by Brianna Hale
When I’ve lain upon the bed for an hour feeling thoroughly sorry for myself, I get up and pad naked through to the bathroom to turn on the shower. Mama will be angry if I’m late to the breakfast table, and if she yells at me I’m likely to burst into tears in front of her and Zacarias.
While I wait for the water to run hot, I stand naked in front of the mirror, admiring the thick red marks on my ass and thigh. I count ten all together, though at the time it felt like he broke the leather over my behind a hundred times. I start to grow wet again imagining asking him to double the number next time; that I can take it for him. It was such a wonderful rush coming through his punishment to the other side.
My heart sinks as I realize that I probably won’t ever get the chance to ask him to do that again. He’ll protect me from the shadows. I wonder if I’ll catch glimpses of him from time to time, always out of reach. Tears slip down my face, and I walk into the shower where they mingle with the hot water.
Twenty minutes later I’m down at the breakfast table. Zacarias is already there, but I ignore him as I enter the room. When I sit down, I wince with pain. I’ve forgotten my thoroughly punished behind.
Zacarias looks up, and his eyes narrow. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say innocently, reaching for the coffee pot. Zacarias gets there before me and pours a hot stream of coffee into my cup. I tell myself over and over to keep my eyes lowered, to ignore him, but I can’t help myself.
I look up, and our eyes lock.
I stare into those dark brown depths, flecked with gold, and a strange feeling overwhelms me. Strange and hot. My heart races for reasons that make no sense.
Coffee spills over the rim of the cup and onto the table. Zacarias swears and puts the pot down, and I’m finally able to look away. I busy myself with a fresh cup and pouring my own coffee as Zacarias uses his napkin to mop up the spill.
My heart aches with so much longing that even Zacarias is starting to seem like a human being. Maybe any husband would be a good idea right now, but I don’t want anyone but the Black Fox.
9
Zacarias
After breakfast, I head out among the vines to check their growth. I can’t concentrate. I can only think about Lolita. The tears she wept for me. Her pussy gripping my cock as I pounded her into the mattress last night. Her eyes, large and vulnerable, watching me over the breakfast table.
I held her for hours last night, wide awake, telling myself that it must be the first and only time. It must never happen again. She bears marks from my belt. Maybe I’ll be safe from the impulse to pin her down and make her whimper beneath me until the welts fade. And after that? I’ll just have to have some fucking self-control.
It’s a scorching hot day, and I lift the hem of my T-shirt and use it to wipe my face as I come up from the vines. I see that Lolita is out by the pool again and she’s zeroed in on my bare stomach. As I catch her eye she looks hastily away.
The following days are tense and pass in near-silence. Lolita pores over her textbooks, and I pore over my studies. We both lose ourselves in work while Valeria sighs around the house, complaining that she’s bored out of her mind living with two bluestockings. I remind her that the vineyard could bring in a tidy profit if the terroir, the land, is as good as I think it is, but she just rolls her eyes.
Two weeks pass. Two whole weeks since I tasted my angel’s lips. My little girl must be getting needy again. I know I fucking am. I sleep in the spare room every night, and Valeria never complains. We don’t even talk about it. Sometimes I wonder why she married me.
At dinner one evening, Valeria enters the room and does a strange thing. She pauses and sniffs the air above Lolita’s head, as if there’s a scent coming off her. A disagreeable scent. She wrinkles her nose and draws back. So many things she does are silly affectations, designed to wound or make her displeasure known without speaking. This time, though, she seems troubled, and quashes the expression as soon as she sees me looking at her.
Lolita glances up and realizes her mother is standing behind her chair. “Mama? What did you just do?”
“Oh—nothing, darling,” Valeria says haltingly, and sits down, sweeping her chiffon kimono out of the way. She gazes critically at her daughter. “I wish you’d keep out of the sun. You’re starting to freckle.”
Lolita’s concerned expression hardens into irritation. I grit my teeth. Valeria is Valeria once more.
