When he pulled off, he left her gaping hole and his cock still dripping. He passed her off to the next man in line, who was ready and waiting with an open fly and a throbbing member already erect and steady. He was the tall gangly fellow from the previous night.
The long organ hit her womb, and she felt the resounding blast all the way to the tips of her fingers. Fucking him hurt. Her beaten crotch was sore and beginning to burn anew in the salty sexual soup as the beastly man savagely worked her hole. And yet, there was no despair now, no guilt, no shame, just the strangely desperate urge to fuck the man, letting him have the pleasure of her body.
When the second man finished, he changed places with the last in line. With the same bold willingness she squeezed and clenched and milked this man’s erection dry, while feeling her own body reach its summit again and again.
After all three men were satisfied, Jarrett Cain leaned over her spent body and whispered in her ear, “Is this painful to you now, Mrs. Crowe?”
“No. No, sir,” she absently whispered in reply.
“You wanted it and still want more,” he went on.
“I could stay a thousand days and not regret one,” she said.
A new realization dawned on her with some certainty. Her inner spirit understood the truth and it was clearly reflected in her reply. Her mind was still grappling with this truth, but she had time after the three left the room to reflect on what she said and felt. She battled for the truth, denying it to herself a dozen times, but arriving at the same conclusion after every round of this bout. Indeed, she was not a virtuous woman, by reason of her repugnant and sinful behavior. The terrible, yet magnificent joy she felt in being used for such sexual games must signify her wickedness. Though she could feel the fiery sting of a thousand punishments, she knew that she would desire again; her body heat would climb as her body was fondled and teased. She had no shame, no way to thwart these yearnings. Understanding this astounding fact, she surely was not fit to be any man’s wife.
For two days, Hannah was repeatedly beaten and then sexually brutalized by Jarrett and three or four of his affluent friends. The next evening, she served the men their supper wearing a dainty French corset—that is, until someone stripped it off. Then she wore nothing at all but the metal cuffs. While the men were eating, she moved from one to the next beneath the table and pleasured each of them with her lips. After each man ejaculated into her tongue-lapping mouth, she washed her mouth out with a glass of wine, which she did not spit out, but swallowed lustily.
After the second man, there was so much liquor in her system that any hesitation or objection she might have felt at the start of the evening fell away. The next two men spanked her until her randy body gave way to moans of pleasure and she almost came on their probing fingers. Afterwards, she found herself giggling with delight when they stuffed her ass with everything from cigars to candles to the butt-end of a pistol, and made her grovel on hands and knees before one welcoming groin after the other, where her hungry mouth would dine again. One thoughtless act of sexual depravity followed the next until Jarrett Cain and his guests were certain there was nothing this woman would not do.
For Jarrett, Hannah Crowe was the greatest of his triumphs in the debauchery of a female. He found especially enjoyable the way the woman touched him with almost profound reverence. But then, why not? He was, after all, the author of her unveiling. The fact that she was the sister of that cowardly Noble boy—what irony in that name!—and the wife of an esteemed farmer made his conquest doubly satisfying. What he had destroyed, he could also redeem as his own—in time, of course. That’s how his twisted mind made it right and that was what he expected to do.
By the time the meal was over, an insatiable, powerful desire made Hannah boldly seek the men’s attentions as they smoked their cigars and drank sherry in Cain’s sitting room. A few shots of sherry made certain that her drunken exhilaration continued without any evidence of her previous rancor. She went from man to man for a second time that evening, coyly seeking their consideration, kissing, fondling and being fondled until she moved on to the next. She finally curled up against Jarrett’s knee and placed her weary head on his thigh. The room spun around her for a time—too much liquor in her system. She settled down for a while to rest, although the sexual fluttering in her belly did not go away but smoldered pleasantly, ready at any moment to crescendo with the imperative need for more copulation.
