The Marshal's Little Girl

by Ava Sinclair

  That’s better, he thought. It was about time the little minx showed some contrition. By the pitch of her cries, he could tell she was already close to the breaking point, even before he bared her and went to work on the small bottom with renewed vigor.

  It had been a while since he had been with a woman, and the sight of her tight, round ass nearly unmanned him. Gage had become aware of his growing erection. He’d shifted slightly so it wouldn’t jut into her, but now there was no denying that she probably felt it as she lay tightly pressed over his lap, her legs churning as he spanked her.

  Wilhelmina was in an open-mouthed, infantile bawl now, and had kicked her trousers free of her scissoring legs.

  “All right! All right! I’ll tell you! Just stop!” Her voice was raspy through her cries. “Just let me up!”

  He stopped spanking but kept her as she was, pulling the hem of the jacket from where it was flung over her head so he could hear her better. He could see that in her struggles the cloud of blond curly hair had come free of its binding to cascade nearly to the floor.

  “You’ll tell me face down over my lap, Billy,” he said. “It’ll save me the trouble of getting you back into position if I don’t believe you. Now talk.” He squeezed a well-punished cheek in warning and she yelped.

  “It wasn’t my idea,” she said pitifully. “It was his…”

  “Whose?” He squeezed harder.

  “Simon. He… he controls me!”

  “And this Simon… he put you up to this?”

  Wilhelmina nodded pitifully, not knowing what was more terrifying—telling or not telling the truth. “He told me to come h-h-here,” she continued miserably. “He told me what to do. He told me to a-a—avoid detection. But you found me out and now I’m in so much trouble!” She burst into tears again and Gage tipped her back up to her feet, turning her to face him.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t want Simon to be disappointed in me!” It was as if she didn’t hear him. He noticed that her voice had taken on a curiously innocent, childlike tone. And he noticed something else, too; Gage had been with enough women to recognize the scent of arousal, and he lowered his eyes now to trail his gaze down her midsection to her thighs. They were slick with a sheen of wetness, and he was astounded. The little firebrand may have howled like a banshee during her spanking, but she had been turned on the whole time. He lifted the tail of her shirt, exposing a perfectly shaved pussy with perfect, pouty labia. The inner labia were obviously engorged, the hood of her clit peeking tantalizingly through the top of the slit.

  And then it happened. She moved closer to his hand until her pelvis grazed it. And she moaned.

  “Oh, sheriff,” she said. “I’m so sorry I’m such a bad girl. Please don’t tell on me!” Her eyes locked with his and she straddled his leg, lowering herself onto his knee. He could feel the dampness through his pant leg. She was rubbing herself against him, and then wrapping her arms around his neck. Her hair smelled like lilacs and Gage found his mouth moving to her ear. She moaned again, pressing her breasts against him through the thin linen shirt. She wore no undergarment underneath. He could feel her nipples, surprisingly large on the small breasts, hard as pebbles.

  He was normally a man of restraint, but the next thing he knew, her shirt was open and one of those nipples was in his mouth. He drew hard on it, and she responded by wrapping her legs around his waist and arching her back. His cock felt like an iron rod.

  No. Don’t. She’s your prisoner.

  His mind all but screamed reason, but her submission was triggering something within him. And it wasn’t just her body, but the words she was now saying.

  “I’m yours, now,” she said. “I can’t fight you. I won’t fight you. I don’t want to fight you. I just want to be a good girl. Let me show you what a good girl I can be.”

  She slid off his lap, looking up at him, keeping eye contact as her nimble hands undid the front of his trousers. His cock was achingly, unbelievably hard, and the feel of her hot little mouth sliding over the head was almost too much to take. He endured it for two, three, four strokes and then decided he could not take another moment without tasting her. The soft musk of her was still strong in his nose, and he lifted her roughly and moved her over to a table, laying her back and grabbing her ass to pull her toward him. She whimpered as his head moved between her legs; her slick folds were soft and fragrant and salty, the clit hard beneath his tongue. He swirled the tip around it, coaxing it further from its hood and then captured it in a sucking grasp, his hand cupping her hot bottom cheeks as her hips thrust upwards.

