Her lip quivered. He held his ground until she backed down.
"Whatever,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes.
Reed wanted her on her knees, right there on the floor, her mouth, kissing and caressing his cock, servicing and pleasuring him. She would suck deep and long until he came and then she would take his semen down her throat.
"I'll take my eggs scrambled,” he said imperiously.
"Where are you going?” she demanded.
"I have to check the windows,” he said.
"What about the toast?” she asked as he walked away.
"That's women's work,” he said.
"Fu—” She held back the curse, letting the word die on her tongue before releasing it. Furious at her own acquiescence, she picked up the salt shaker and threw it at him instead. The small plastic container crashed harmlessly against the wall.
"That's bad luck,” he pointed out, enjoying her discomfort.
She made a low noise of exasperation.
That makes two of us, he thought making a bee line for the bathroom.
He had only been telling her the partial truth. It wasn't just the windows he needed to take care of. He also needed to deal with his cock as well.
Reed didn't think it would take long to bring himself to orgasm.
He was damned lucky he had held out this long.
* * * *
"Fucking bastard,” Cheyenne hissed as soon as he was out of earshot.
Who was he to tell her how to talk? She had half a mind to find something really nasty to put on his toast.
Her eyes strayed to the table.
Son of a gun! Reed's keys.
How could he have forgotten them?
She approached cautiously, half expecting them to be booby trapped. They were the SUV keys, all right. Talk about a lucky break. She could leave him high and dry and head back to the main road.
She almost felt sorry for him. Her father would chew him a new one.
He deserved it, though. He was a bully and he was most certainly not a gentleman.
Cheyenne went to retrieve her clothing. There wasn't time to take off the dress. The jacket was what mattered. Frankie had given it to her. She shoved her arms in the sleeves and stuffed the precious keys in the pocket.
Reed was such a chauvinistic fool. This would teach him to underestimate a woman again. What did he think? That she would fall to her knees, begging to be put in his chains?
Hah!
She only wished she could laugh in his face before making good her escape. That would be yanking the tiger's tail, though. She would have to settle for imagining his anger at finding her gone.
What would he do first? Shout out loud? Throw something?
Eat his precious toast?
Cheyenne grabbed her boots but didn't bother putting them on. On tip toes, she made her way to the door. Heart pounding, she grasped the door knob. It turned with a slight creak.
Shit.
The door creaked, too.
Hopefully Reed didn't have super hearing to match his super inflated ego. Suppressing a giggle, she closed it behind her.
Goodbye, Mr. Macho Kidnapper.
"Going somewhere?"
Cheyenne shrieked, dropping the boots.
Reed was standing in front of the cabin, leaning on the hood of the SUV, arms crossed in front of him.
"You ... you scared me,” she accused.
How in blazes did he manage to get out here? Not even Houdini had moves like this.
"Sorry,” he said dryly. “Didn't mean to rain on your escape parade."
His smugness was killing her. There was no way she would back down now. “Just get out of my way,” she said. “I'm getting out of this god forsaken place whether you like it or not."
Reed's grip on her arm was firm or steel. “You're not going anywhere, girl."
Cheyenne's knees went weak. She fought the impulse to yield, a strong sexual zap between her already overheated thighs. “You have no idea what a mistake you are making,” she swore.
"You've already made yours,” he replied, the threat hanging in the air thick as her desire.
Without thinking she kicked at him. Reed's response was impressive as he lifted her right off the ground, holding her by the upper arms.
"Put me down,” she cried, squirming, feet dangling in mid air.
Reed pulled her close, chest to chest. “That's enough, Cheyenne."
She tried to control her breathing. No man had ever spoken to her like this, handled her with such authority. “Go on,” she dared him. “Rape me. It's what you want."
He shook his head. “You have no clue what I want."
"You don't know what I want either,” she shot back.
Reed kept his calm, maintaining the upper hand. “No, I don't, but I can tell you what you've earned."
Her belly clenched as she thought of his earlier threats of punishment. “You won't get away with spanking me, not even Daddy will go for that."
"Maybe yes, maybe no,” Reed said. “Either way, you're not going to tell him."
She snorted. “Want to bet?"
"Telling your father would be admitting someone got the best of you,” Reed said. “It would be reducing yourself to the status of a punished, bad girl."
"And you're just a sex pervert,” she retorted in quick, hot anger. “A bully who likes to fuck with women's minds ... and bodies."
Something flashed across his eyes. Had she struck a nerve in him like he had in her?
"I have some reconnaissance work to do. Can I trust you to wait in the house for me?” he said, signaling the end of the conversation. “Or do I need to chain you up?"
Her pussy flooded afresh at the mention of chains. “What do you think?” she threw it back in his face.
His answer stunned her.
"I think you want to obey me, Cheyenne, but you're afraid."
"Actually I want to spit in your face,” she said.
His lips angled upward. “Go on, then, do it."
Her heart slammed in her chest. “I wouldn't give you the satisfaction."
Reed lowered her to the ground, triumphant.
"You haven't won anything,” she said.