When it was time to use her for the last time, it would be up the ass. That tight little hole had been worked well all night and was now lavishly greased. Hannah’s desire to have a man take her there so blossomed within her that when they flung her over the back of a chair and began to bugger her behind, she nearly exploded with orgasm—was it the third or fourth that night? She had no mind for counting now. As each man took what they wanted from the luscious Hannah, another climax made her belly spasm hard. The spasming made her back door clench even tighter, so that soon the sounds in the room were a chorus of grateful groans.
“Ah, yes, you fine, fine piece of ass!” one seething voice vented.
“Like a work of art, this lovely randy hole!” another jeered.
“Harder, bitch!” She was tugged by the hair, her mouth at one point made to suckle a spent cock that had just been inside her and she lapped it freely.
Wiggling her plump derriere, she seized up hard. The man inside her bowels suddenly came. She felt every pulse and every spasm from that coming erection as it deposited its seed inside her.
The other men were gone suddenly. If they didn’t vanish, she must have passed out, she thought, realizing that she was coming to again, her head throbbing from too much wine. She was in bed now, in Jarrett’s bed.
“I hope you’ve saved enough to satisfy me,” he said.
He was wary as he eyed the naked woman who lay curled up at the end of his mattress. The dark metal cuffs at her ankles and wrists were a startling contract to her pale pink skin. He rather liked the look of that. If she were his to keep, she would be thusly shackled all the time, and likely naked, except when he dressed her proper. Yes, he liked that idea. He liked seeing his whore dressed up all proper, only to order her into some despicable display, preferably before an audience. Ah, he loved the audience. He loved showing her off; he’d done that all day to stoke his own prurient lust. But now was his time to have her all to himself for private things.
Hannah’s vision cleared, and she stared into Jarrett’s face as he reclined above her on the bed. He was quite sexually appealing, even in his clothes. As he stripped off his shirt, she watched his muscled torso come into view. All but forgotten was the same alluring picture of her husband stripping down for sex. She thought now that Jarrett’s body was too beautiful for a man of such a vile nature. He should be as loathsome as a horrible beast, but he was not.
“Come here,” he spoke softly in a velvety voice, motioning her to him. Without hesitation, and with excitement building within, she crawled up closer, feeling the sensual warmth of his body ooze right into hers. Until then, she hadn’t realized how hers had cooled, or how a rash of chilling goosebumps were scattered across her skin.
She kissed him on the mouth as she thought he might expect, and he responded hotly. Moving downward, she kissed the tanned throat and down his equally tanned belly. Her tongue swirled about him tasting the texture of his skin and lapping up his fragrant sweat. She began to tug at his pants, but Jarrett curled his fingers inside her hair and drew her back up to his chest. As their bare flesh met, her crotch was stung with a flame of want. And yet, her mind was not as inebriated as it had been an hour ago.
Two desires burned in her now and the truth played out on her face so plainly that Jarrett could read her clearly. He grabbed a handful of her soft tit and rolled it about in his palm. For all her raunchy sexual indulgence that night, she still smelled sweet. Such a heady brew this one was. More gently than usual his nails nipped the ends of her nipples and she thrilled at the sensation. He took a happy bu
d in his mouth and sucked for a time, and she felt again her lower fires react. Her response and his groping aroused him to a lecherous heat and he went at her breasts avidly. In the same way as previous, he lifted the second breast in his hand feeling both its firmness and soft texture. After tweaking the nipple hard enough to smart, he suckled that breast too until there was no doubt of her encouraging response. He then backed off and stared her in the eye. Yes, she was coming out of her drunken daze.
“Sometimes you have to face the truth sober, Mrs. Crowe,” he said. “Tonight, you’re still mine and you’ll do and be everything I want as if you were drunk on me.”
His eyes communicated with a depth of passion she was afraid of, but she was at the same time inspired. He poured out on her such erotic vigor that she could want him with as much desire as he clearly wanted her.
