by Zoe Blake
“Why is it so…so…thick?”
“There’s a cowboy saying…the coffee’s ready when a horse shoe won’t sink in it.”
“I’ll pass,” said Annabelle as politely as she could muster. Not wanting to antagonize him further.
“Suit yourself, Calico. We need to get goin,” said Mason as he shrugged his shoulders. Standing, he kicked dirt over the fire as he hefted his saddlebags onto his shoulder.
Annabelle gritted her teeth against the hated nickname. Once again, she reminded herself not to antagonize him. She had not given up hope of an escape. Next time she would need to wait till they were closer to civilization where she had a better chance.
Standing before Cupid, Mason took stock of her attire. He was glad she had his shirt on; it would protect her from the sun. Yesterday they left when it was low and overcast. Today it was early and bright. While he didn’t care about her obsession with pale skin, he did care if she passed out from heat exhaustion.
“Here,” he said gruffly, refusing to meet her eye as he plopped his Stetson on her head. It was far too large, covering her ears and falling low over her eyes. Annabelle tilted her head back so she could see from under the brim. “For the sun,” he groused. Lowering her head, she hid a secret smile at the kind gesture. He wasn’t all bad. Damn the man!
Chapter Seven
They talked little if not at all for the next several hours. In another kind gesture, Mason had draped his folded up bedroll across his lap before hoisting Annabelle up on to the horse. With her bottom still sore from the belting he gave her an hour earlier, the extra padding was very much appreciated. She would have blushed to learn it was as much for her comfort as his. Riding a horse with an erect cock was no picnic. Mason knew if he had to endure an entire day of her punishment heated bottom pressing against his cock, he would break his vow to not touch her on the trail and fuck her over the first obliging rock or fallen tree trunk he could find.
Annabelle tried to keep alert, looking out for trail markers, beaten down roads or even a stagecoach. Around every outcropping of rock or brush, could be a cabin or even a small town. Finally, far below the canyon trail they were following, she caught sight of a small shack of a building standing alone among the open terrain and cactus. Seeing a small clapboard building would be nothing if she hadn’t spied two stagecoaches standing idle in front. A stagecoach station! This meant civilization.
Striving to keep her voice neutral, Annabelle asked, “Are we there yet?”
Having already ignored the question several times over the last few hours, he knew if he didn’t answer this time, she was likely to become petulant and difficult. “As a matter of fact, we’ve been on my land for the last hour.”
Annabelle was distracted from the information that the stagecoach station and her possible salvation would be near to where he was bringing her by the news he had land. Land?
“How much land do you own?”
No small amount of pride creeping into his voice, Mason answered, “Around 400 acres.”
“But you’re a cowboy!” she exclaimed. Cowboys didn’t own land. They had no home. They had no money.
“Well, I guess I’m a cowboy who owns land.”
It hadn’t been part of his plan. When he rode to the Arizona territory with only revenge on his mind, there was an errand he had been honor bound to complete. He visited the elderly parents of a soldier under his command whom he had lost during the long, drawn out War Between the States. The man left behind a young wife and infant daughter as well as his parents. He made Mason promise to return his personal items to them. Not trusting the broken Confederate military to see to the task, he took it on himself. He found a beautiful homestead with vast apple orchards and even a still to make applejack whiskey. Devastated by the loss of their only son, the soldier’s parents had lost the will to work the land and desired to return back East with their daughter-in-law and grandchild.
Having lost his only family of note with the murder of his brother and no wish to return to the war devastated South, Mason made them a fair offer for their land. At the time, he told himself it would make for a convenient place to hang his hat while he sought his revenge. After which he would sell it for a profit and move on. However, if he was honest, he was becoming attached to the place.
“But…but aren’t you poor?” asked Annabelle with all the sensitivity of someone who grew up privileged.
Mason ignored her and she fell into a contemplative silence.