  She was crying out her orgasm when he raised himself to standing and pushed into her. She was obviously no virgin, but this woman was nearly tight as one. She was still pulsing from a powerful orgasm, the motion drawing his cock in. He pounded her hard, and again she wrapped her legs around him in a surprisingly strong grip, moaning with abandon.

  “Oh, please, sir… oh, please…” Was she asking for less or more? “I’ve been a bad girl. Please, punish me! Please! Fuck my ass!”

  He wasn’t sure he’d heard right, but she was pushing him back now and standing, her look so innocent, so provocative—this woman-child who now turned to bend submissively over the desk. She parted her legs and arched her back. He could see her slit dripping with her cream, and just above it the dusky, tight rosebud of her anus.

  Good lord, sheriff, what have you gotten yourself into?

  What was he doing? Obviously, what she wanted. What he wanted. It had been a long time since he’d taken advantage of a woman’s back passage. Gage stuck a finger in her slick pussy, coated it, and rimmed the tip around her tight little hole. She moaned and whimpered, but didn’t stop him.

  “I’ve been a bad girl. I deserve this…”

  He stuck a second finger in her pussy, extracting more of her natural lubricant, and this time pressed his finger inside to the knuckle. She pushed back, granting him access. He inserted a second finger, pumping her. His cock was so big, and she was so small, but she wanted it, and he had to try. Gage guided the head of his cock to her tight posy, pushing, pushing, and felt her strain to relax the sphincter. Oh, yes. This girl knew what she was doing. He slid in inch by slow inch, hearing her delightful little whimpers of pleasure pain, marveling at how she took the length of him. Her cheek was against the table, her eyes looking at the wall, her face slack with submission. It was a beautiful sight, and despite the fact that she knew what she was doing, he could tell this girl was no whore. Who the hell was she?

  But he couldn’t think about that now that his balls were tightening, his cum roiling up and out in thick spurts. Fucking had never felt like this, and he had to brace himself on either side to keep from collapsing on her.

  After a moment, he pulled out, shocked by what he’d done—by what she’d let him do. Gently he lifted her from the table, and was surprised when she looked bashfully down and put her thumb in her mouth. It was an oddly charming gesture, and he marveled at the juxtaposition of her skilled sexuality against the backdrop of such adorable innocence. Gage suddenly felt wildly protective of this woman. Was this really the same woman who’d cursed him in the livery?

  “Hey,” he said, tipping her face up. She kept her thumb in her mouth, looking at him over her curled hand. “It’s all right, baby. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

  It seemed natural to carry her. First he grabbed a blanket from the cell, wishing it wasn’t so rough as he wrapped her in it. His house was just a hundred or so yards behind the jail. He took her there, laying her on his bed when they got inside. She remained curled under the blanket as he heated and hauled water to pour into an oak tub. It was a miracle, he decided, that he had a cake of soap but he was glad. He wanted her to be able to wash the dust and drying seed from her spent body. When the bath was ready, Wilhelmina allowed him to lower her into the water.

  She’d been quiet since their encounter, but now he realized he needed the rest of the informati
on about where she’d come from and who’d sent her.

  “I want you to know that while you’re in my custody, you don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you, Billy,” he said. It came easy to him to shorten her name, and she didn’t object. “And if you were forced to do this, maybe the law will go lenient on you. Were you forced?”

  She seemed thoughtful, quiet. “I do as I’m told. It’s who I am. I belong to Simon.”

  Gage suddenly felt a surge of jealousy. How could she say that, especially after what she’d let him do? “Well, for someone who belongs to another man, you sure were quick to fuck another one.”

