She wanted him to forgive her, and let her tongue swirl around the head and flutter against the shaft as she sucked him into her mouth. For a little while, he was still and let her worship his cock, but then he sighed and told her that she still had much to learn and she needed to accept that nothing was for her pleasure, only his. She whimpered around his cock and pressed against him, letting him feel her hard nipples and soft body. Her mouth clung to his shaft, using her lips and tongue to plead with him to let her continue sucking his glorious cock.
Instead, he sat forward, his hands tightened in her hair, and he pulled her face against him, his cock thrusting deep into her throat, and she gagged. He ignored her and continued to fuck her face, holding her still with his hands as his hips pumped his shaft deep into her mouth.
“Your mouth is sweet, Pandora, and it is mine, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t answer with his cock thrusting in and out of her mouth, but she tried to by accepting the head deep in her throat, keeping her mouth open so he could fuck her when he pulled out, patting her on the head, and telling her again that she was a good girl. She couldn’t hold the whimper back and her hands clung to his legs, to pull him back to her.
“Enough. Turn around.”
As quickly as her body would let her she turned, head and shoulders on the floor, thighs apart, lifting her ass as high as she could for him. He moved forward on the chair and let his hands run over the welts formed from the final two blows. They ran across both cheeks, which throbbed under his hands. She could feel her pussy aching for his touch as she moaned softly, pushing toward him.
“Open yourself for me,” he commanded.
Reaching back, she stretched her pussy open for him, showing the soft gleam of fluid on the swollen lips.
“No, your ass, as wide as you can.”
She bit her lip to stop the little sound of protest. She liked it in the ass, but she had to be primed and hot. She had loved it when he had prepared her with his fingers or a vibrator, but she wasn’t ready. The bruised cheeks hurt under her hands, but she didn’t hesitate and moved her hands to open the sphincter as much as she could. His finger traced the puckered, stretched hole and he moved closer to the edge of the chair, tossing a couple of cushions from the chair to thud softly on the floor behind her.
He knelt behind her on the cushions and she felt the swollen head of his cock push against her tight asshole. One hand steadied the shaft and the other gripped the collar. The whimper from her lips was involuntary, quickly stifled.
“Relax, Pandora. Push into me.”
His voice still commanded, but it also encouraged. It gave her enough strength to remain silent as his cock pushed deeper and deeper, easing in a little more with each thrust. Finally, his entire length was buried in her hot, tight little asshole.
“Brace yourself, Pandora. I’ve always loved fucking your ass, and this time is no different,” he murmured as his grip on the collar tightened.
As vigorously as he had fucked her mouth, he fucked her ass. She struggled to breathe as the collar was pulled tight, but it made it easier for him to pleasure himself as he slammed against her red and swollen buttocks. The pain of the unprepared entry was gone and she could feel his balls against her skin as his long, hard shaft pushed all the way in. She wanted to feel his fingers in her pussy or against her clitoris, but she sensed this fucking was not only for his pleasure but also to reinforce that she belonged to him. He would not allow her the orgasm that her body desperately sought.
With one final groan, he let go of the collar and used both his hands to pull her hard against him. It seemed his cock had grown even larger and longer as his pulsing orgasm filled her with his warm seed. For a long moment, he remained deep inside her as the last of his orgasm spent itself, and then he withdrew. She could feel a little of his warm semen ooze out and moaned in frustration. She knew her pussy gaped for attention and she wanted desperately to reach back and play with herself, fingers working into the wetness and rubbing over the clitoris until she too lost herself in an orgasm.
Instead, she heard him returning from the bathroom, throwing a towel on the floor as his voice told her to clean him again as he sat down. She closed her eyes to stop the pricking tears and bit her lip to stop the urge to whine and plead for him to let her come. She was glad she had been empty and clean, because this was one thing she hated. She turned to offer herself in the ultimate act of cleansing him with her tongue, tasting him, licking him until he was totally clean. She hoped the throbbing between her legs would soon subside because she knew she would not get any pleasure until he was ready to allow it. She finished and he dismissed her ministrations by pushing her away and tidying up his clothes.
