Caging Caitlyn

by Reese Gabriel

  The thought of leaving him, though, of never seeing his face, his smile, of never feeling his body next to hers was more devastating than she could imagine.

  What was she going to do? Why couldn't he decide for her? He was the one taking her like this. He'd marked her and made her his territory, so why not rule it outright? Why require some formal surrender on her part?

  "Now,” he leaned over her, taking her earlobe between ravenous teeth. “Come now."

  He was doing it again-commanding her to climax, this time with his body spooned over hers, locked and loaded, completely swallowing her. She felt her legs shake. Was that of her own accord or was she being jerked on invisible strings? It was hard to say. All she knew was that she was going over the edge of the cliff again.

  And this time there was no bottom.

  * * * *

  Luke was deep in a dream when the phone rang. It was one of those bizarre processing dreams where things seem to make sense and you accept them even though in real life they would be completely absurd. In this case he was standing before a minister in a black robe, waiting to be married. His best man was Hanes, his good buddy since their days at the academy. Hanes had been there for his real marriage, and he'd also helped pick up the pieces after the divorce.

  "This isn't right,” Luke leaned over to whisper in Hanes’ ear. “I told you I would never do this again."

  "Trust me,” he winked.

  The bastard was dead drunk. Trust him, my ass. Luke was all set to take off but it was too late. A band was playing “Here Comes the Bride” and the people were on their feet. They were outdoors, in the huge garden belonging to Manny Portino, a cartel boss he'd busted a year or so ago. Manny and his boys were there in the front row, looking mighty good considering they'd been blasted full of holes in a shootout with the SWAT team.

  Actually, on closer examination, they had bullet holes in their white suits. Everyone there had white on and they were all people he'd busted over the years. No wonder they're so happy, he thought. They're here to see me sign my own death warrant.

  There was no moving for him, as his feet were cemented to the ground. Literally. And when he opened his mouth to try and stop the whole thing, nothing came out by a high pitched squeal, like a woman does when you're giving it to her good and hard in the ass.

  "Here she comes,” Hanes tapped his arm.

  All he could do was watch as the woman was led down the aisle. He couldn't see her face behind the veil, though admittedly the body was perfect. The really strange thing was that she had a collar on her neck and beside her, holding the leash was none other than Anton Draco.

  He reached inside his jacket for where his pistol should be, but it was gone, holster and all.

  "Relax,” slurred the highly intoxicated Phil Hanes. “He's dead. We all are."

  Luke really wanted to ask what the hell that meant, but the woman was already in front of him, with Draco ready to give her away.

  "I hope you get more out of her than I did,” the gangster handed him the leash.

  "How do I know it's really her?” Luke asked, suddenly able to speak.

  "You don't, not till it's over."

  "No. I have to know now. Why is it happening like this?"

  "Because she's been your slave all along,” said Draco who seemed to be speaking for everyone. “You've known that in your heart."

  "I fuck a lot of women,” Luke pointed out. “I fuck with their heads. The devil has earned my soul ten times over."

  Draco grinned, and suddenly he was Luke's father, the kindly sheriff of King's Crossing, Texas. “She won it back for you, boy. Leave it to a woman to save a worthless hide like yours."

  "Go on,” said Hanes. “Have a look."

  The bride fell to her knees and looked up at him, waiting. With a trembling hand he reached for the veil. It was going to be some kind of fucking monster, or his ex-wife, or worse still, his ex-wife's mother, he just knew it.

  "I can't,” he shook his head. “Not yet."

  That's when the ringing started in. They all heard it, somewhere in the distance, like high-pitched thunder.

  The dream version of Hanes looked to the sky knowing it spelled the end to his existence. “Fuck."

  Luke's father snatched back the leash. “Better luck next time, boy."

  "Yay, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...” the minister was chanting.

  Fumbling at the dresser for the phone, Luke grabbed the receiver. “Dumont here."

  "You asleep, chief?"

