“Master, no!”
His eyes grew more fearsome than the snake. “Submit, kai tah.”
Melanie gave a small whimper and obeyed.
“My advice, kai tah, is to stay perfectly still.”
Melanie screamed as soon as he released it. He’d set it down by her feet and immediately she felt the dry vibrating scales on her calves. Red Wolf, meanwhile, fetched a large branch, leaves still attached. Wiping some sort of honey like substance on it, he began to run it over her skin, up and down her legs, over her stomach and across her neck. He paid special attention to her sexual places, insuring a liberal coating of the material.
“Please, master, what are you doing to me?”
“It is something for the snake. A treat. As I said, I advise no sudden movements.”
Melanie fought against blind panic. “But, master, is it poisonous?”
“Submit,” he repeated, avoiding a direct answer. “And no harm will come to you. Only if you fight will there be danger.”
A reptilian tongue was tickling her inner thigh. The thing was hissing, whether in pleasure or anger, she couldn’t say. The stuff on her, sticky and thick seemed to be drawing it higher up her tormented body. On its first pass, it traversed directly between her legs and slid up her belly. As the warring sensations of terror and desire rocked her, Melanie understood what Red Wolf meant about submitting. If she yielded to the fear, she would jump to her feet and in all likelihood be bitten. On the other hand, if she could lie still she wouldn’t be hurt.
The snake hooked round her left breast now. As it slinked its tail along her skin, Melanie had no choice but to give in. The creature was winding back and forth, the side of it rubbing against her flesh. Arching her neck, reducing her muscles to a profound and perfect slackness, Melanie shuddered, her skin prickly and sensitive to this brute creature, black and senseless, cold and reptilian.
“Master,” she cried out, acknowledging the brave as the true source of these strange feelings. “Oh, master.”
At last he pulled the snake off of her, leaving her writhing and almost orgasmic. Sleep was all she craved now, sweet, dirty animal sleep. The sleep of a slave girl. A kai tah.
“Get up,” she heard Red Wolf say. “It is time to tend to my needs.”
She blinked, trying to focus on the words that followed. He’d commanded her to rise to her knees and give pleasure with her mouth. “Red Wolf,” she said weakly. “Master, I cannot. I am too tired.”
The switch fell on her naked breasts. “Now, kai tah.”
Melanie whimpered as she sought to drag herself to her knees. Obedience was what mattered now. Her will, her fatigue was nothing. In fact, her tiredness was the very impetus for his command, for only in forcing her to the point of utter misery could he prove his mastery. Red Wolf shoved himself between her lips, using her matted hair to steer as he took from her precisely the pleasure he wanted. Twice she nearly gagged as he rammed himself over and over to the very back of her throat. Mouth rounded, an open, empty vessel, Melanie submitted, awaiting the inevitable burst of manhood.
Before he reached his climax, however, Red Wolf pulled himself free of his servile mouth. Giving a fresh, unknown order in Powatan, he spun her about. A hard slap to her buttocks was all it took for Melanie to catch on. She was to be taken from behind. Sore, exhausted, yet painfully aroused, Melanie lowered her head to the ground, raising her behind for his usage.
Torturous seconds passed as she tried to guess his intent. Which opening would he use? The normal one, or the tighter, forbidden passage? She’d heard the rumors about the Powatans and their use of slaves. Would he do that to her now?
Melanie cried out as he spread her cheeks and rammed his cock into her ass, the long shaft still slick from her saliva. Digging her fingernails into the dirt, Melanie succumbed to the incredible, overwhelming sensation. So much fullness, so much power, swelling and claiming her. Just above the invaded hole, loomed her burning cunt. How she wished it too would be filled by the brave’s hardness. She’d do anything for him now. The degradation she’d endured so far was child’s play compared to what she’d offer up, if only he would keep on teaching her.
She was a plaything. An incidental toy, one with which he’d get his revenge, shaming the white men who’d beaten him so brutally, who’d humiliated him in front of the chiefs of his own tribe. And yet she wanted to be more to him. Melanie longed to be his obsession, the object of his eternal passions. Let him beat her and abuse her, let him treat her as a pet, a slave, but let him at the same time love her.