Finally, he took the lead that lay slackly between her breasts and rested the length of it under his foot. She looked up at him, trying to convey without words that she understood his punishment and that she was grateful for his teaching her, but he pulled the lead upwards with his hand, letting it slide under his shoe. The length between his foot and her neck shortened as he did so until her face rested next to his foot.
“Pandora, are you mine?”
“Yes, you are my Master,” she whispered, still a little afraid he would reject her.
“Do you want only me?”
She paused. Was now the time to tell him she wanted his other half, the other part of his soul that made them complete? Unsure what to say, she kept quiet.
Yanking on her collar, he shouted, “Answer me!”
“No, Master. I want another too,” she replied.
He lifted his foot and used the lead to pull her upwards before tilting her face to his with his other hand. She dared not meet his eyes but watched his mouth intently, looking for some sign of softness and forgiveness. He wasn’t smiling, but the tightness of his anger seemed gone and she dared to hope again.
“I like that you speak your mind, Pandora, but I fear what comes next,” he said sighing, rubbing his hand through his hair. “I miss him too, but he made his choice. Am I enough for you, or do I need to let you go?”
“No, Master. I would rather have one of you than none at all. I’m sorry I ran. I won’t do it again.”
A smile lit his face. She felt a rush of joy knowing she was his again, safe and secure. He had forgiven her. He stood up and ordered her to her belly, telling her that until she had earned the right to kneel in his presence, this would be how she would greet him. It would be a reminder to her that everything was his to decide.
“I know you won’t, love, because you’re never leaving my sight again. You may go to your room and rest. I will be there shortly to attend to you.”
Smiling, she did as he ordered.
Chapter Three
Garret hung his jacket on the hook on the wall near the door. After dropping his keys in the bowl right by the front door, he grinned, looking around his downtown apartment. It was small, but in a good neighborhood. The neighbors were quiet and generally minded their own business. He didn’t have to worry about gossip or someone snooping for information. Nope, he was lucky to bump into a neighbor while getting his mail, and even then, it was a simple hello and good-bye.
Walking into the small kitchen, he hit the play button on his messaging machine. He still smiled whenever he saw it. He remembered his father having one in his office, and when Garret had been in a secondhand shop over on the eastside, he couldn’t resist the urge to get it. Typically, he got all of his messages on his cell phone, but the idea of having something his parents had made him happy. It was a little bit of happiness from a time he could barely remember.
Beep.
“Garret, it’s Chip. You need to call me.”
Beep.
“Hey, Garret, it’s Jeremy, the boys and I are going to the game this weekend. Have an extra ticket with your name on it. Let me know if you can make it.”
Beep.
“Garret, it’s Braxton Connelly. When you get the chance, I need help reaching your brother. I offered him a jo
b in Treasure Cove, but he isn’t answering my messages. If he still wants it, the job’s his, but if he has changed his mind, I need to let the town council know so they can start looking for a replacement. Either way, let me know.”
Beep.
Garret listened to message after message. For a world so hell-bent on cellular service, his little ole machine sure did a workout. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he popped the cap and leaned against the counter, listening to message after message. Nothing important, as usual, because if it were they would have called him on his cell phone. Everyone that knew him knew that was the surefire way to get ahold of him.
Beep.
“Garret, it’s Jebediah. You need to come home, it’s Zac.”
Garret stood there, frozen, as the bottle of cold beer slipped through his fingers, dropped to the floor, and shattered. He knew this day was going to come, he just didn’t think it would be so soon. So many things played quickly in his head. Zac hit by a runaway railcar, Zac shot dead by Lead Foot Luther, Zac dead in the ravine after one of Tic’s practical jokes. Hell, any number of things could have happened, but they all ended with his brother dead. Zac wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but damn, he thought for sure the stupid bastard would at least live to see thirty-five. Nevertheless, the tone in Jeb’s voice meant something serious had happened, and wondering about it was getting him nowhere.