  He focused on the LED display. Bright red numbers floating in space, three, three, five. “No, Weingard, I'm up at four am planting frigging petunias."

  "We may have found Draco."

  Luke sat bolt upright. “Talk to me."

  "Seems you were right about him staging the accident. That cold-blooded killer wasted every goddamn person on that bus just to save his ass. We have corroboration by two witnesses. A pair of illegals running through the desert that very day."

  "So he's alive. Tell me something I don't know."

  "He went to Mexico and from there to Parecia. CIA station chief down there reports he was spotted in the main hotel in Cristobal City several days ago."

  Luke braced himself, because so far nothing had been said of Caitlyn. “What about Agent Ross? Is she with him?"

  There was a short silence. “They couldn't be sure. He took off in a hurry. Two cars. About a half hour apart. A doorman says there was an Anglo woman in the second party. Young, dark haired, along with two men, a white one and a black one. She seemed pretty out of it from the description."

  Something inside him locked up, like the cocking of a trigger, the cold, steel firing mechanism primed to unleash holy hell. “Any idea where they went to?"

  "A villa in the mountains, they think. We can be there by noon tomorrow to move on him. What do you say?"

  Lucas Dumont ran a hand through dyed yellow hair, still thick and full despite his forty-three years. He was a shoe in to become one of the agency's youngest ever assistant directors next year, unless he did something really stupid. Like attempting to operate outside jurisdiction in a foreign country.

  Still, this was for Caitlyn and there was no way he'd let anyone else handle the operation. “It's a go. Have CIA coordinate with the locals. Who's our ambassador down there?"

  Stan Weingard named a useless piece of bureaucratic shit. Christ, Dumont wished he was there now.

  "Forget, him. Just get the ball rolling, Weingard."

  "Right, chief."

  "And get me airborne,” he reiterated. “ASAP."

  "Done."

  Ten minutes later Luke was out the door, on his way to Parecia.

  Chapter Seven

  Sarah awoke in her lover's arms. She cuddled gently, enjoying the soft afterglow, the wonderful warm sound of his heartbeat, the tickle of his chest hairs on her cheek.

  And then it dawned on her. If she was still here with Mark then she'd made the decision after all. She'd decided to stay. On his terms. How had it happened? Like a recorder she ran her memory banks in reverse.

  They were on the couch together, his body impaling hers, his sex thoroughly controlling and unraveling her. Sarah had not wanted Mark's orgasm to end. Despite the pain that came with it, she could not bear disengaging, nor could she face her inevitable future. But face it she must. Abruptly, Mark had pulled her to her feet, using her damp, silky hair.

  "Well?” he'd demanded, pulling the gag from her mouth.

  She had looked in his eyes. It took a moment for her to move her sore jaws. “I'll stay,” she whispered.

  He scowled, and she couldn't tell if he was pleased or not. “Down,” he ordered, pushing her to his feet.

  Instinctively she knew to kiss them and then to lick. She felt like a dog, and indeed it was appropriate; having been whipped she was now begging the master's forgiveness.

  Hoping to be allowed all the way up his legs to his crotch, she let her tongue stray to his calves
. Sarah wanted his cock. She wanted him hard again, and fast. It was no time for her to have second thoughts, to imagine that she could be anything now but his pleasure toy. It was what she wanted more than anything but it was all so new that she was terrified to look back.

  It was an abyss beneath her. Having made the leap she must cling to her present. To the man she was calling sir.

  Mark's plans for her were different than her own and he stopped her attempts to suck him off. “Here's a lesson for you. Nothing occurs the way you want it. I take your wants into consideration. But the decision is mine. Down to the last details of what you say and do. Understand?"

  His hand was under her chin again, making her look up at him.

  "Yes, sir,” she croaked.

  "Good. Now you may crawl to bed. On all fours, if you please."

  And that was how she ended up here. Again and again he had possessed her to the break of dawn before they finally fell asleep in this very position.

