BDSM Connections - The Complete 4 Novel Series

by Claire Thompson

  Chapter 13

  Steve and Zach left late Monday afternoon. When they were alone, Rylee shot Taggart several sidelong glances as they closed up the workshop. Several times while they prepared and ate their supper, she seemed about to speak, but stopped herself.

  Taggart was pretty sure he knew what was worrying her, but decided to wait and see if she would say it on her own.

  It wasn’t until they were washing up the dishes that she finally got up the courage to say what was on her mind. “There’s something I need to tell you, Sir.”

  Taggart understood that just as he used R in place of her name to indicate a session was to begin, she was using Sir in the same manner.

  He set down the towel and turned to face her. “What is it, R?”

  She swallowed visibly, a faint wash of color moving over her cheeks. Again that unfamiliar sense of tenderness swept through him, and he nearly scooped her into his arms and covered her with kisses.

  Instead, keeping his expression neutral, he waited.

  Finally, she confessed, “I didn’t completely obey you earlier. With the orgasm.”

  “Go on.”

  “You told me to wait until I had counted to ten.” She blew out a breath. “I–I came before that. I didn’t mean to. I was trying not to, but it just happened.” The color deepened on her cheeks as she spoke, tears suddenly filling her eyes.

  Taggart knew at that moment with absolute certainty that Rylee was submissive to her core, and the realization thrilled him to his dominant bones.

  “I’m glad you told me,” he answered gravely but gently. “It’s only the second day of your training. If you were already perfect, then I would have nothing to do, right?” He allowed himself to smile then. “What do you think we should do about it?”

  Rylee worried her lower lip in that sweet way she had. She looked down. “I’m not sure, Sir. Should I be punished?”

  “I think training would be more appropriate in this instance than punishment, R. Go to the dungeon and wait for me on the mat in front of the mirror. Ass-up position on the floor.”

  When Taggart entered the dungeon a few minutes later, the beautiful sight of his naked sub girl on her hands and knees, her ass facing the entrance, her shaven cunt on full display, greeted him like the gift it was.

  Using his fingers, various sex toys and plenty of lubricant, he spent two delicious hours on orgasm training and denial, not allowing her final relief until she was shaking and bathed in sweat, tears rolling down her cheeks as she begged hoarsely for permission to, “Please, please, please let me come.”

  Only then did he plunge his rock-hard cock into her sopping wet, swollen cunt, riding her hard to a fast, powerful orgasm that roared through them both like a herd of wild horses.

  They slept deeply that night, Rylee in her cuffs and collar snuggled against Taggart. As he drifted off to sleep, he marveled at how right it felt to have her in his bed.

  Late Tuesday afternoon, Rylee appeared beside him on the porch, dressed in the long skirt and clingy top he’d had her put on after her house-cleaning chores were completed that morning. Her heavy, luscious breasts were beckoning to him beneath the clingy fabric, her nipples rising to erection in the gentle wind.

  Steve and Zach were already at work earlier that day when Rylee had settled down at her laptop at the corner table. Taggart kept them busy cutting, braiding, wrapping and assembling the leather gear. Although both guys had clearly been hoping for a repeat performance from Rylee with the sex toys, Taggart did not oblige them. “Maybe tomorrow, boys, I’ll give you another show,” he said with a grin as he sent them on their way.

  Now he put his arm around Rylee’s shoulders and dropped his hand to tweak her nipple. “There are still a few hours of daylight left. What do you say we head over to the ranch and do a little riding to relax? It’s been a long day.”

  “That sounds great.” She leaned against him, her nipple hard as a pebble between his fingers. “I’ll just run up and change into jeans, okay?”

  Taggart let her go and turned to face her. “No. You’re fine the way you are, save for the bare feet.” Taggart was in his usual jeans and flannel. “We just need our boots and jackets and we’re good to go.”

  “But—” Rylee began, but stopped herself in time. “Yes, Sir,” she said softly, her words like fingers stroking his cock.

