Daniel hadn’t been sure what he’d do with the last hours of the day until he realized all his suppressed desire was grinding at him with a terrible vengeance. He walked to the bed, grabbed Lisle’s white t-shirt by the neck and pulled it off over her head in one single movement. She sat back in shock, fearful and breathless; her anxious eyes were fixed him. Looming before her like a powerful beast, Daniel exuded the authority of a god with his remorseless eyes bearing down on her, threateningly. As he dropped his pants and tossed his shirt to the floor, the feral sexuality between them swelled. He yanked her down so she was lying flat, then he descended to the bed and covered her body with his. Her legs parted, welcoming him in, and with no further foreplay, his hard erection speared her pussy and the fucking commenced.
He could have come in seconds. With no more than a few hasty thrusts he’d be done with her. But she’d become so wide open to him, so exposed and defenseless that he couldn’t use her as brusquely as he had planned. The scent of her skin, fragrant with body sweat, with natural pheromones and the sweet smell of roses—or was it lilacs?—drew him to her. She tasted like sex, earthy, like a full-bodied wine. He drank in her essence, knowing that despite what the bastard in him craved, he wanted more than a quick release.
He dealt with her roughly, mauling her breasts, then her hips and ass while his organ pistoned in and out in a rhythm that drove them both to the brink of climax. Then he suddenly changed directions, flipping her over to her tummy, covering her body and entering her from behind. When his teeth bit into her shoulder, she came hard, bearing down on his organ, but writhing so furiously beneath him that his cock slipped out. He rose up and punished her for that, with hard smacks to both ass cheeks; then rising to his knees, he pulled her bottom up high and spanked it vigorously until the moaning Lisle began to shudder with another orgasm rifling through her body. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!” she cried at the top of her voice. The torrent of pleasure caused her to wrench so hard that she nearly jerked herself off the bed. He yanked her back by the hair and spanked her a few more times, bringing the color of her bottom to an angry, blotchy red. The noise of her delirious ecstasy went on with an endless stream of yeses and moans, sharp cries and jerking movements, and plenty of ‘fuck me pleases’ sprinkled in, until Daniel finally let go her hair and stuffed his cock back in her cunt. Their relentless fucking resumed—she was just a brothel whore to him now, little more than a shameless tramp with an insatiable appetite for sex.
Screaming like a wild woman, “Fuck me, ohmygod, yes, fuck meeeeeeeeee!” She grabbed the sheets in her fists and pounded them hard against the mattress, while he commandeered her wild body in his controlling hands and drilled her deep.
When at last he yanked her hair again, her inner muscles reflexively clamped down on his cock and milked the stiffened organ until he could no longer hold back his come. As she exploded into another wave of spasms, he released, with the “Goddamn, fuuuuuuuuuuuck!” roaring through the teeming air and joining her heated exclamations. Exhausted, he collapsed on top of her and rolled off to the side.
They snuggled close in the moments after, clinging fiercely to each other as if their lives depended on this closeness. After a long day that had tried his patience in so many ways, the quiet that followed was comforting and he let himself drift until Lisle suddenly jerked him from his thoughtless reverie.
“Do you think some day you’d brand me?”
“Brand you?” He pulled out of her arms and stared down at her face.
“Is that so terrible to ask?”
“Not terrible, just unexpected, and I’m not sure why I would brand you.” Although just the thought of it made his cock pulse—which he hoped she didn’t notice. He didn’t want to encourage her.
“But would you? I mean, would you brand a woman if…if she was, if she needed…”
He stopped her midstream. “You’ve seen my branding iron, haven’t you?” The question sounded like an accusation.
She bit down on her lip and nodded. “I know I shouldn’t have…”
“Yes, but you did—apparently I have no secrets from you.” His irritation showed. It still irked him that she’d gone through his personal things, the branding iron just the latest item he wished she had not seen. “I should have never brought it back with me.”
“But you did.”
“So, you want to be branded. What does that mean, Lisle?”
“It means that someone owns me.”
He thought a moment, realizing that this was as close as she’d come since she’d live with him to stating what she wanted from her life—which, in Daniel’s mind, meant that even after months of living free from the bondage of sexual slavery, she still did not envision a future as a free woman. “Being owned; that is what you want?”
“Yes, sir. I want to be owned—I think I need to be,” she said frankly. “But, I want love, too,” she spoke from her heart, and rushed on with a storm of emotion welling up inside her, “and I don’t want that love to ever leave me.”
The ferocity of her desire attacked him in his gut. He resented her telling him this, as if she were trying to extract promises from him he had no business making. Still, her aims were totally guileless, and as his resentment quickly slipped aside, in marched a strange combination of fear and remorse, and yes, a yearning desire of his own—though it was one he hardly recognized.
“You’ve given this some serious thought?”
“I don’t really think about it. I’ve never seen my life any other way.”
“And a brand will make you feel loved? Most women want a rock on their ring finger.”
“I’m not most women,” she stated flatly. “Being a branded female is what I’ve always craved—even before the Baron, before I became Robert’s ward.”
“So young?”