Taking her captive by the wrist he pulled her towards the cabin.
"My boots,” she protested.
"You won't be needing them,” he said.
Once they were inside, Reed ordered her onto the bed.
"Figures you would want me there."
"I would rather have you out of my life,” he replied as he went to retrieve a canvas bag that had been lying by the fireplace. “But we don't always get what we want."
She sat down on the mattress, strangely deflated.
Did he really hate her that much?
It shouldn't surprise her. No man had ever wanted her around for long. Not even her father. Frankie probably would have dumped her, too, he had made threats toward the end.
"Now what's the matter?” he asked.
Cheyenne blinked, her bout of self pity forgotten as she saw what he was holding. The bag had held the promised chains, complete with shackles. “You're serious, aren't you? You're going to treat me like some kind of animal."
"Don't be so melodramatic.” Reed grasped her ankle. Expertly he affixed the shackle. It closed, smooth, shiny metal. With a dark thrill, a cross between panic and arousal she realized it could not be removed, not without a key.
She doubted he would leave it anywhere she could find it.
Reed wrapped the other end of the chain around one of the brass rods at the foot of the bed. He locked it with a small padlock. Tentatively, she pulled against the shackle.
He had left her about a foot of play. She could sit up or lie down and that was about it.
"Hold out your wrists,” he ordered.
"What's the matter?” she taunted. “Afraid I might break out of the ankle chain?"
The wrist cuffs were like handcuffs, with a long chain between.
"I'm not taking chan
ces,” he said, clicking the cuffs one by one.
The next chain was for her belly. She sucked in her breath as he wrapped it round her waist and clicked it shut. Using another padlock, he secured her handcuff chain to the improvised belt, largely immobilizing her hands.
"This is overkill and you know it, Reed.” It was the first time she had called him by name.
"I'm the security expert,” he dismissed. “Not you."
"If you say so,” she replied.
Being chained made her feel strangely free. This man would have to protect her now. Her life was in his hands.
"Lay back,” he ordered, fluffing the pillow underneath her.
Cheyenne's legs were slightly apart, one shackled, the other free. The metal felt warm against her skin. “Then again,” she said, her voice husky. “Maybe you just like seeing me this way."
Reed frowned.
His brow pinched.
"Is that it? Do you enjoy having me in bondage?” she pressed.
"If I have to,” he said. “I'll gag you."
She had him now. “Use my panties,” she rasped. “You'll have to cut them off me, though, or else take off my ankle chain."
"Just get some sleep, Cheyenne."
"Why did you kiss me, Reed?"
His expression hardened.
"You want me,” she tried to break though. “Why won't you admit it?"
"Because,” he said in a low growl. “I don't like feeding other people's desperation."
He might as well have sucker punched her. “I'm not desperate, you egotistical prick."
"You're swearing, Cheyenne."
"Prick,” she defied his stupid rule. “Prick, prick, prick."
Reed moved on her before she had a chance to respond. She might as well have been a rag doll as he flipped her over onto her belly. She felt his knee press the mattress beside her.
Oh, god, was this it? Was he going to fuck her ... at last?
His hand pulled at the bottom of her dress. Cheyenne moaned, rubbing her throbbing nipples against the mattress through the dress and bra, the bra he had made her wear. With her hands confined as they were, her bosom was pushed together. The chain at her belly bit into her flesh, teasing her nerve endings.
Reed...
"This is a taste, Cheyenne, of what you have coming."
Yes....
Instead of his cock, she felt his hand, a hard crack on her panty clad buttocks. Helplessly, she writhed. Reed held her fast. Once, twice, three times he smacked her.
Tears brimmed in her eyes.
It fucking hurt...
He was at her ear, his breath hot. “When I come back from reconnaissance, I will finish with you,” he vowed. “You will take it on your bare ass."
"I despise you,” she hissed, even as her pelvis lifted of its own accord, wanting more, wanting him.
Her cheeks stung with shame, burning hot as her ass.
Reed said nothing, pulling her dress back down, covering her.
The pressure on the mattress eased. The next thing she heard was the door slamming. It made her jolt. In her mind she screamed out obscenities.
In reality, she humped the bed, her wet pussy clenching and unclenching, seeking the respite of the springs, any rise at all in the mattress. Relief was far away. Her captive hands could not quite reach her clitoris. Chewing the pillow, she tried to bury it all, the pain, the loss.
'I'm not desperate,’ she wanted to scream to him.
The worst part was she hadn't been, not until she had met Reed.
How could a woman long for what she didn't know?
A life time of Frankie could never have opened the door she was looking at now. What lay on the other side?
Freedom ... or a kind of captivity whose chains one couldn't shake, not with all the keys in the world.
Chapter Four
Reed immersed himself in the reconnaissance, checking and rechecking every angle of approach. It was nearly dark as he moved through the woods, silent as a ghost. So far there wasn't a sign of any intruders. He dug a couple of pits, covering them with brush and branches as a trap.
He also placed the weapons caches he had been planning. The work was a needed diversion from thinking about Cheyenne. His hand still burned from the contact with her firm, shapely ass, though it was more in his mind.