She slithered down his body and grabbed for his pants again and began to feed on the rising flesh that she pulled free. Pulling his trousers even further down until he finally kicked them off, she then dove into his crotch with her mouth and hands both working at a frenzied pace. She needed his feral heat to fuel her own. While suckling Jarrett’s growing organ, she used her hand to jerk the shaft and her tongue moved to the tight package beneath. The air between his thighs was a sour, masculine brew of piss and sweat and pheromones that seemed to make her drunk again and rapacious with her own lust. Her tongue worked its way about the sack, then pulled back and rolled its contents across her palm. She then dove in again with mouth and tongue, pulling the package forward and lapping behind it in the crease.
His groans of satisfaction came from deep in his belly. She knew he was greatly pleasured by these acts and was determined to give more. She found his anus with her tongue and teased the sensitive barrier until he was shrieking and nearly mad for relief.
“That’s it, you whore,” he seethed under his breath.
She was his whore.
“Work that tongue!”
She came up for air several times then dove back again with the persistent desire to have him begging her for more. Her hands, her mouth, her vigorous tongue held him in a rapturous state of near climax for longer than he had the will to bear. Suddenly mad with passion, he grabbed her hair and pulled up, then rolled her over, prying her legs apart with his knees. He planted himself in the warm, clenching center and with just a few swift thrusts found himself coming. The woman was bearing down in a wild spasm that set her body flailing beneath him. Her cries were as vivid as any woman’s he’d heard.
What a find this bitch was! he thought to himself when he collapsed back on the bed to catch his breath.
“You randy little whore,” he purred, then he pulled off the bed to take a piss.
Hannah said nothing. Remnants of her climax came in tiny shock waves. She bit her lip as the shame hit her once more. But no! Was it fair to reproach herself for what was so obvious about her nature? Her mind sought an answer, however, her next torment prevented her from finding it.
She stared up at Jarrett as he finished dressing.
“You’re going to work out just fine,” he said, sounding pleased.
“What do you mean, work out fine?”
He shook his head. “Ah no, Mrs. Crowe, you needn’t worry about anything else just yet.” He turned to the table beside him and opened up a linen napkin. “A little reminder for you while you wait for my return.” He pulled out two long green peppers that were liberally greased with oil.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“You’ll see.” He laid the peppers down while he fastened her wrist and ankle cuffs to the bedposts so she couldn’t escape. Then leaning in, he started to push one of the peppers into her ass. “These will slide right in,” he said, as he then took the second and pushed it into her sloppy cunt. “To start, you’ll feel very little. But once your body absorbs the oil, the pepper oil will slowly leach into your flesh and for a time drive you mad from the burning sting. It’s only temporary, no permanent impairment. If you were at all inclined to defy me or deny the character of the woman you’ve shown yourself to be, Hannah Crowe, then this will punish you and again remind you of what a gloriously sinful harlot you are.”
He left the room cackling with delight, while Hannah waited fretfully for the peppers to do their work.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
One might have thought Hannah would have finally succumbed to Jarrett Cain and his scheme for her. After the last night, he plainly wanted her. But he wouldn’t have her unless she freely gave up the husband she was sworn to. He didn’t need an angry farmer after him, wreaking revenge. He was hoping that by that time, she might have resigned herself to the truth he’d laid out so plainly for her. She’d give up her husband and those silly ideas of virtuousness, finally giving in to what was obviously true about her tainted character. But the man’s illusions were as much pipe dreams as Hannah’s hopes that the nightmare was just that, a terrible dream.
In the morning, completely sober, Hannah gave way to another pang of remorse and guilt. She was crying when Jarrett entered her room.
“What’s this?” he asked.
She stared up at him bewildered, searching her thoughts and feelings, trying to understand how she felt about the man who held her captive. “What is it you see?” she returned.
“Tears.”
“My tears don’t help, but come to me naturally.”
“What would help is a clear conscience,” he said.
“How can I possibly have a clear conscience?”
“Accept facts. You knew what you gladly, willingly did last night.”
“And that was wrong. If you expect that I’ll change my mind about that, then you’re a foolish man.”