  They rode in companionable silence during the twenty-minute ride to Harlan’s place. When Taggart drove under the large sign that proclaimed they had arrived at the Lucky Horseshoe Ranch, he tried to ignore the dull, aching pain of loss, anger and regret that had never fully dissipated, despite the fact it had been nearly a decade since his father’s addictions and irresponsible behavior had resulted in the loss of the family ranch, along with his wife, not to mention the last shred of Taggart’s respect.

  When they entered the stables, Taggart grabbed a handful of small apples from the tack room. They walked along the stalls, handing out treats and pats on the nose.

  “Don’t they get bored just standing in their stalls all day?” Rylee asked.

  “In nice weather, they spend most of their time out there in the pasture nibbling grass, frolicking with each other and communing with nature,” Taggart said. “That is, when they aren’t being groomed or taken out riding, which happens every day. Harlan would have them out now, except he had to travel over to Amity this afternoon to deliver a couple of thoroughbreds to a buyer.”

  They stopped in front of Mabel’s stall. She swished her tail and tossed her mane in greeting, and gave a whinny of thanks as Taggart gave her an apple. “Hey, girl, did you miss me?” He rested his face against her strong neck as he stroked her mane, running his fingers through the thick, glossy hair.

  “Should I be jealous?” Rylee quipped, grinning.

  “Uh, no,” Taggart said with an answering grin as he stepped away from his horse. He reached for Mabel’s saddle. “We’re going to do something different this afternoon.”

  “Are you going to give me a turn on Mabel and you’ll ride Duke?”

  Taggart shook his head. “Nope. We’re going to ride together. Be sure to lift up that skirt before you settle on the saddle. I want your bare cunt and ass directly against the leather. We’re going to have a little fun.”

  ~*~

  They moved slowly along the wooded paths that led out to the large, open pastures. The leather was smooth and cool against Rylee’s skin. Her cunt was damp and swollen, and each clip-clop of the horse’s hooves against the ground sent a jolt through her clit.

  She was wedged between the horn of the saddle in front of her and Taggart behind her, his strong thighs hugging hers, the reins held loosely in one hand, the other resting lightly on her thigh. When they emerged from the trees, Taggart picked up the pace, taking the reins with both hands as he brought Mabel to a canter. Rylee’s breasts bounced and jiggled beneath her top.

  Leaning forward so his mouth was near her ear, he said, “Tilt your pelvis forward so your cunt makes more direct contact with the saddle. I’m going to speed up. It’s going to feel good, but it’s also going to hurt. I want you to process the pain as erotic suffering. When you feel you’re approaching climax, tell me, but do not come without permission. Do you understand, R?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Rylee replied breathlessly. She shifted against the saddle, which vibrated, rumbled and jolted beneath her sex, gripping the saddle horn for balance. The rolling movement of the powerful animal beneath her combined with the sexy, masculine presence of the man behind her was enough to make her come then and there, but she was determined to do her best to obey her Dom.

  “Good girl.” Taggart spurred the horse on to a gallop.

  A wave of pain shot through Rylee’s cunt at the sudden jolt, not unlike the pain she’d experienced on the straddle board. She cried out, startled as much as anything. At the same time, the smooth leather of the saddle was already slick with her juices, her clit throbbing in time to the beat of the hooves against the ground.
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br />   Her jacket was open, and Taggart shifted the reins to one hand as he pulled her top up over her breasts, completely exposing them to the bracing wind.

  Rylee glanced wildly around her, but there was no one in sight. Her nipples were stiffly erect, the areolas puckered with cold. She rocked against the saddle, helpless to resist its persistent bouncing stroke.

  Aware she was going to climax, she tried to gird herself for his refusal, certain it was too soon.

  Last night had been intense, thrilling and exhausting, as he’d brought her again and again to the edge of a powerful orgasm, only to yank her back with the lash of the whip or a savage twist of her nipples. She’d been in tears by the end, overcome with emotion and physical sensation, nearly blind with lust and desperation.

  She’d spent her entire adult life seeking out the intensity of experience offered her by erotic pain and masochistic pleasure. She’d never understood how much more intense, fulfilling and all-encompassing the addition of sensual submission could be.