  He all but spat the words, but instantly regretted them once they were out, especially when she turned hurt eyes on him. When she spoke, it was in a strained, sad whisper. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  There was obviously a lot going on with this girl. She’d given herself to him in a way that no other woman had ever come close to doing. And it wasn’t in the casual way prostitutes had given themselves to him. He knew, having been with more than a few skillful whores.

  “Come on, now,” he said, still kicking himself over having insulted her. “Stand up. We can talk about this tomorrow.” Gage could tell she was exhausted, and dried her off with a towel. He found one of his shirts and helped her into it. It swallowed her whole, the baggy garment making her look even more vulnerable.

  “Are you taking me to jail?”

  “No. You’re going to stay here tonight,” he said. “You’re still in my custody tomorrow, and come morning you will tell me everything. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir, sheriff,” she said, and something in her tone made his cock lurch again.

  But no, he would be a gentleman. He gave her his room, making sure she had an extra quilt. Her eyes were heavy as he lay her down. She was immediately asleep, her blond hair fanning across the pillow, her dark lashes quivering like butterfly wings against her flushed cheeks.

  Gage went into the living room and sat in a chair, leaning back and closing his eyes. He’d planned to stay awake, but the vigorous, long overdue sexual release had left him languid. Before he could stop himself, he had drifted off. It was something he regretted the next morning when he awoke to find her gone.

  Chapter Six

  “You almost cost me my job with the U.S. marshal’s office,” he told Billy, who was tied up now and glowering at him from the corner of the shack he’d tracked her to. “I worked hard for that job. And just on the cusp of me getting it, some little woman comes into town and robs the damn bank without firing a shot.” He paused, glowering down at her. “You made me look like a fool, Billy James.”

  When she didn’t say anything, he shook his head. “What? You aren’t going to pretend to be Little Miss Innocent again?”

  “You don’t think I’m innocent anyway,” she said, hurt in her voice. “The last time I saw you, you all but called me a whore. What’s there to defend?”

  Gage was shocked that she remembered what he’d said, let alone that she remained stung by his words after all this time. Truth be told, he still regretted what he’d said to her and wondered whether she’d have run if he’d not made such a hurtful comment.

  “I didn’t say you were a whore.”

  “I’m not a whore. And even if I were, I was your prisoner. And you had no right doing what you did.”

  “I know you’re not, Billy,” he replied. “And you’re right.” He resisted the urge to blame her, to tell her how hard it was to resist when he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. And besides, the way she’d acted made it clear that her body craved his as much as his craved her. But that wasn’t what they were here to talk about, even if he had just fucked her a second time.

  Gage took his hat off and wiped the sweat off his brow. “Let me tell you what I do know, no thanks to you,” he said, changing the subject. “I know this ‘Simon’ was passing himself off as your uncle, but he really isn’t your real uncle. I know he pulled you out of an orphanage when you were thirteen and put you with an older female relative who hired a tutor for you. I know you’re a quick study, that you can read and write and ride a horse. I know when Simon finally took you back at eighteen that you started running scams for him. I know you’ve posed as both a lady and as a boy for Simon Holloway’s crime ring.” He let his words sink in. “Should I continue?”

  “You don’t know everything.”

  “I know he has some kind of hold on you, and word is he wants you dead.”

  She looked up at him, her shock apparent. “You’re lying,” she said softly. “Uncle would never…”

  “You know too much, Billy. This Simon Holloway is the shadiest, most elusive bastard I’ve ever tried to track. The best we’ve done is to nab some of his minor associates, and even under pressure, they’ve given us precious little information. But one name comes up time and time again. Yours. But we know more about him than we know about you.”

  “He saved me from the orphanage. He’s my guardian.”

  “You’re twenty-three now, even if you can pass for a young boy. You’re too old for a guardian.”

  She shook her head. Her expression was sad. “Like I said. You don’t know anything.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.” He pulled a chair over and turned it around, sitting facing its back as he looked down at her.

