"What're we playin' for tonight?" Mr. Kelly asked, clipping the end of a new cigar, finally. Prima made sure that she was there with a light before he could fish his own out of his pocket.
She replenished the hors d'oeuvres, which were being downed by the handful, then blended in with the woodwork again – except to Mr. Randolph, apparently, whose assessing eyes barely left her breasts and her pussy.
All eyes were on Joseph. "Services, I guess."
From what Prima could gather, they each played using their own monogrammed poker chips that represented hours of service, plumbing, carpentry, leather working. Joseph offered his carpentry skills.
"Ante up." Everyone chipped in a white chip, which represented an hour of service.
After several hours of play, the room smelled of sweat and smoke. Katherine lit a stick of sandalwood incense then opened a window and turned the ceiling fan on low. Mr. Randolph hadn't taken his beady eyes off her all evening, and his hands had been extremely busy, also, every time she refilled his drink – as had everyone else's. Her bottom had been pinched so many times she knew she sported another new layer of bruises.
When she'd returned to her little niche, she heard Randolph asked casually, "So, Joseph, what would it take to get you to bet a couple of hours worth of the services of your new slave? I'm sure if you've settled on her she's got to be a damned good hump."
The other men laughed, several commenting that "one pussy was just like the next." Joseph's fussiness about women was legendary in the region. He had some odd notions, but he was a damned fine businessman, and otherwise well respected in the community – such as it was.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, please don't let him do that to me, she prayed fervently.
Still casually shuffling the cards, Joseph replied laconically, "She's not for sale or rent under any circumstances. I don't share well with others."
Katherine heaved a huge sigh of relief…until, an hour later, the men had gotten up to stretch a little and get some fresh air. Joseph was outside with several of them, and after cleaning up as much as possible and refreshing both the food and everyone's drinks, she found herself entirely alone with the oily Mr. Randolph. He wasted no time in cornering her, his groping hands snaking themselves under her dress to squeeze and pinch her bottom cruelly, then up over her cringing tummy to crush her breasts together and upwards.
Her first instinct was to scream, which she did, as loudly as she could – which unfortunately wasn't very – but then Katherine didn't know if fighting off one of his friends who seemed intent on raping her would earn her a punishment, despite his comment earlier in the evening. A woman in this new world was nothing more than a brood mare, nothing more than a vessel for a man's spunk, a slave. Slaves had no right to fight. Men were the overseers with the whips and the paddles and long, thick organs with which to keep their women in line – hopefully pregnant, but definitely cowed.
Randolph's Budweiser breath sickened her as he slanted his open mouth across hers, his fingers digging nastily into the side of her jaw, forcing her lips apart for his tongue. His other hand pried open her thighs so that he could maneuver himself between her legs. Suddenly, his head was jerked back by his hair, and Joseph's huge fist drove itself into her attacker's nose, making him stumble back, clutching the now bloody mass in the middle of his face. Another fist slammed into his ribs. And then his jaw, and then his stomach. Rapid-fire, in the blink of an eye, Joseph's skill as an amateur heavyweight served him well.
Mr. Randolph was then hauled up from where he lay curled in a ball, trying to protect himself and not succeeding very well, only to have his arm bent behind his back at an acutely uncomfortable angle. Joseph turned to Katherine, who had sunk down onto the floor, her arms crossed protectively over her breasts, eyes wild. "Are you all right?" he asked in a clipped tone.
Forgetting that she was required to give him a verbal response, Katherine nodded her head slowly and watched with a small sense of satisfaction as Randolph was force-marched out the door, then beaten all the way to his car.
That seemed to pretty much break up the party. The other men said their goodbyes quickly at that point, which was probably the smart thing to do considering the bloodlust in Joseph's eyes. No one really wanted to take on the big man – nobody with half a brain, anyway. And Terrance Randolph had never been accused of having half a brain. He'd not only pissed off one of the physically biggest men in the territory, who was not known to have the best of tempers, but he'd also lost a vital business partner. Not smart at all.
Katherine needed something to do or her mind was going to fall into insignificant little pieces at her feet. If she could just keep moving and not think about it, she'd be okay. So she got up and started to clean the rest of the mess. That's what Joseph found her doing after he closed and locked the front door and set the alarms – furiously bagging, packaging and wrapping everything within site. The dining room had already been completely cleaned. He knew what she was doing and even understood it.
Joseph's mind had been busy, too, torturing him for leaving her unprotected. If he could have reached, he'd have kicked himself in the butt. First and foremost, she was his, and therefore, his responsibility – not only to train and punish and fuck at will, but to take care of. He hadn't done that tonight. He'd left her wide open, alone, all five-foot-not-much, hundred-and-not-enough pounds of her. If it hadn't have been Randolph, it could have been any of the rest of them. He should never have gone outside. He'd made a vital error, and she was the one who paid for it.
He sighed, long and low, watching her buzzing around like a honeybee on speed, doing everything and anything she could not to think about what had happened. "Katherine," he said quietly, but she seemed not to hear him. Another attempt went unanswered, so he simply corralled her with his body, penning her into a corner of the snack bar with a hand on the counter on either side of her. She literally cringed away from him, almost dancing in place, desperate to keep moving, but not towards him. "Katherine. He's gone. You're safe. He'll never touch you again, I promise."