  A sudden panic hit her as she thought of the implications of being someone's slave. Was it too late to sneak out unnoticed? What was it they used to say as kids-give me a do-over?

  Slowly and carefully she wriggled out from under his arm. He was all muscle-not overblown, but clearly defined, as a man ought to be. It was a shame she would never see him again. Still, she couldn't lose herself, not after coming so far in life.

  Sarah was just about to slip off the bed when she felt the familiar clamp on her wrist.

  "Going somewhere?"

  Her heart beat like thunder. “I-I was just going to put some coffee on."

  "Toast, too,” he mumbled.

  So he wasn't really awake yet after all.

  "Sure thing, honey.” She kissed his forehead.

  Such an easy getaway, she almost felt guilty. Gathering her clothes she ran to the bathroom. Zero to sixty in under a minute. Mark would never know what hit him. By the time he got up it would be as if she'd never been.

  There wasn't time for a shower. She just wiped herself quick with a cloth. It wasn't till she got to her tender ass that she was hit with waves of remorse. She couldn't pretend none of this had happened because it had. She had her fair chance to leave him and she hadn't taken it. In staying she had made an oath to him. If she broke it now, how would she ever look herself in the mirror again? Whatever she did with her life, whatever she accomplished, no matter how noble, it would be forever tainted.

  Sarah Renfrew looked at her reflection. Was she crazy?

  "I'm going back in there,” she murmured. “Naked and undefended, to a man who wants me to call him sir."

  Yes, the reflection said, you are. And crazy or not, there is no denying how wet you are at the prospect.

  She touched herself. It was true, she was moist and ready. Sarah needed her sir.

  Pulse racing she went to him. He was on his stomach, snoring.

  "Sir?” She tapped him lightly, leery of startling him.

  Another tap, a little more firmly and one eye opened. “Where's my toast and coffee?"

  "I didn't make it. I'm too horny."

  Mark turned over and sat up. The sheet bunched at his waist. She tried to keep her eyes off the delicious cock lying beneath just out of sight.

  Meanwhile, he was eying her, studying, like a biologist looks at a fascinating new species of bug. “You were going to leave,” he decided.

  Sarah gulped. Which was worse here, a lie or the truth?

  "I thought of it, but only for a minute."

  He studied her some more. “You stopped calling me, sir."

  "Sir, I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you.” She came to him, genuinely afraid in a way she never had been of any man.

  Mark was in no mood to be caressed. Pushing her down on her stomach he delivered a series of brutal smacks with his hand to the rise of her buttocks.

  "Please don't spank me,” she cried. “I won't do it again."

  The fact that this was her only resort-begging-was doing things to her belly. She wanted him to fuck her and hard.

  "Mark, I want you so bad."

  "What did I say about you wanting things?"

  Sarah realized her error too late. Her wants didn't matter. He'd already made that clear. How to phrase it differently then?

  "Please, sir. I beg you to use me."

  "Request denied."

  He had her savagely by the hair. Pulling her to the nightstand he took out a pair of handcuffs from the drawer. “Put these on."

  She locked them around her trembling wrists. His grip was so tight it was bringing tears to her eyes. He didn't let up any as he forced her to the bathroom, dragging her stumbling and nude.

  Sarah couldn't believe it when he slipped a cord over a hook just above the middle of the bathroom doorframe. So she wasn't the first, after all.

  With practiced hands he secured the cord and ran it between her cuffs. Drawing it tight, he was able to pull her hands over her head.

  "On your tiptoes,” he ordered.

  Sarah obeyed, her body stretched both painfully and erotically.

  "We'll see how a day in bondage alters your attitude,” he said, admiring his handiwork.

  Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. “Sir ... I can't manage this for a whole day."

  "Why not? Medieval prisoners did it for a lot longer."

  The man was mad; he had to be. “For one thing, I need to go pee."

  "Be my guest. It's a tile floor."

  Her mouth gaped. “Mark, you can't be serious."

  He slapped her breast hard, forcing her correction.