  But was it more than that? Was there more to what was happening between them than just a developing D/s bond?

  Yes, oh yes. Yes, yes, yes.

  Panting, she twisted back her head, shouting over the wind and pounding hooves. “Sir, I’m going to come! May I come, please?”

  “Yes. Do it.”

  Even as her mind reacted with surprise at his easy agreement, her body took over, a strong, swift climax shuddering through her frame. Her heart was pounding, her breath a ragged pant, her cunt pulsing.

  Yet still the horse beneath them thundered on, the jolting, rocking vibration relentless against her tender, swollen sex. Her bared breasts bounced in the cold wind and she shivered.

  It was too much—the sensations edging from pleasurable to system overload. She shifted back in the saddle, leaning against Taggart as she tried to lift her crotch from the saddle with her thighs.

  Taggart pushed her forward, causing her cunt to smash against the damp leather saddle. “Stay in position,” he growled into her ear. “You will come again, and again, and again until I decide you’ve had enough.”

  The old Rylee, the tough girl who took what she wanted, when she wanted, rebelled instantly. She needed recovery time. Her clit was over-sensitized. The pain was getting the upper hand, the pleasure receding as she was jerked and rocked by the horse’s gallop. It was her body, not his, and her decision.

  Yet the new Rylee—whatever she was becoming, or more accurately, discovering within herself—drank in his words like water offered to a parched soul. Her Dom wanted this for her, and that was enough. He wanted her to come again and again. He wanted her to suffer while she did it—to embrace the pain he gave her as his gift, and return it by obeying his command.

  This knowledge thrilled her deep in her soul.

  As they crossed the wide pasture, Taggart once more controlled her orgasms, using the horse beneath them in place of his toys, his hands, his cock.

  “Everything,” he breathed into her ear. “I want it all.”

  Another climax rocked its way through her loins. “May I…oh! I’m coming again, Sir,” she gasped.

  “Good. Again. Give me everything you have.”

  She did, letting wave after wave of painful pleasure wash over her until she was shaking, her sex nearly numb, her face wet with sweat and tears, her bouncing breasts aching.

  Finally, Taggart slowed Mabel to a walk and brought her to a halt as they approached the creek. He dismounted first, and then helped Rylee, who was trembling and exhausted, from the saddle. He settled her on the grass, bending down to pull her shirt over her breasts and to zip her jacket closed.

  Rylee sat, catching her breath, her cunt throbbing in time to her pulsing heartbeat, as Taggart led Mabel to the edge of the creek.

  He patted her neck, murmuring to her as she lowered her large, noble head to the water. Moving back, Taggart reached into the saddlebag and pulled out a woolen blanket and a bottle of water.

  Returning to her, he spread the blanket on the grass beside her and lowered himself onto it. “Come sit with me. Let me hold you.”

  Too exhausted to stand, Rylee rolled onto her knees and crawled onto the blanket. Reaching for her, Taggart scooped her into his arms and settled her on his lap. She could feel his erection, hard beneath her ass. In spite of the recent spate of intense orgasms, Rylee’s cunt spasmed with the sudden need to be filled by his hard cock.

  “That was quite a ride, huh?” Taggart said.

  “I’ve never experienced anything like it,” Rylee answered honestly. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk for a week, but it was definitely worth it.”

  Taggart chuckled. “You’ll be okay. You endured worse on the straddle board.” He drew her closer, his strong arms tight around her. “It makes me hot to give you both pleasure and pain,” he said, his gravelly voice deepening. “You’ve come quite a long way in just three days of training, R. You’ve stopped holding back. I sense you giving yourself completely, even when you’re uncertain or afraid. I no longer think you might be submissive. I know it.”

  “It’s not just about the submission, Sir,” Rylee blurted before she could stop herself. “It’s about the lo—”

  “No, of course not.” Taggart cut her off brusquely, his body stiffening, his arms falling away. “It’s also about erotic pain and sensual masochism. I get that.” Setting her down abruptly beside him, he pushed himself to his feet.