One of the staff brings the first course, soft white cheese and crusty bread. Lolita helps herself, and I watch her fingers as she lifts a knife. Just to brush my knuckles over hers in this moment would be enough to make me happy. With my wife present, I keep my hands firmly on the tabletop.
Valeria’s still eyeing her daughter critically, hunting for something else to reproach her with. “What do you do all day? I see you out by the pool, scribbling away.”
“You know what I’m doing, Mama. I’m studying,” Lolita mutters, spreading the fresh cheese on a slice of bread.
“Tch, study. If you overeducate yourself you’ll be a bore to your husband.”
Lolita’s eyes flash and two spots of color burn in her cheeks. “I hardly think an education is going to make me boring. And I don’t believe it’s possible to be overeducated.”
“You would say—” Valeria begins.
“Leave her alone,” I rap out, placing bread on Valeria’s plate and my own, and cutting a portion of cheese with more vigor than is necessary. “Let the girl do a little study if that’s what she wants.”
Valeria glares at me. “I suppose you’re the one who let her have those textbooks. I don’t remember a delivery.”
“Yes. I did.” I raise my eyes briefly to Lolita’s and find she’s gazing back at me. A moment of affinity seems to crackle between us, but it’s so fleeting that I wonder if I imagine it. More likely she was remembering how I threatened to murder any man she danced with at the ball.
The rest of the meal passes in silence. Valeria is cold and haughty, but Lolita seems flustered as her gaze lifts occasionally from the tablecloth to my face, only to drop hastily again. When we’re finally finished eating, she grabs a stack of plates and hurries into the kitchen. She never helps to clear the table. She doesn’t have to. Valeria has hired people for that.
On the pretense of being angry she’s broken protocol, I stalk through to the kitchen and find Lolita stacking the dishwasher with one of the staff. She’s bent over and the short hem of her dress has ridden up her bare thighs.
I glance at the other woman. “Out.”
Her eyes widen, and she hurries from the room as Lolita whips round, panic flashing over her face as she realizes we’re alone. Her fear is an aphrodisiac. She should stand up to me. If she shrinks before me, then my desire only grows.
I glance at her bare legs as I approach her. “Someone’s been coming to your room at night, mi niñita.”
“What are you talking about?” She tries for outrage, but only manages a horrified whisper.
“There are marks on your skin.”
She clutches her thigh. “There aren’t! They’ve faded.”
I chuckle as she realizes her mistake.
“I hurt myself,” she whimpers.
“Did you?” I lean close, trapping her against the counter with my arms. I breathe in her ear, “Or did someone do it for you? You entered this house a virgin, but you’re not a virgin anymore, are you? Someone’s been slaking his need in that tight pussy of yours, and you’ve been coming like a little harlot all over his dick.”
“Shut up,” she whispers, tears swimming in her eyes.
She should have known better than to cry. How I love to see her cry. I trace the path of one tear down her cheek with my forefinger. “Do you let him do whatever he wants to you, as long as he gives you the fucking you crave? Does he enjoy marking you and humiliating you and seeing how depraved you’ll be for him?”
My finger travels down her throat and over her collarbone. I hook my finger into the stre
tchy fabric of her top and pull it down. She’s not wearing a bra, and her breasts spring free.
Growling at the sight, I push her harder against the counter with my hips, not caring that I’m playing with fire. I’m going insane with lust for her.
“Did he touch you here?” I pluck the rosy tips of her nipples, then raise my fingers to my lips and lick my thumbs and forefingers. I apply them to her nipples again, twisting them with my slippery saliva.
Her breath comes in a soft pant. “You shouldn’t be doing that. I’ll tell. I’ll scream.”
“No one will believe you. Where else did he touch you?”
“Nowhere,” she says quickly.
“That’s a lie, isn’t it, Little Lo? Did he touch your pussy? Did he fuck you in your bed with his hand over your mouth so you wouldn’t wake anyone as you came?” I take her hand and press it against my erection, nearly groaning when her slim hand cups my thick rod. “Can daddy fuck you too, baby? I won’t tell a soul. I’ll treat you better than he could.”