  "You can't be serious, sir!” She spit back.

  But he was, and as he reached for both nipples, his ice blue eyes burning holes in hers she knew things were about to change forever.

  "You will not take that tone with me again, ever."

  "No, sir.” She winced as he pinched the pink nubs between his thumbs and forefingers.

  "I am your master, Sarah, you will address me as such at all times unless I say otherwise."

  "Yes,” she grimaced. “Master."

  "From this point forward you are my property, to dispose of as a I wish. You will eat and work and sleep and dress according to my whims."

  Mark wasn't easing up on her poor nipples. If anything he was punishing her harder. “Yes, master."

  "I want you home at all times. I will impregnate you and you will give me babies. You will provide milk to those babies with these breasts and you will care for them while I work. You will not yourself work. Your days as an agent are through."

  Sarah felt the world spinning about her. She was hot and wet and terrified and completely, and thoroughly overjoyed. “Yes, master."

  "And you will marry me,” he added, almost as a footnote.

  "Oh, yes master. I will."

  Mark scrunched his brow, examining her as one would a precocious but unruly child. “If I let you down you will not attempt to leave me again?"

  She shook her head with more certitude than she had ever felt about anything before in her life. “Oh, no master. I swear. I will stay and obey you. Give me the chance, master, and I will show you."

  "Are you ovulating?"

  "Yes,” she offered eagerly.

  "On the pill?"

  She nodded.

  "That stops now."

  "Yes, master."

  "When I send you out of the house, if I choose to, you will wear a chastity belt."

  The thought of an iron box, a lock on her pussy made her cream, right in front of him. What better way for a man to lock up his possession?

  "Master, may I please you?"

  She was going to explode if she didn't have the chance to offer herself for his abuse and fast.

  "I'd be pleased with my coffee and my toast."

  "I will do that, master. Master, your slave begs to be allowed to prepare your breakfast."

  Mark undid the cuffs, leaving the rope attachment to the hook. It was a potent reminder that as easily as she'd been freed, he could put he
r back into bondage.

  "I take my toast light. And you may crawl from now on, unless I say otherwise."

  Sarah, unable to remain upright anyway, happily went to her hands and knees. Feeling like a beloved pet, she began to crawl across the rug to the kitchen. Her head was swimming with the implications of his words. So much ahead, her whole life radically altered, an uncertain, powerless future at the hands of a clearly dominant and willful man.

  But out of all of that, one thing exploded in her brain. One fact that was going to let everything else make sense and fall into place with complete and natural ease.

  Sarah Renfrew was going to have babies. She was going to give them to her master.

  * * * *

  Draco was whipping his slave shortly before dawn when the policia arrived. It wasn't just the local yokels, either, but the paramilitary, heavily armed federales who drop out of choppers and chuck tear gas grenades through the windows.

  Damn, it, he muttered to himself. The gung ho motherfuckers were going to kill the girl because she was chained up with her hands over her head, naked in the middle of the room where stray bullets would cut her to ribbons. Wasting precious seconds, time he ought to be using for his own getaway, he let her down.

  "Run,” he commanded. “Run like the fucking wind."

  "Boss, that's our one and only hostage,” Largo protested.

  "Argue with me. Go on, argue.” Draco had the pistol aimed at the head of his right hand man.

  "They're coming, we'll have to hole up here,” Juan ran in, tossing Draco an automatic rifle.

  There was a large clanking sound on the roof, metallic. They were landing directly on top of them in waves. Caitlyn was right; he had bought himself a shit storm by kidnapping a US federal agent.

  "We're sitting ducks,” said Largo.

  It was true; the hollow, rapid fire clucking of the automatic weapons fire was drawing dangerously close. The rest of his men would only hold them off so long.

  And now there were these bastards up on the roof to deal with.

  Caitlyn was sobbing at his feet. She hadn't run, hadn't done a goddamn thing to get away.

  "What the hell are you doing? I told you, get the fuck out of here. This is your rescue party."