Red Wolf released a mighty war cry, the sound of the bear and the eagle. Melanie absorbed it all, her head in the dirt, her posterior overflowing with his juices. Her body soiled, her will broken, she yielded up the last of herself, marshaling her reserves, balling it all up in the form of a mighty heaving orgasm. It was a spasm of complete surrender, a silent, whimpering begging, which acquiesced, even blessed her subjugation.
He remained within her a while longer, till his breathing calmed, till his heart rate slowed. She could not have moved had he asked and when he finally withdrew, she remained as she was. There were no sounds in the forest now. The setting sun was nearly gone, as darkness crept over the woods. Red Wolf’s moccasins moved silently as he left her, going about his business. Ears attuned, she strained for every sound. This man was life and death to her. She could not afford to miss a single noise.
A twig snapped, and then she heard the trickling of water upon a leaf. No, not water, but something else. Red Wolf was relieving himself, emptying his bladder. She yearned to do so herself, but she was forbidden to do so without the brave’s permission. Doubtless he would watch when she did, compelling her to squat before him like an animal. What a beast he was, and yet how fit to command her. She was kai tah. Slave girl. The property of her master, a white animal, sleek and pretty. At least she hoped he found her pretty. She would strive to please him, with every fiber of her being. She would make him want to keep her. Forever.
“On your belly, kai tah,” came the voice of Red Wolf.
Melanie struggled to obey.
“Hands behind your back, bend your legs.”
He bound her easily, into a hog tie position. Turning her to her side with his buckskin covered foot, he beheld her soiled, naked form. “Relieve yourself,” commanded Red Wolf, her master.
Cheeks tinged pink with shame, her need heavy upon her, Melanie released the stored fluid. Yellow and warm, it ran in rivulets over her thigh, the liquid being easily absorbed by the moist earth.
“Go to sleep little kai tah,” he said to her when she was done. “There will be much work for you tomorrow.”
Chapter Fifteen
“One move and you’re a dead savage!”
Melanie awoke with a breathless gasp. Opening her eyes she saw a dozen or more sets of boots, gloss black. Above the tops were blue uniform pants, striped in yellow; the unmistakable markings of soldiers. Melanie tried to move, remembering too late her bonds.
“Red Wolf?” she called out, her voice a barely audible croak from her barren throat. “Are you all right?”
“Truss the savage up, sergeant,” said another voice, one she recognized as belonging to Colonel Beauregard. “And burn the blasted tee pee.”
“Sir, the female is over here! Definitely white!”
Melanie tensed. One of the soldiers was directly over her, his rifle pointed down at her head.
“Well, well,” chortled the colonel, coming to investigate. “It seems our renegade was too stupid to get rid of the evidence. Kidnap is a federal offense, Red Wolf.”
“You’ll hang for this, savage,” sneered one of the others.
“Untie the woman, sergeant, and get her some decent covering. She’s been through quite an ordeal,” said the colonel, his voice dripping with solicitude.
The ropes were cut away, leaving Melanie completely exposed. Gloved hands grabbed her from both sides lifting her effortlessly to her feet. From her new vantage point, s
he could see Red Wolf, lying face down on the ground, a soldier’s knee pressed down on his back, a rifle barrel dug into his spine.
“Wear this for now,” the colonel told her, handing her his uniform overcoat.
“Thank you,” Melanie replied, still in shock at the sudden turn of events and more than a little puzzled at the colonel’s sudden burst of gentility.
“You are fortunate to be alive, madam,” Beauregard offered somberly, as though she were some grand woman of society and not the nightly poker game prize from the saloon. “I can assure you, we will protect you from this point on. This is one savage who’ll never touch you again.”
Melanie regarded the brave with mixed emotions. “What will happen to him, colonel?” she asked meekly.
“Do not trouble yourself with the savage any longer. He shall receive justice, that is all you need concern yourself with.”