~*~
Willow Brier Farm, Arizona
They moved off the main trail and followed a small sandy path through brush and cactus till it opened on a fertile valley filled with neat rows of scraggly looking trees. Mason followed the narrow ridge along the mountain. The homestead was on high ground overlooking the valley.
Unlike most homestead cabins which were simple one room clap-wood or sod structures, his home was more impressive. A four room structure built into the side of the mountain with hand-hewn cypress, a rounded stone base and shake shingle roof. It boasted glass windows and an iron Majestic stove complete with a reservoir tank for heated water for cooking and bathing.
It was a grand home anyone would be proud to own.
“I hope you don’t think I will be sleeping in that shack!” asked a horrified Annabelle.
Well, not anyone.
Annabelle took in the small one story structure with its rough wooden planks and dirty stone. Its small windows and obvious lack of plumbing and shuddered.
“So this was your plan all along. To slowly torture me to death by depriving me of life’s necessities!”
Mason placed his hands around her narrow waist, unable to resist the urge to press in a little tighter than necessary as he pulled her down from Cupid’s back. “What necessities would that be?”
“Well, a bath for starters!”
Mason had intended to draw her a bath from the stove’s reservoir thinking she would be pleased by the simple extravagance. He now changed his mind. Digging into his saddlebags to retrieve a few supplies he turned to Annabelle. Swinging her into his arms, he stalked away from the cabin, heading towards a copse of willow trees.
“Where are we going? Put me down!” cried Annabelle as she lifted her hips and kicked her legs in an attempt to loosen his grip.
Not far from the homestead was a secluded stream fed by a small waterfall off the mountain. At the base of the waterfall, was a deep rock basin. The natural basin had a smooth shale floor, the water warmed by the sun. It was surrounded by willows and cypress for additional seclusion.
Mason set Annabelle on a large flat rock on the shore of the natural pond.
“Strip,” he ordered without preamble.
Annabelle clutched the loose folds of his shirt over her chest. “What?”
“You heard me. Strip. Now.”
“Why?” Surely he didn’t intend to ravish her here in the open during the day!
“You said you wanted a bath,” he offered blandly.
Raising her chin defiantly she said, “I changed my mind.”
“Too late. Strip or have the clothes cut off you,” warned Mason as he leaned down to pull out the large knife he kept stashed in his right Cavalry boot.
Defeated, Annabelle slowly began to unbutton his shirt. Reluctantly she pulled it over her head, tossing it at his feet. She then stopped, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I believe I can bathe in what I have on,” she offered.
Mason sighed with impatience. “Annabelle, do you want another trip over my knee?”
Annabelle immediately sat on the rock to unhook the buttons of her ankle boots, pulling them off with no little effort. She then rolled down the now ripped and torn black stockings. Rising, she now stood before him in only her torn pantalets, corset and camisole. Twisting her fingers, she was not sure how to proceed. Planning on impressing her new fiancé, she had worn one of her fancy Parisian corsets which required a maid to help lace it up in the back as opposed to the sim
pler day version that hooked in the front. Annabelle was loath to ask him to unlace her but she couldn’t do it on her own.
“Annabelle?” Mason intoned darkly, his voice full of warning.
“My…um…my…ah…corset,” she finally sputtered out, feeling her cheeks heat.
Mason twirled his finger in the air, indicating she should turn around.
“The knot might be tricky,” she offered.
“I think I can manage it,” responded Mason as he placed the tip of his knife under the knotted laces. Flipping the knife upwards, he easily cut through the corset laces from bottom to top.
Annabelle felt the corset fall away. Knowing he must have cut the laces since one merely loosened would have stayed around her narrow waist, she swung to face him in anger. Holding the two pieces of her corset over her bosom, she exclaimed, “You brute! My laces!”
Unmoved by her display of emotion, Mason tore the corset from her grasp, leaving her in only a thin camisole and pantalets. Motioning to her undergarments with the tip of his knife, he cautioned, “I am out of patience.”