It had been over ten years since he’d heard Jebediah’s voice, and still today, it embodied strength and obedience. Jebediah Williams never called anyone unless there was trouble, or it was dinnertime, and since it was only noon, he knew it was the latter. Grabbing the phone, he quickly dialed the house number and waited.
“Yell-low, Momma Love’s hung boys and pony farm, talk fast cause yer interferin’ with my drinkin’,” the familiar voice slurred, and Garret groaned. God help him. Out of everyone he knew there, the one person he did not want to talk to had answered, and to make matters worse, the little shit was drunk while on the job. God, if he was there he would whip that boy’s ass.
“Tack, is that how you’re supposed to answer the phone, you little shit! Its Momma Love’s Tennessee Walking Horses and Boys Farm, you idiot. It’s written on the damn corkboard next to the phone, and has been for years. You can still read, right? Or have you lost all your brain cells drinking Marvin’s moonshine?”
“Who the fuck is this? You’re talkin’ to one of the owners, I’ll have you know.”
“You stupid redneck, you are not an owner.”
“Uh-huh, Momma said so, last week at dinner.”
“Where’s Jeb, its Garret.”
“Oh, hey, city slicker! How’s it hanging?”
“Where’s Jeb?” Garret asked, gritting his teeth.
“Oh, Jeb, he’s with Momma. They’re down at the Piggly Wiggly. It’s Tuesday and they’re haff’in a two for one special on ribs and taters. Hey, Tic! It’s the city slicker. Come chat for a spell, I gotta take a wiz.”
“No!” Garret shouted into the phone. However, it was all in vain because the next voice he heard made him want to punch a hole in the wall.
“Well, look who finally called. Has the earth stopped rotatin’ or, oh, I know, that broom finally slipped from your ass, right?”
“Tic, I’m really not in the mood. Do you know why Jeb called?” Garret asked.
“Probably somethin’ doin’ with Zac.”
“That’s why I am calling. What happened to Zac?”
“Listen to you talk all fancy like. Must be nice livin’ in the lap of hoity-toity in all, lookin’ your nose down on all of us simple folk, in all. Besides, what’s it matter to you, anyway? We all heard what you did to Zac.”
“I didn’t do nuttin’ to Zac!” Garret shouted and then groaned. Less than five minutes on the phone with the moron twins and he was reverting to talking just like them.
“Wouldn’t you just be all hot and heavy if I told ya the news? But I ain’t gonna tell ya shit. If ya wanna know what happened, come home. And before you get all pissy and punch the wall, let me tell you one thing Mister-I-Know-Everything…you don’t know jack shit! If you had taken your head out of your ass long enough to smell the manure, then you’d know, but you don’t, so figure it out,” Tic said cryptically, and then the line went dead.
Garret stood in his kitchen seething with rage. It had taken him years to control the fury within him, but one simple conversation with Tic and Tack and he was back to square one. He still didn’t know what was wrong with Zac, but from what he could infer from the conversation, it must not be that bad because it seemed like no one was worried too much about it. But then again, if he considered the source, a tornado could have ripped apart the farm, killed livestock, and Zac could be on life support clinging to a thread. The breath mint twins would tell him the farm just got a little wind damage and Zac just got a scratch, and not to worry. Slamming the phone down, he turned and punched a hole in his kitchen wall.
Yep, his anger was alive and present.
He had made himself a promise when he left Simple, Tennessee, that nothing short of death was ever going to get him to return to the one place he refused to call home. Storming into his bedroom, he grabbed a duffle bag from his closet and proceeded to throw some clothes and his toiletries into it. Swiftly changing into something more comfortable, he couldn’t believe what he was about to do, but he couldn’t just idly stand by and do nothing.
Putting on his jean jacket, he stepped into the boots he hadn’t worn in years. A familiarity and warmth washed over him. Looking in the mirror, he recognized the man looking back at him. He hadn’t seen him in years, and though he was a little older, not much had really changed.