A pained grunt was heard as two of the soldiers began kicking the tied Indian.
“Come, madam,” ushered the colonel, offering his arm. “You shall ride on my horse.”
“Thank you,” she managed, hiding from the curious eyes of the soldiers her true feelings—the memory of his hands on her body, the way he’d abused her when given the chance, giving her a ‘free taste’ as he called it of the treatment girls like her received at the pony girl ranch.
“My pleasure,” he replied.
Melanie noticed little on the ride to the soldier’s camp. Beauregard sat behind her, acting the part of the perfect father or uncle. It was like a dream, really. Then again, it had all seemed unreal, from the moment Red Wolf had come into her bedroom, stealing her away from the drunken marshal.
It was all Trent’s fault. If he’d been watching her as he should have, she would never have been taken prisoner. In that case, Red Wolf would be free now, instead of a bound, stripped captive being dragged from the back of a soldier’s horse. Her heart ached for him; he had meant no harm. He was only following the ways of his people. And unlike the white men who’d used her, he’d at least been honest with her, treating her with consistency.
How much more cruel were the colonel’s deceptive practices? Was she supposed to believe that he was a changed man now? What was he up to, anyhow?
The answer to her question came in the form of a stern, white bearded man on a white horse in front of one of the neatly arrayed line of military tents. Beauregard saluted him stiffly, dismounting. Melanie noted the abundance of gold decorations on the dark blue uniform, the double row of gold buttons.
“We have achieved our objective, General Winslow,” the colonel announced. “Red Wolf is captured, and in addition, we have freed this unfortunate hostage. And all without a shot being fired.”
“Hmm,” the general noted brusquely. “How convenient for you, Beauregard. And who exactly is this hostage?”
“A school teacher,” the colonel answered for her, casting a significant look in Melanie’s direction. “From the town of Big Rock. She was abducted while teaching her students. She came to us from New York, with excellent credentials. Isn’t that right, Miss Jones?”
Melanie smiled at the general. “Yes,” she agreed, knowing she had no choice but to corroborate his story lest the colonel reveal her true identity. “That is true. It was horrible.”
Winslow looked at her curiously. “And while you were in Big Rock, you noted nothing unusual going on in the town? Nothing at all?”
“No,” she said rather too quickly. “Nothing at all.”
Winslow rubbed his hand over his beard. It was obvious he’d come to investigate Beauregard’s activities, which would explain his keen interest in her life in Big Rock accompanied by an almost bizarre lack of concern for her current predicament. “I see. Well then, colonel, I suppose you had best get her back.”
“Of course, general,” he bowed obsequiously. “Am I to assume that you will be returning to Washington?”
Winslow pressed his lips together. For a moment he eyed his junior officer. “For now, Beauregard, for now.”
The colonel offered a crisp salute. “Fort Collins shall be kept in good order, sir. As always your presence has inspired all those under your command.”
“Stop your toadying,” Winslow snapped. “And take me back to the fort. I’ve a coach waiting for me.”
Melanie was allowed a brief opportunity to wash herself in the river. They had no dress to give her, so she made due with a large blanket. Out of principle, she refused to wear the colonel’s coat a moment longer than she had to. It smelled of the saloon, as well as of the man himself. It was a smell she would never forget. Tobacco, leather and oil. That and the look in his eye when he came in the room that night, invited by the sheriff to share in his poker booty.
Yes, Melanie decided, compared to the colonel, Red Wolf was indeed a gentleman. If Beauregard thought himself the better man because he played his games under the cover of darkness, denying them in the light of day, he was sorely mistaken.
For the ride back to the fort, Melanie was allowed to sit in the back of a supply wagon. Another change for which she was grateful. The only difficult part was that she had a clear view of Red Wolf, naked and freshly beaten, being forced to trudge along behind them at the end of a rope. The man, stoic as ever, had yet to utter a sound, not even under the blows of the whip and the kicks of the soldiers at his downed body. He would stay that way, she was sure now, even unto death.
