with a matching beard and moustache. His eyes too, were black, with a permanent glint that made them look colder than they already were. Heavy lines radiated from the corners of his eyes and etched his forehead. His mouth was thin, nearly hidden beneath the drooping, dirty moustache. In the odd event he smiled, his one gold tooth would glint, surrounded by his other, tobacco-stained ivories.
While the men searched the house itself, he strolled toward the slave quarters. You never knew your luck. Sometimes the blackies wouldn’t know what to do once their owners ran off. In any case, the house garden was nearby and he might find something left behind to put together for dinner.
It was the third slave hut that rewarded him. He thought he’d heard scratching from inside and, thinking it might be an animal, carefully pushed the door open with the barrel of his gun.
It was dark inside. There was a window but it was covered with hessian that only allowed a filtering of light. Dust motes danced in the air and there was a stale, musky smell. The floorboards creaked as he stepped inside, holding his gun at the ready, his eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom within.
There was a rough table and chair and piles of sack-covered straw he assumed were for sleeping. It was the second pile of straw that drew his attention. What he’d first thought was a shadow in the deep recess of the corner suddenly took on animation and he saw a sheen of moisture reflected there. Peering closely, he could also see a pair of wide, white eyes.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” he said. He pointed the gun at the shadow. “Come out of there!” he said. “And be quick about it or I’ll shoot.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, then a scuffling sound and crawling slowly on hands and knees, a young Negro woman appeared. She wore a ragged dress that must once have been a bright floral design but was now faded, dirty and torn. She was very thin, her hair wrapped with a scarf equally as dirty as her clothing. She wore no shoes. She knelt before him and clasped her hands together.
“Please, massa, I ain’t done nothin’! Please doan shoot me! I kin cook! I kin find food! I kin make med’cine…” She was shaking with fear, her eyes never leaving the bore of the gun that was aimed directly at her head.
Leroy considered his options. On the one hand, it would give him some satisfaction to dispose of her but on the other hand, she might just be able to do what she said she could. He and his men needed a cook—and food—and if anyone got sick, they just had to take their chances. No one in his regiment was any good at cooking and what little they could find was usually eaten raw or burnt.
What the hell! It might be worth a try. He’d see what she could contribute and if it didn’t work out he’d get rid of her.
He reached down and grabbed her thin wrist, jerking her to her feet. He thrust the gun barrel against her cheek. She screamed, high and shrill but he shook her hard.
“If you can do what you say, I’ll put this here gun away. If not…or if you try to run…” he pressed the bore harder against her skin so that it left a red ring.
By now she was too terrified to do more than sob in huge, gulping gasps, nodding her head adamantly that she understood.
He uncocked the gun and replaced it in its holster. She stood before him, trembling. He gripped her chin in one calloused hand and lifted her face for a better inspection.
“You’re not too bad to look at,” he said half to himself, “how ‘bout we see what else you can do, eh?”
She was shivering uncontrollably by now but didn’t move, watching with wide, brown eyes as he began to unbuckle his gun belt.
“Get them rags off,”
he ordered.
She bit her lip but, knowing she had no choice, lifted a hand and fumbled with the ties on her shift. He watched her, unbuttoning his uniform coat and removing it, then moving his fingers to unbutton his fly.
Her dress fell to the floor at her feet and she stood naked. Her skin was the color of caramel, clear and unblemished but her hipbones jutted out and her ribs were clearly evident from lack of nourishment. Her breasts were small, the nipples standing out hard with fear.
“Down there,” he said, motioning to the sack-covered straw.
Obediently she lay down, turning her head to the wall.
He knelt down, placing a knee roughly between her thighs while pulling his already hardening organ from his pants. He grabbed her face again and forced her to look at him while he stroked his shaft.
“You watch, bitch,” he said. “Look at it and know it. It’s gonna be a good friend of yours.”
She couldn’t pull her face away but her eyes dulled as acceptance of her fate freed her mind, allowing it to drift safely into blankness.
She bore his abuse without a murmur. He raped her viciously, angry because she refused to cry out.
Afterwards, she lay under him, her heart pounding, the pain of her torn flesh causing her to emit small gasping moans.
Her name was Sally. Her mother, before she’d been sold and sent away, told her when she was first born, the medicine woman in the bayou had paid a rare visit. She’d looked the baby over and said, “This one will fight and win.” Now, as Sally lay on the rough straw, torn, broken and in pain, the pig of a white man heavy on her, she thought of her mother and the wise medicine woman and felt strength and determination flow hot through her veins. She would not die. She would fight and win.
Catey's Capture Page 2