  Billy stared at the wall for a moment, and then sniffled. She appeared to be gathering strength to tell him her story.

  “All those things I did with you the night I left… Simon trained me. It started when he took me back to his place after I was eighteen. I’m not like other women, sheriff. I’m different. So when you imply that I’m a whore, it’s because you don’t understand women like me. I need… I need…”

  “What do you need?”

  “I need control. And it’s not because I’m weak or stupid, but it’s how I function. I need a man to fill my pussy and my mouth and my ass, and to punish me when I’m bad. I need to be made to obey, or else I won’t. It’s who I am. It’s what I am, and I don’t… I don’t even know if there’s a name for somebody like me. I need a guardian, so when you say I’m too old, it’s because you don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about.”

  Gage found himself stunned into silence. Billy’s frankness of speech was more shocking than any of the curses she’d leveled at him. Even the town whores didn’t speak with such directness. And he didn’t know what to make of this information, other than to think that this Simon Holloway was one stupid sonofabitch for letting a sweet little thing like this out of his sight, let alone sending her out to commit a crime. It filled him with fury that this man not only had corrupted this young lady, but was prepared to snuff her out now that she was a liability.

  “Look, Billy,” he said. “I don’t think you’re stupid. But I do think you’ve been under the sway of a man who wanted to commit a crime without getting his hands dirty. And now that man is out to kill you. He and his men have been looking for you. Does the name Dirk ring a bell?”

  The fear in her eyes answered before she did. “Dirk is the man Uncle Simon hires to… take care of problems.” She slid her finger across her neck to indicate the danger she faced.

  “Listen,” Gage said. “I’m going to get you to Texas, to the U.S. marshal’s office. If you can testify—if you help us bring this guy down—I think we can get the law to go lenient on you. But we’ve got to get you there first. And that’s going to take traveling undercover.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I have an idea of what we need to do,” he said. “But it’s going to require stopping off to see a friend of mine.”

  Chapter Seven

  If any whorehouse could be called reputable, it was the one just outside of Phoenix owned by Celeste Dupree. Since setting up in a large house bequeathed to her by a gold miner who’d taken her as a mistress shortly before his death, Celeste had procured
a stable of girls from the region, and schooled them in the arts of pleasuring a steady clientele.

  ‘Celeste Dupree’ wasn’t her real name. Her real name was Sally Hitchens, but the thirty-seven-year-old woman—who still looked far younger than her years—thought her adopted moniker more exotic for her incarnation as madam.

  The young woman standing before her now was pretty. She could see that even through the filthy boy’s clothing she wore. Celeste had been surprised when Gage Chandler had shown up on her stoop with such a hapless waif in tow, and she’d ordered one of her girls to give Gage’s companion something to eat while she and the sheriff-turned-U.S. marshal discussed his situation.

  Gage, who’d known and trusted Celeste for a long time—and who’d used her services—told her everything.

  “Oh, my,” she said quietly, peeking through the parlor curtain at the girl. “Now, that is a story, my dear. A genuine submissive.”

  “A what?”

  She looked at him and smiled. “Let’s just say she’s the perfect complement to a man like you. I’ve heard the sounds coming from the bedroom when you’re here—the smacks, the cries, the girls moaning and begging to come.” She chuckled knowingly. “You’re a dominant man, Gage, even if no one has ever put a name to the kind of fella you are. It looks like you’ve finally met your perfect match in this little outlaw, the yin to your yang. No wonder you couldn’t stop yourself from fucking her. It’s like putting two magnets together, you two.”

  “She said she was trained,” he said, intrigued now and pressing for more information.

  “And I don’t doubt it. It’s one thing to have the proclivity,” Celeste said. “It’s another thing to have the kind of skill you describe. Any woman who sucks you off and lets you put it in her fanny has had somebody refine their inclinations.” She glanced back at Wilhelmina. “What do you know about this guy who trained her?”

  “She said he was her uncle, but he’s not.”