When she couldn't move or work, keep herself occupied, Prima started to shiver. "Th-they've all been t-touching m-me all n-night. W-when you weren't l-looking," she admitted.
"Dammit!" His fist crashed down on the counter next to her with a loud bang, making her jump and try to shy away from him, but there was nowhere to go. "None of them will be invited to this house again, Katherine, I promise."
She didn't seem any less agitated at his words. Joseph had the feeling that she didn't really even see him, she was so trapped in the trauma. So he grabbed what was left of his glass of white lightening, lifted her into his arms, and carried her into the den. She didn't fight him until he sat down, then she tried to vault off his lap. Joseph ended up subduing her carefully, pinning her arms to her sides and throwing his leg over hers. Then he put his glass to her lips and practically poured the fiery liquid down her throat, knowing that it was sure to relax her, even against her will. Sputtering and choking, Prima pulled against the bonds of his arms, but he refused to let her go.
Joseph set the chair to rocking very slowly, cuddling her, even though she obviously didn't want to be cuddled. A few minutes later, he gave her another couple of swallows from his glass, which she took much more obediently than before.
"There's my girl," he praised, then went back to rocking and cuddling her. Joseph downed the last few gulps of moonshine himself, then put the glass on the end table. His hand rubbed up and down her arm gently, undemanding. At first, she was stiff as a board against him, but eventually the liquor had the intended affect, and she relaxed against him. His eyes flickered over the clock on the mantle. "It's way past your bedtime, baby. Let's get you tucked into bed, hmm?"
He carried her all the way to the bedroom then set her down next to her side of the bed, undressing her gently as if she were his child rather than his slave. "Would you like a nightgown of some sort?"
If she had been in her right mind, Katherine would have a
t least raised an eyebrow at this question, remembering how vehemently he had denied her such a luxury when she'd asked about it on her first day with him. Instead, she answered flatly, "I don't care, Sir."
A shiver of alarm went through him at her tone of voice and her words. His little prude liked nothing better than to cover herself whenever she could. Joseph opened his bureau drawer and took out the first t-shirt he could find. It would be ridiculously enormous on her, but he thought that something would be psychologically more comforting to her than nothing.
He held the collar open for her, pulling the shirt down over her head until he noticed something like a dark smudge on her face, along her jaw. Joseph caught her chin in his hand and turned her head so that he could look more closely. It was fingerprints. The bastard had marked her. His woman.
Holding the shirt around her neck, he inspected her skin minutely, finding more bruising on her breasts and at her inner thighs. He was intimately acquainted with every inch of her skin, and he knew none of these bruises were from him. Joseph's jaw clenched spasmodically, and his anger at himself and at Randolph and at all of the men at the game tonight must've been showing in his face when he came up from his squat to put her arms through the sleeves of the shirt. One look at his expression, and Katherine's eyes grew huge, as if he had a paddle in each hand.
She tried to shrink away from him, but the bed was behind her and the strong moonshine had made her a little wobbly. Prima fell back onto her sore bottom, which set her to whimpering, then blubbering as he followed her down. "I didn't know if I should fight him. I didn't know what you would want. I didn't want to get another spanking for not doing as you wanted, but I didn't know what you wanted me to do. What should I have done? What should I have done?"
Joseph wanted to hang himself, but Katherine came first, and she needed reassurance from him. He would have to find a way to deal with his own guilt and culpability…somehow. "Shh, shh shh, Katherine. Shh. It's okay, you were perfect, honey. You did well."
He just kept repeating those phrases, over and over again, as he tucked her under the covers. When his words began to sink into her alcohol-soaked brain, she stopped trying to get away from him and began to cling instead. Joseph had a hard time disengaging himself from her long enough to pull the shades and turn down the heat. When he left her, she started to whimper, and she didn't stop until he got under the covers again. Katherine practically launched herself at him as soon as he turned towards her, but he absorbed both the physical and the mental shock of it with aplomb, and despite the circumstances, he relished the first time she'd turned to him for physical comfort.
She ended up sleeping in his arms, which Joseph adored. He got up with her when she got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, just to make sure everything was okay, then he gathered her back against him, and she settled down to sleep immediately.
The next morning, around sunrise, he was wide-awake, watching her sleeping like a baby in the soft dawn sun. Katherine turned her head in her sleep and revealed the extent of the bruising on her face, which made his blood run cold. He should have killed Terrance Randolph while he had the chance. Unable to help himself, Joseph dropped butterfly kisses along her slender jaw line, wanting to kiss it and make it better.
That delicate tickling feeling is what woke Prima. She opened her eyes, and his face was inches above hers. "Good morning, Sir."
Those unusually soft lips pressed to her temple. "Good morning, Katherine. How are you?"
"I'm fine, Sir, how are you?"
A rote answer was not what he wanted, but she was already sitting up on the edge of the bed. "What would you like for breakfast this morning, Sir?"
In one swift motion, she found herself on her back on the mattress, held against his side. "Nothing just yet, I want to talk to you about last night."