  “I should fuck that bruised, sensitive cunt of yours, but I’m feeling magnanimous.” He stood in front of her, the bulge of his erection only inches from her face. He pulled open the fly of his jeans and pushed them, along with his underwear, just far enough down his thighs to reveal his large, thick cock.

  “Kneel up and open your mouth.”

  He reached for the back of her head, gripping a fistful of her hair as he pulled her forward. “Worship my cock, R. Make me come, and be sure you swallow every drop.”

  Rylee blinked back hot, stinging tears as she allowed Taggart to push his massive erection deep into her throat. She struggled to let go of the confusing, unhappy tumult of her thoughts, and focus on her Dom’s wish.

  He used her hair as a handle, yanking her head forward and back on his shaft as he fucked her face. There was no tenderness, no sweetness as he gagged her again and again on his erection. He came quickly, shooting his jism down her throat in a series of spasmodic shudders before letting her go.

  He zipped up, barely looking at her. Instead he looked at the sky and then at his watch. “The sun will be setting soon. We need to head back before it gets dark.”

  As Rylee got shakily to her feet, Taggart bent down and picked up the blanket. “We’ll put this on the saddle for your ride back.”

  What the hell had just happened?

  ~*~

  Rylee was upstairs taking a bath, Taggart about to put the salmon in the oven, when the doorbell rang. Was someone there for an appointment he’d forgotten? No—he was sure he’d cleared his calendar for the week, his focus on training Rylee.

  The doorbell rang again, this time in several urgent bursts. Whoever it was, they had something important to deliver.

  Taggart moved quickly through the house toward the front door. He flicked on the porch light as he looked through the glass. A tall man, his once muscular frame turning to fat, his face haggard and old before its time, stood waiting.

  When he saw Taggart, he flashed his crocodile grin. “Let me in, boy,” he shouted. “Since when do you lock your door?”

  Shit.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  Reluctantly, Taggart turned the lock and pulled open the door. The smell of whiskey, unwashed clothes and stale cigarettes hit him with a blast. “I thought you were in Las Vegas,” Taggart said tersely. Patrick’s skin was gray, his eyes bloodshot, his hair now more salt than pepper. “What’re you doing here?”

  “That’s how you greet your dear old dad, after all this time? Invite me in. It’s raining.” As if to
support his words, a flash of lightning lit the sky behind his father, casting him suddenly in an eerie silhouette. A moment later, a crack of thunder shattered the air.

  Taggart stood his ground, blocking the entrance with his body.

  Patrick moved forward suddenly, shoving Taggart hard in the chest with his shoulder as he pushed his way into the workshop. The gesture hurtled Taggart back to his boyhood, to the times, too many to count, when his father had shoved Taggart out of the way as he’d tried to protect his mother from one of Patrick’s drunken rages.

  His brain bubbled with the unwelcome memories of the shouting matches, the hurling dishes and breaking glass, his father’s deep, raging bellow and his mother’s terrified cries, the sound of her body slamming hard against the wall, and then the whimpers and the tears.

  “What do you want?” Taggart demanded, placing his hand on his father’s shoulder, surprised at how bony it was, the muscle withered beneath his shiny cowboy shirt. Not that he had to ask.

  “Son, I need a little help. I’m in something of a jam. Just a couple of hundred. That’s all I need.”

  A dozen protests, rebukes, retorts and recriminations rose to Taggart’s lips, but he knew they would fall on deaf ears. He opted for the simple answer. “No. I told you when I gave you the money last time. That was it.”

  Patrick nodded slowly and hung his head like a chastised, miserable child, the act so convincing Taggart nearly felt guilty. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited, certain Patrick wasn’t done yet.

  After a moment, with a long sigh, Patrick lifted his head, tears glistening in his rheumy eyes. “I get it, Tag. Times are hard for us all.” He looked slowly around the workshop, taking in the stacks of hide and leather goods, his eyes narrowing back into their usual cunning. Turning back to Taggart, he said, “Got any booze? I need a drink.”

  “You’re driving.”

  Patrick chuckled and then barked a smoker’s cough. “Actually, I got me a driver. She’s waitin’ for me. Belinda Sue, sweet little thing, if a little past her expiration date.”