I slip my hand beneath her skirt and rub my finger back and forth over her slit through her underwear.
Lolita’s eyes close involuntarily, and her head tips back. “You don’t…make me feel like he does.”
I hook a finger beneath her underwear and slide it through her soaking wet pussy. I find her core, and drive myself two knuckles deep inside of her. Her mouth opens silently. So much for screaming for help.
“Spread your legs, mi niñita.”
And to my delight, Lolita does what daddy tells her to do and walks her feet open. I slip another finger into her pussy and finger fuck her hard while she grips the edge of the counter with both hands, her lips parted and eyes hazy with shocked lust. She’s looking upon my face. My face. No mask. No blindfold over her eyes. She’s letting her stepdaddy pound his fingers into her sex while Mama’s out there drinking wine. What a filthy little girl I have. How I adore her.
Then Lolita does a very odd thing. She lifts her hand and holds it up before my eyes. She stays that way for several long moments. Then she drops her hand with a gasp and shoves me away.
“Lolita?”
She covers her breasts and pulls her skirt down, and runs away down the corridor as fast as she can.
“To us, Zacarias.” Valeria holds out her wine to me, as dark as blood in the crystal glass. Her nails are blood red, too, and sharpened to points.
I stare at the raised glass a moment, and then tap my glass against hers and put it down again without bothering to take a sip. I’ve lost my appetite for everything.
I glance at Lolita’s empty place at the dinner table, and the hand in my lap clenches on my napkin. I haven’t seen her since the incident in the kitchen last night. I want to punish her for this. My cock thickens in my pants as I wonder, belt or bare hand? I imagine catching her in some quiet corner of the castillo and tanning her ass until till she’s sobbing. Later, her sweet Black Fox could kiss it all better while she weeps on his chest.
Valeria lifts her knife and fork and cuts into her steak. The meat is pink. My wife likes it bloody. “You’re not drinking your wine, mi amor. Is everything all right?”
I take a long look around the dining room as if it might be my last. The large mahogany table gleams with antique porcelain and is set with silver cutlery and candlesticks.
“Everything’s fine, Valeria.” In a few hours time, she’ll be fast asleep and I plan on being nine inches deep in her daughter’s tight little pussy. Fuck being careful. I’m done being careful. I just need her.
Valeria flicks her gaze up to mine as she continues to cut her steak. There’s something hard and suspicious in her eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“A little tired. Too many late nights.” I can’t pound Lolita too hard right away. Mi niñita is small and fragile, and completely at my mercy. I have to grit my teeth and breathe hard through those first shallow thrusts. It’s torture having to hold back, but I’m so much bigger and stronger than she is. It’s not long until she stretches around me. She loves to take her daddy’s dick.
I can feel Valeria’s eyes on me still and she slides the morsel of steak from her fork into her mouth with her teeth, and I realize I have to say something. “I will find Lolita after dinner, and punish her for her rudeness. She will obey the rules while living in this house.”
My wife smiles indulgently at me. “You’re so protective of what we have. I’ve never felt so safe.”
What we have. I wonder what it is that she thinks we have, her and me.
“Isn’t this cozy.”
We both glance up and see her. Lolita, framed in the doorway at the stairs. She’s wearing nothing but a sheer white dressing gown, open down the front so we can see her smooth belly and tiny briefs. Through the fabric, the dusky tips of her full breasts are visible. It’s an outfit that covers nothing and reveals everything. My mouth starts to water.
“Lolita!” Valeria is outraged. “That’s not how we dress for dinner. Go and put some clothes on at once.”
Lolita keeps her eyes trained on me. “But he likes it, Mama. Don’t you, Zacarias?” She slowly moves toward us with something heavy and silver in her hand.
My sword.
She holds it lazily, the tip scraping across the floor in a way that makes me wince. That’s no way to treat an expensive and very cherished blade. When she reaches me, she lifts the sword and presses the tip against my throat.