As far as she was concerned, there wasn't anything to talk about, but she had learned better than to say that. A wary look crept into her eyes. "Yes, Sir?"
"Firstly, I want to apologize to you for leaving you at Randolph's mercy. It was my fault entirely, and I am very sorry."
How odd for her owner to apologize to her. Prima bet she was pretty much the only woman on the planet who'd had that happen.
"Secondly, I was also remiss in not telling you exactly where I stand on this: you are mine – only mine. I will never share you, or rent you, or sell you in any way." He kissed her nose. "I'm much too selfish about you. And I don't ever want you to worry about what you should do if you're put in a situation like that again. I will do my damndest to make sure that it doesn't happen, but if it should, you do whatever you need to do. If you can run, run. If you can fight, fight. If you can't do either, then just try to live through it. I'll come to you, I promise. And I will never, ever, punish you in regards to anything like this at all. It would never, ever, be your fault."
Joseph had to stop for a few minutes to collect himself and his thoughts. When he began again, his voice was rougher than usual. "Thirdly, we'll work on teaching you some basic self-defense stuff, just so that you have some ideas of how to get yourself out of a situation like that."
"But –" she stopped short.
He tipped her chin up so that she was looking at him. "But what? Tell me."
"It's against the law for me to hit a man."
Joseph's jaw twitched. "It's against the law for one man to touch another man's woman without his permission." He barely ground the next few words out, "And I will never give my permission for that to happen. I promise you." When she didn't say anything, he prompted, "Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
He pulled her on top of him, arranging her comfortably on top of his hard body, a hand wandering slowly up and down her back beneath the shirt. "Now, when you said you were fine, were you telling me what you thought I wanted to hear, or were you being truthful?"
"Truthful," her voice seemed to go higher sometimes when he questioned her on her behavior.
A smacking kiss landed on her forehead. "No after effects? Did he hurt you between your legs at all?"
She squirmed atop him, but settled when a large hand spread over her bare bottom. "No, Sir."
Katherine heard him swallow hard before he said again, "I am so sorry, Katherine. It's all my fault. I wouldn't have anyone hurt you for the world."
The words popped out of her mouth without a thought. "Except you."
With a ragged sigh, he admitted the truth of her statement. "Yeah, except me. You belong to me – all of you, from the roots of your hair to your ingrown toenails, and all the wonderful acreage in between. Your cranky moods are mine to deal with, seeing to your health, providing you with food, dealing with your misbehaviors, fucking you, rocking you, touching you. It's all mine – you're all mine - and never anyone else's."
It was far from a declaration of love. But it was probably as close as he would come in this day and age.
God help her, it was exactly how she felt, too.
Chapter Nine
Friday morning rolled around, and, despite the fact that she seemed to have recovered nicely from both his attentions to her bottom and the incident at the party, she seemed extremely tense this morning. Being somewhat dense, with a lot of things on his mind, it took him till midway through the morning to realize what was making her act that way: tonight was a Punishment Night. Well, he thought, if he had ass cheeks that looked like hers did – still – he'd worry about getting another lickin', too!
He'd already decided that he would forego the spanking portion of this evening; Joseph wasn't stupid and didn't want to incur any sort of permanent damage to his property – even something as simple as a scar. Her skin was creamy, flawless perfection, and, despite her inevitable punishments, he would do whatever he could to keep it that way. Joseph went in search of his woman to tell her what he'd decided and hopefully ease her mind a little. Oh, it would probably only be a little, because she knew she would still have face the unknown about what he was going to do to her breas
ts. He smiled a bit to himself.
Where the hell was she, he wondered, checking the bedroom, the den, the kitchen, the bathroom, where he'd found her before…even his office, where she knew better to go without him. He found her outside in the backyard, on her hands and knees, viciously pulling weeds out of the garden he'd started many years ago and never kept up with. It was hopelessly overgrown. Prima was wearing only a simple, cotton smock top that ended at her waist, leaving her lower half exposed as he required. She was so involved in what she was doing that she didn't even hear him approach, humming softly to herself and creating quite a pile of weeds to one side, her bottom dancing enticingly as she wrestled with the plants. She made him sweat even at a distance, dammit.
Joseph approached her quietly and landed behind her on his knees with his hand out, slipping it between her naturally spread legs and up into her moist crevice without so much as a word of warning. Prima squealed silently and tried to jump away from him, until his heavy hand caught her shoulder, pushing the top half of her body to the ground. "Put your arm under your head so your face doesn't get any dirtier than it already is, Katherine," he ordered, a slight reprimand in his tone. She was sweaty and had splotches of wet and dried mud on her cheeks and arms. Her knees looked like they belonged on a hard playing six-year-old rather than a full-grown woman.
But she'd never looked sexier to him. She looked natural in this setting…and happy. And he adored having her bottom up out in the sunshine. His fingers tickled her special spot insistently, making her moan. Her lower registers had come back – her speaking voice was a couple of octaves lower than it usually was, but the upper ranges were slower in normalizing. God, he couldn't get over how responsive she was! Seconds after he'd begun to rub her little button, his hand was flooded with her warm juices.
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