“I have no explanation for it either.”
“But branding?” It made little sense to him. “How on earth did you ever think of that?”
“Oh, you know me, sneaking around where I’m not supposed to go,” she answered with a bit of bashful chagrin. “When I was ten, I found a book about human branding in Robert’s library. It was this strange little ten page pamphlet wedged between some of his other racy books—which I’m sure I was not supposed to see it. But I did. I’ve never stopped thinking about it, not entirely…and when I began living with the Baron, I thought I found exactly what I always fantasized about…” her voice drifted off.
“Well, let’s stop with this right here. When it comes to branding, there are a few facts about me you need to know. As you suspect, I have a history of branding females. There are at least a dozen women who wear the brand you found in my room. I seared it to asses and hips, one unlucky bitch has it on her pubic mound right above her pussy. Though the reasons for the brand hold no merit now, those women have to live with my mark on their bodies forever. It’s permanent. Disfiguring. Never washed away. Never altered. I will never use that brand again. In fact, I should have destroyed it when I had the chance. If I ever should brand a woman again, which I doubt I will, it will not be a fleeting moment of bravado to stroke my ego and demean a victimized female. As exhilarating as that can be for a hardened sadist, I’m not that man—or at least I’ve put that bastard in his place where he will stay. I’ve had my fill of branding women for a lurid moment of sadistic satisfaction, and even now, the idea of it leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth.”
Despite the speech, her open, hopeful face had not changed. “What about branding a woman for love?”
He had to think about this a moment; and for once, he had no idea how he wanted to steer the conversation. The idea of combining love with a fiercely violent act seemed absurd, and completely incongruous. The best he could do to reply was offer up a terse response, which he hoped would end the conversation. “The thought hasn’t even crossed my mind, and I refuse to entertain it now.”
Just the fact that she’d raised the idea was enough to keep it rattling through his brain and not in any way
that seemed acceptable to him. He finally rose from the bed and gave Lisle a chaste kiss on the forehead.
“You need a good night’s sleep, I’ll be waking you early in the morning.”
“What for?”
“There’s no need to know until then. Just sleep.”
He left the room, softly closing the door behind him and returned to his office. For the first time since he arrived home, he had a moment to himself to think—a moment to get beyond Alice and Lisle, their war, and the subject of branding—and focus on the matter of protecting the girl, which at that point was a priority that trumped any other issue. After a few minutes enjoying the quiet of his silent house, he went to the locked teakwood cabinet where he’d stored Brauer’s computer. He saw the cabinet and stopped short. The lock had been tampered with since he’d been there last. Though the scratches on the wood were faint, there was no mistaking that the cabinet had been broken into.
Chapter Twelve
Confrontation
At 6:00am the following morning, when the day was still new and dark around the edges, Daniel stood in Lisle’s bedroom doorway, just watching her, as if he hoped that viewing the sleeping girl would inspire him. Whether she was already awakening or his mere presence caused her to rouse from sleep and suddenly sit upright he couldn’t say. Already the energy between them was agitated and spiked with lust. She looked uncertain and fearful—as well she should. Did she suspect where the conversation would start? He had a strong feeling she did.
“I spent some time on Brauer’s computer last night,” he announced, making every effort to sound calm and rational, while inside his anger was brewing fitfully. “You hadn’t told me that you pick locks, too.”
Her eyes widened as she felt his fuming mood sweep through the room. It would have been better if she quickly made some stab at an explanation but she couldn’t muster enough courage to speak.
“You did this after I strictly forbade it. Even when I locked the computer away so it wouldn’t tempt you. When, Lisle, when are you going to respect my boundaries? When?” Pensive and troubled, his eyes threw daggers as he stared her down. “I thought you were done being the phantom of my house… What’s so goddamn important inside that computer that would cause you to disobey me? You really do need to be collared, leashed and locked up.”
She quailed at the sound of his voice, sputtering, “I’m sorry, sir… it-it was just one of those things…” as she peered up at him with sorrow filled eyes. “You take something away from me and all it does is agitate me until I can’t stop myself… I just wanted to check a few websites. That’s all, really. I swear.”
He didn’t believe her but he had little evidence to pursue this further, and very little time to spare.
“I’m going to accept that for now, but if I learn that you’ve lied, you will regret you did.” He let the threat settle in her for about five seconds and when she didn’t change her story, he added, “That suitcase you were packing yesterday, get it out, and pack some things for a few days away. The weather is going to be chilly so be sure to bring something warm—pants sweaters, nothing fancy.”
“We’re going somewhere?”
“Yes, intended to be a pleasure trip, though by the looks of it, this may well be a punishment trip for you and the pleasure will be all be mine.” He cleared his throat and added, “Be downstairs with your bag and ready to leave in twenty minutes.”
He stalked off. Despite the way he treated her, the fact that she’d been inside the Baron’s computer while he was gone may well have explained a few oddities that had been observed on-line during the previous week. If he had to beat it out of her, he’d get the truth.