Her response to his discipline had been as he expected and feared.
Cheyenne had surrendered her body in anticipation of his love making. She had moved under his spanking hand, blatantly raising herself for more. How much more intense when it be later when he finished her punishment, this time on her naked flesh?
The very thought of her, chained in bed at this very instant, fighting her own desires was enough to make him want to run back and finish the deed.
The spanking, that is.
He couldn't afford to let it go further.
Cheyenne Stanley was off limits.
Forever.
His job was to keep her alive so she could go back to her life. Other men would date her, flirt with her ... fuck her.
"Like hell,” he caught himself saying out loud.
The sun was dipping low. He needed to get back to the cabin. They had a long night ahead of them.
He might well need an extra set of chains to keep him away from Cheyenne before all was said and done.
If he wasn't afraid of sending the wrong message, he might consider not spanking her any further.
What was the right message, though? He had her in bondage and he was employing corporal punishment, a mere taste of the punishment to follow.
Unbidden, the image of Jeannine came to mind, legs spread, humble on her knees. Behind closed doors she had been Reed's slave, his most recent conquest. She had worn a collar for him, a necklace, subtly locked. The key had been his and so had she. Jeannine was hardly naïve and she was far from weak. The rest of the world knew her as a high powered attorney.
How many depositions had she taken, her ass sore and throbbing on the seat from a previous night's whipping? How man times had she stood in a court room, her loins locked in a chastity belt, symbolism of his ownership of her sex?
She could pee through the metal grate, but she could not touch herself, nor could any other. That red tuft of hair, crimson as the hair on her head, was for his entertainment, so, too, her clitoris and pussy, her labia and tiny, puckered asshole.
Sometimes he would call her on the phone and tell her what he was going to do to her. She would have no choice but to listen, weak kneed, responding in neutral tones under the watchful eyes of colleagues as Reed laid out for her the most elaborate of sexual tortures to come.
Other times he would issue orders, curt, obscene and to the point.
"Play with your nipples, darling, five minutes apiece while you think of some good arguments why I should let you climax tonight."
Reed was fond of begging. That was how he liked Jeannine best, helpless, damp with sweat, whimpering, shameless.
"Please, Reed, let me come,” she would say. “I will be a good girl."
"You'll be good anyway,” he would reply teasingly. “If you know what's good for you."
"Yes, Sir...” She would say, unzipping his pants, greedy to get at his cock and worship it.
No one played the game of Master and slave like Jeannine.
They would be playing it still if she hadn't broken the cardinal rule between them by asking about the future.
Men like Reed had no futures and they didn't make commitments. That's what he liked about Cheyenne. She was a free spirit. She flew by the seat of her pants. She had balls, awkward as the expression might be.
Clearly she wanted to submit, but she was a wildcat. What would she be like in bed, when the initial need was met and she fought to reclaim her independence? It would be a war, delicious and sensual.
Reed cursed as the tree branch raked his back, scratching him under his shirt. The pain brought focus, much needed. Almost but not quite enough to forget the woman he had left b
ehind in the cabin.
Would it ever be the same as before he met her?
They had a name for that. Fools called it infatuation, wise men and soldiers spelled it t-r-o-u-b-l-e.
With a capital ‘C’ for Cheyenne.
* * * *
He's been gone too long, thought Cheyenne.
Maybe something's happened to him? Maybe a wolf has eaten him while he was doing his reconnaissance?
That would serve him right, given what a wolf he had been to her.
No, take that back. She didn't wish him dead. Besides, if he didn't come back for her she would be stuck out here. Then the wolves would find her ... chained to the bed, defenseless.
What the hell was reconnaissance, anyway? And why was it men always managed to find some excuse to bug out instead of dealing with...
Cheyenne had almost said relationship issues. There was no relationship, though. She was a prisoner and he was her captor, her jailer.
"I hate you, Reed,” she called out, pulling her ankle hard against the chain.
The metal did not yield. She tried to turn onto her behind.
Too sore.
There was no way she could take another round of spanking. It wasn't fair. He had tricked her for one thing. How could she have been so foolish grabbing the keys? Obviously he had planted them there to see what she would do.
Was the frying pan a plant, too?
Good thing she had turned off the bacon before slipping out the door. The cabin would have burned down by now. Not that Reed would have cared. What a cold customer he was. If he thought his occasional pretenses at caring were going to fool her, he had another thing coming.
She wasn't buying it for an instant. Cheyenne was nothing more than a paycheck to him. And a cheap thrill besides. Any excuse to spank her, right? What if he decided he wanted sex, though? He wouldn't exactly find her frigid. Even now, her pussy was still dripping, half from the memory of his touch and half in anticipation.
Frankie had played games with her, but he had never dominated her. Not like Reed. Reed expected to be obeyed and it didn't matter how his orders affected her ego. He was teaching her lessons.
I'll always be one step ahead of you, wasn't that what he had said.
Lesson number one, escape was futile.
Chaning Cheyenne Page 4