“Don’t get comfortable. You’re only doing this to save Zac. Then we are coming home and I am burning these clothes,” he said to his reflection. Turning, he grabbed the duffle, flinging it over his shoulder. He walked out of his room and headed for the front door. Just as he was about to leave, he stopped when he heard her and turned.
There she stood, dressed in jeans, a simple T-shirt, and boots, with a bag over her shoulder. She looked beautiful with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. He would have told her as such, if it weren’t for the worry in her eyes, which told him that she had overheard his conversation.
“Is he okay?” she asked.
“Not now, Pandora. I will let you know when I get back.”
“No,” she stepped toward him. “Please, Garret, I won’t run. I’ll do whatever you say, but please take me with you. If he’s hurt, he’s gonna need us both. I know that he made his decision, and I accept that, but I can’t just stay here and do nothing.”
“You will follow my directions to the letter, Pandora. The same rules apply there as they do here, understand?”
“Yes, Master, I promise.”
Nodding, he opened the door, letting her go first. He was going home to Simple, Tennessee, to help his brother, with the only woman they had ever loved.
* * * *
Garret had plenty of time to think as he traveled his way down South. The trip would take just over eight and a half hours, and he planned to brood the entire way. He began cursing Zac because that was the easiest thing to do. When he couldn’t think of anything else to bitch about, he cursed the twins, Tic and Tack. That rant got him past Indianapolis, Indiana, all the way to Bowling Green, Kentucky. Then he cursed everyone in Simple, except Momma, of course. He knew better than to do that. Yet, the moment he saw the Nashville skyline emerge in the night on Interstate 65, something warm spread inside his bones. He took in everything as he drove past the state capitol. The Bell South Building lit up like a Christmas tree against the midnight sky, LP Field where the Tennessee Titans played, the Opryland Hotel, music row where young artists came to dream of stardom. It was all there, just as he remembered, and from the looks of things, nothing had changed.
Living in Tennessee did have its advantages. He could at least admit that. The State of Tennessee was washed in good ole Americana histor
y. Bordered by seven states, Tennessee had had its run of good fortune and strife. The state has its legends, heroes, and popular villains. From Elvis Presley, Daniel Boone, Jack Daniels Distillery, President Andrew Jackson, and even the city of Oak Ridge, where the Manhattan Project was created, Tennesseans had lived through some of the most interesting aspects of American history, and he was a native resident. Regardless of what he thought, Tennessee was his home.
Making the Interstate 40 exit, he headed east, watching the city of Nashville slowly disappear in his rearview mirror and, for the first time since he’d left Chicago, he smiled. Rolling down the window, he let the cool crisp Tennessee air fill the cab of his truck. The smell of sweet maple and fresh manure surrounded him, as he was welcomed home. He looked over to his right and sighed, as she slept peacefully curled up next to him.
He loved her. He really did, and he wanted to marry her, but he couldn’t bring himself to pop the question. Of course he knew why, he couldn’t start a marriage based on a lie. That was the holdup. It wasn’t that she kept sneaking out and running away. No, it was that when he found her, he told her a lie and then another, not only to her, but also to his brother. He let them believe what they wanted and never corrected them. Moreover, in a few hours, they were going to know the truth, and then his nice, controlled world was going to come tumbling down around him.
The deeper he traveled into the state, the more and more he saw why he’d chosen to leave. Trailers sat by cars on cinder blocks while a brand-new Ford F-150 was parked right beside it. Animals ran loose, Christmas lights twinkled in the middle of September because the owners were too lazy to take them down, and then there was the Bible and the ever-present flags flying high, Old Glory, the Tennessee Vols, and finally whichever NASCAR the owner was a fan of.
Yep, Tennesseans had their priorities, God, country, sports.
Flipping on the radio, he needed something to distract him from what he was seeing and thinking. The sounds of an old country song ended as the DJ’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Well, folks, that was Johnny Cash and June Carter singing ‘Jackson.’ Up next is another oldie but goodie, so sit on back and enjoy the tunes, folks.” Garret groaned as the sound of John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” started playing.
Deception [The Masters Series 1] (Siren Publishing LoveEdge) Page 3