Daniel had plans to leave early in the morning, but a number of unexpected calls delayed their departure. At midday, he and Lisle finally drove out of DC toward Pennsylvania and home of old friends, Albert and Abigail Pennock, who ran a Bed & Breakfast just outside a rural town located about fifty miles from the Turnpike. This was no plush romantic getaway for newlyweds and lovers, unless they were looking for a working farm in a hardscrabble landscape where they could sink themselves in the mud and grit of farm life.
Albert was a college friend who knew just about everything Daniel had done in his sullied past—and he hadn’t been given the sugar-coated version. When Daniel moved from foreign soil to Washington, the Pennock’s farm had been his escape from the inanities of DC politics and government red tape. He and Albert spent long evenings drinking together as a couple of hard-core bastards who rued the day that women turned into their equals. They acknowledged that they belonged in a different world, often feeling as if they’d been uprooted from the Middle Ages and plunked down in the 20th century like Dorothy landing in OZ. They philosophized about the darkness in man and how it can be sanely vented, and argued over whether subjugating women in a ‘safe, sane and consensual’ world could be a purposeful activity at all. Daniel had been the diehard skeptic on the issue while Albert had good reason to believe otherwise.
Abigail was left out of these conversations, except for the few times she entered her husband’s hallowed study to serve them food and drinks. She always looked hearty and pleasant, a genuine smile on her rosy lips, as she swished around them like a serving wench in her long skirts and bosomy blouses. Quite unlike her tall, lanky and stern-faced husband, Abigail Pennock was a big, beautiful, earth mother, who was compassionate beyond measure, yet tough as nails at her core. She was Albert’s dutifully submissive partner, who ran everything on the farm that Albert refused to deal with, although he had plenty to say about that as well. She offered her opinions, sometimes quite pointedly, but once done, she always stood back and surrendered to the man she thought of as her lord and master, whether she agreed with him or not.
As far as Daniel knew the two didn’t engage in most sadomasochist activities associated with the bdsm lifestyle, unless it was for punishment which, after several years of sorting out how their relationship worked, rarely happened anymore. There was still a whipping post and woodshed should Albert ever find the need to take his sometimes ‘smart-mouthed’ wife down a peg or two. As two strong-willed individuals, they needed the formal power exchange as a framework for their relationship, though they didn’t require the stimulation of whips and bondage to enjoy good sex. As a symbol of her submission to Albert, and the fact that the nature of their arrangement was considered irreversible, Abigail had been branded on her lower back with the same symbol Albert used on the farm to brand his livestock. She had become fiercely proud of that brand, as if it were a sacred element of her identity. Being Albert’s property was intensely satisfying, but a truth so profound that she rarely spoke of it, and few would understand her motivation, or how bearing Albert’s mark on her body supplied the strength she needed to deal with an often difficult master. She loved the man enough to subjugate herself to him, and once she decided to make that accommodation, she never questioned her motives.
When Daniel decided to take Lisle off the map for awhile, he naturally thought of Albert and Abigail’s farm in the middle of nowhere—being about as ‘off the map’ as it could be and still be within a reasonable driving distance of DC. The subject of branding hadn’t even crossed his mind when he made the arrangements for their stay. Now, his choice of getaway locations seemed strangely coincidental given the conversation with Lisle about branding the night before they left. In fact, that conversation had been enough for him to toss the branding iron into his suitcase—not with the idea of using it but destroying the odious thing in Albert’s forge.
They arrived at the B&B late in the afternoon. Abigail showed them to a room on the second floor of the farmhouse, which was part of the addition they’d built when they decided to open the B&B. They’d had surprising success with the venture and during the summer months were steadily booked. However, with the fall color almost over for the year the tourist season was nearly at its end.
Although Daniel had seen the addition while under construction—in fact, he had a hand
in hammering a few nails in the framing on one of his first visits to the farm—he’d never seen the finished rooms. He couldn’t have been more surprised when Abigail opened the door to show off the spacious guestroom. He looked around, taking in the huge four-poster bed, the rocker, the overstuffed reading chair and all the frilly decorations that he’d not expected from the simple, uncomplicated Pennocks. The room
sparkled like a jewel with the sun’s rays pouring through the French doors at its far end. He remembered the balcony beyond those doors and what trouble it had been to anchor the posts into the rocky ground below. At the time, he hadn’t understood why Abigail had made such a fuss over the thing, but it was obviously part of an overall plan of which he had not been made aware. Though the room was probably what their typical guests would expect from a B&B, it was nothing like the quaint, cozy atmosphere of the rest of the farmhouse.
“My regular room unsuitable?” he asked right off.
“I’m sure that’s fine for you alone, Daniel, but since Lisle’s with you, I thought you’d prefer a little more space. Besides, I took a lot of trouble decorating it for the tourist crowd, so I expect you to appreciate the effort now that you finally have a chance to see it.”
“Who needs more room?” he snapped, rather sourly. “She’ll be sleeping on the floor.”
Abigail looked only mildly surprised. “You really don’t mean that.”
His blue eyes flashed. “Don’t be so sure.” He shot his apprehensive sub a searing glance.
Little Savage Page 20