“Don’t you, daddy?”
Even as she threatens me, it makes my cock throb to hear her call me that. She’s got the sweetest, throatiest little-girl voice, and all I can think of suddenly is bursting deep inside her. I would bloody my knuckles and fight in the street like a wolf alpha protecting his mate if I had to.
“Don’t you know who he is, Mama? Have you figured it out?”
I start to laugh. I can deny everything I’ve done to her. She’s the one who dressed in a provocative outfit and is indulging in a tantrum. Valeria is on my side and she always has been.
My wife passes an exasperated hand across her brow. “Lolita, you’re embarrassing me and your stepfather. Go to your room.”
“You’re going to die,” Lolita whispers, looking right into my eyes.
I raise my glass to take a sip, rather enjoying myself. The more of a fuss she makes, the easier she’s making things for me, and the more fun I’ll have upstairs tonight.
Faster than I can follow, she knocks the wine out of my hand with the blade. The glass shatters across the floor and red wine splatters everywhere.
Valeria jumps to her feet. “That’s enough. Apologize to your father.”
“He’s not my father!” Lolita shouts, and closes her eyes. “I hate you. I’ve always hated you.”
Lolita opens her eyes, and places the tip of the sword against my throat again. Her hand starts to shake and the blade makes tiny cuts in my flesh. Blood trickles down my collarbone. I’m cursed, cold, and ruthless. I deserve nothing more than to be killed by my own sword.
“Go on, mi niñita,” I whisper. “I know you want to.”
Tears shimmer in her eyes. Either she ends this now, or I’m never going to stop. Never.
10
Lolita
I stare into Zacarias’ eyes. When the Black Fox kissed me, it was him. When the Black Fox claimed he was protecting me from Zacarias, it was him. I begged him, blindfolded, to strap me with his belt. I craved his cock, over and over. I sucked him so eagerly with my mouth and came on his fingers.
“Why are you such a liar?” I ask.
Though there’s tension in his shoulders and his wary eyes never leave my face, Zacarias shrugs elegantly. “I didn’t lie. I just never told you my name.”
I hear a lapping sound behind me, and my heart plummets. If I hadn’t been so focused on Zacarias and the sword in my hands I would have realized what was going to happen.
He’s right.
But I wasn’t talking to him.
“Not you, Zacarias.” I turn to Mama,
who’s gazing wide-eyed at the sword in my hands. “Why are you such a liar?”
“Excuse me, darling?” She grows almost cross-eyed watching the sword approaching her throat. “Get that thing out of my face.”
“You made sure no one at the school believed a word I said. Those horrible men were able to touch me, and there was nothing I could do to protect myself. When I went to the headmistress, she told me to stop making up stories.”
It still makes me burn with indignation and shame remembering what she said. Your mother warned me that you like to make up tales about men lusting after you. Why don’t you concentrate on your studies instead of trying to seduce my staff? If this happens again, you will be expelled.
“Whenever I showed you my excellent grades, you said they were forged. I never forged anything. I never lied about anything, but you wouldn’t believe a word out of my mouth.”
Mama’s beautiful face is tight and cold with outrage. Sometimes I wonder why she even had a child. She’s never been like a mother to me.
“When I finally found someone I truly love, he’s kept from me through lies, as well.”
“Someone you love?” sneers Mama. “There’s no one you love. There’s no one you even know, you disgusting little liar.”
“I’m not a liar!” I shriek.
“Where did they touch you?” Zacarias growls behind me. “What are their names?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. I stopped them on my own by recording their gross heavy breathing and threatening to send it to the police.”
I glance at Zacarias. His hands are clenching the arms of his chair and his expression is alive with fury, a stark contrast to Mama’s indifference.
“Yes, it does matter.”
I give a hollow laugh. “Don’t worry, Zacarias. I was still a virgin when you came to me. I didn’t let them have that. I fought to keep myself pure for an honorable man. Say thank you, Zacarias.”