Closing her eyes, Melanie attempted to sleep. Her head swirled with complex emotions, feelings she scarcely dared name herself. Never had she known such aloneness, such uncertainty. What would her future hold? Was she to be returned to the saloon? Or was there a worse fate in store now that the colonel had control of her?
Beauregard had referred to her as the town’s teacher, but surely she wasn’t to assume that job again. Not now, after all this? Maybe it was the hangman’s noose that awaited her, once she’d outlived her usefulness as a supposed maiden who’d been raped by the condemned Red Wolf. At this point, she thought glumly, that would almost be a relief—dying in the wake of her bold, Powatan lover and one-time master.
Finally overcome by exhaustion, Melanie slept for much of the way back. It was nearly nightfall when they arrived at the gates of the fort. The general went immediately to his coach, refusing the colonel’s invitation to remain another night.
“The sooner I’m out of this flea bitten territory,” he declared. “The happier I will be.”
Beauregard maintained his simpering smile, his troops lined up stiffly in review. Standing straight as a board, he held his salute, waiting for the gates to close. A silent fear gripped Melanie as she heard the inevitable sliding of the wooden latch across the huge doors that signaled Beauregard’s return to the position of commanding officer at Fort Collins.
Turning to Melanie, who was standing beside him, he said, “You shall be dressed properly; I am taking you for a ride this evening.”
No further explanation was offered as two corporals led her to a dressing room in which were stored a number of women’s dresses, most elegant and in the latest fashions. Melanie wondered at their being here in a fort full of men, but she dared not ask the reason why. A white, frilly one was selected for her, along with the appropriate set of undergarments.
Once she was dressed, she was treated to a meal, consisting of a plain but delicious steak, some passable potatoes in sauce and a glass of red wine. There were candles at the wooden table and even a vase of flowers. Melanie devoured the meal. It was good and hearty and it made her feel nearly human again.
It was with a full, sated feeling that she strolled back outside into the waiting coach. It was nearly as elegant as the general’s. Beauregard was waiting inside, having changed into a full dress uniform, complete with a ceremonial sword. She felt like a princess as they helped her up the stairs and into the padded leather seat.
The horses clip clopped efficiently from the yard and out onto the road. It was night, now. Stars lit the sky and Melanie began to hum a li
ttle tune, one her uncle had taught her about the North Star. Dare she imagine her luck was changing? she thought, beholding the dapper colonel beside her. Could it be she’d misjudged him?
They rode for some time in silence. It was a southerly road, one she’d never traveled. The wooden sign hanging across the road was difficult to read and when she asked where they were going, Beauregard told her not to trouble herself so. He placed a white-gloved hand over hers for reassurance.
“You’ll find out soon enough, my dear.”
The carriage came to a stop in front of a low-slung ranch house. There were barns and a long fence, of the sort used to contain cattle. Melanie thought nothing of it, even when the colonel instructed her to precede him out the door in due haste. She was finding her foot hold on the top step, attempting to insert a dainty shoe onto the narrow metal slat when he shoved her forward, hard enough to make her lose her balance. Melanie’s scream disappeared into the wind. A pair of hands, leather gloved, caught her in mid air. To her utter surprise, she was tossed now onto the dirt at their feet.
“Strip,” commanded a voice, cold and hard.
She looked up at the man, a cowboy, cruelly featured with a black hat. There were other men, too, with torches.
“You heard him, slut,” the colonel barked, all vestiges of good manners vanished from his speech. “Remove your clothing or we’ll take it from you.”
Melanie rose to her knees. “I don’t understand.”
A leather-gloved hand reached down and slapped her hard. The force of it brought a taste of blood to the corner of her mouth.
“Now do you understand?” said the deep-throated owner of the glove.
Melanie whirled about to face the colonel. “Please, sir, tell me what is—”
Happening. She’d meant to say happening. The phrase was cut off, however, by a second blow to her face. It was a backhand that sent her sprawling. Painfully now, as quick as she could manage, Melanie straightened herself and began to undo the fastenings of her dress. When she proved too slow for their liking, a whip was applied, searing across her back.
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