He scowled, hating the fact that it might take another night and perhaps many more before he’d have her completely broken. The prospect was suddenly a very dreary thought and he hated her all the more for another fit of useless remorse.
“Well, then, you can have the punishment you want so much, you demented harlot!” he glowered. He leaned over her and slapped her breasts hard, back and forth.
Hannah bit her lip. She was afraid of his venom and afraid of her own response to it.
“You like this, and you know it,” he spat, once he stopped and backed off the bed.
He moved to the hallway and called for Eldon. The young man came running in moments later.
“Bring my whip!” he roared, “and string her up on the fence post.”
Hannah hung naked in the out of doors on a cool crisp day. Her entire being shuddered, all but that inner, unquenchable fire that seemed to flame at the very thought of punishment. Oh, she deserved to be punished. But in this way? Somehow, it did not make sense now. Not that it had made sense the morning before. Someone else but this wily villain in her crime of passion should be wielding the whip, someone with the virtue and the moral right to punish her.
The bullwhip cracked against the morning air with a sound that would waken the dead. All the stable hands and trainers, all the brutes and fancy men lodged at the ranch gathered in. It was a show none would miss—and a good one! This was Cain’s revenge. When the bullwhip struck her back side Hannah thought she’d die; although she screamed from dread more than pain.
To her surprise the strikes were not at first as mean as she expected they might be. The vicious weapon could tear the flesh from the body and open wounds that would take months to heal, but even with his rage brilliant and flowing freely, Jarrett Cain did not whip her to such a damaging degree. The end of the bullwhip filleted her skin in tiny measures, sometimes meanly cutting in a manner that would leave small welts, at other times, it merely teased her flesh.
Like so many other tortures she endured, this too she found filled with that twisted shock and surprise she’d known before. As the fall of the whip danced about her flesh, she danced and jiggled with the erratic stimulation. She moaned as if part of her loved the torture. But when the strikes became more frequent and more cutting, she b
egan to beg, ‘Oh, sir, please, no more!’, Jarrett responded with a particularly nasty strike against the plump round of her ass that nearly broke her skin. She screamed first, then sobbed despondently.
For reasons beyond anyone’s understanding, Jarrett Cain suddenly seemed surprisingly tired of the task, even disgusted. His exhilaration had vanished; his eyes were coldly vacant. He watched dispassionately as her body heaved with sobs and her flesh shook in uncontrollable spasms. The evil man in him could go on delivering more of this brutality, but Jarrett Cain was ruled by many things, and at that moment, there seemed little fire left in him for this vengeful show of authority. To punctuate this display of dominion over the helpless woman, he gave her a last and particularly vicious strike that cut into her side enough to bleed. Then he threw the whip toward Eldon, saying, “Let her sleep it off in the stables.” Hannah collapsed into the wooden post and wept.
When Hannah finally awakened again, it was late in the afternoon. The shadows were long and mellow casting a golden glow inside the stables where her bruised body rested in a bed of straw. One of the stable hands noticed her stirring and opened the gate of her stall.
“I have to pee,” she looked up at him beseechingly. Even after all she’d been through, she still blushed as she admitted this to a near stranger.
The young man lifted her from the straw and led her to the outhouse not the metal bucket—a welcome relief from the endless humiliation she’d endured before a stream of gawking males. She had assumed that another nightmare of torture awaited her, but now she wondered if this act of kindness meant something different.
While completing her toilet, Hannah discovered that her time of the month had come. Reporting the fact to the stable hand in as delicate a way possible, she finally got him to understand her need. Not knowing what else to do, he took her to the house, where she was allowed to clean herself. A dress and underwear quickly appeared. Perhaps she’d been saved further abuse, at least for a time. While she waited to know her fate, Hannah settled into the bed where she’d been previously tethered. She still wore the cuffs on her ankles and wrists, but otherwise she looked very much like any modestly attired woman. The russet colored dress was a bit too big for her small size, but it felt wholesome and comfortable, like something she’d make for herself.
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