Annabelle fingered the ribbon edge of her camisole. He had already seen her bottom twice. Was there really a difference in him now ogling her breasts? Yes!
“Could you turn around?”
“No.”
Annabelle stamped her foot. “You are no gentleman!”
“I’ll show you just how far from a gentleman I am,” he growled.
Mason closed his long fingers around her thin upper arm. Swinging her around he pulled an object from his pocket. Raising his arm, he swatted her bottom over the thin pantalets several times. Annabelle screamed in shock and tried to put a hand back to protect herself.
“Move your hand,” he commanded.
Annabelle was forced to obey. He gave her bottom several more spanks before turning her back to face him. Annabelle immediately used both hands to rub her sore bottom. It had only just recovered from her spanking earlier that morning. Pouting, she looked to send him an indignant glare when she saw the object in his hand.
“My brush! You just punished me with my own brush!” she screeched.
Mason taunted her with a smile. “I believe you mean my brush.”
Annabelle flew at him, claws bared, intending to scratch the smile right off his smug face. Dropping the brush, Mason caught both her wrists in one large hand. With his free hand, he fisted the flimsy material of her camisole and tore, ripping it from her body. He watched as her beautiful breasts were bared to his gaze for the first time. Lush and round with perfectly pink nipples. Just enough to be a heavy handful for a man. He watched as they bounced and swayed with her efforts to attack him. It took her a moment to realize what he had done.
Annabelle cried out and tried to cover herself but he had her wrists hard and fast. She pulled uselessly on them, pleading with him with her eyes. Sending her a hard flinty glare, she could feel his warm fingers brush over her flat stomach. The fingers dipped into the waist of her pantalets.
“No!” she called out, but it was too late. The already torn and weakened material ripped like gossamer.
She was completely naked practically in his embrace.
Mason felt his cock lengthen as her warm body unwillingly pressed against his own. Pulling on her arms, he raised them high over her head. The movement caused her torso to stretch, forcing her breasts out. Her nipples brushed against the soft wool of his shirt. Mason could have sworn he heard a small groan from his captive. Reaching down he covered her left breast with his hand. Her skin felt cool and smooth. He watched carefully as her violet eyes took on a deep purple. Slowly applying pressure, he watched as her small mouth opened on a gasp. Her eyes drifted partially closed. He squeezed harder. She gave out a small yelp, rising on her tip toes.
Annabelle was at a loss. One moment she was angry the next she was embarrassed…now she didn’t know what. The feel of his shirt against her nipples, the press of his cock against her naked stomach, the warmth of his hand on her breast, the intoxicating scent of sandalwood. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sensations. Damn the man!
Then it felt like she was floating, swaying through the air.
The cold blast of water was a shock to her mind and body. Her body sank below the surface before she kicked to come sputtering to the surface.
“You bastard,” she screamed as she pushed wet strands of hair away from her eyes.
Mason stood on the shore with his hands on his hips, laughing.
“Would you like some soap with your bath, your majesty?” he taunted as he threw a small cake of soap to her.
Annabelle barely caught it. Scowling at him, she tried to lather the hard soap. There was no use in wasting the opportunity to feel clean. Unlike her creamy soaps imported from Europe, this was a harsh, square cake of wood ash soap. She wrinkled her nose at the strong scent of lye. The water was warm on the surface but cool below. If she lingered too long, her teeth would start to chatter. Turning her back on the smiling brute on the shore, Annabelle washed her hair and body as best she could.
Mason sat on the ground, leaning his back against a tree, enjoying the view. Annabelle’s mass of hair floated about her in honey waves on the water. Her softly rounded breasts just crested above the surface of the water. He found himself watching for a peek of pink nipple.
“I’m ready to get out,” she called from the water.
“Well come on out.”
Once again, she tried to reason with him. “Can you please turn around?”
“No.”
“You stubborn cow punch! You…you…”
“Careful. You’ll have to come out of there eventually and I’ll be waiting to let you know in a very meaningful way how I feel about whatever is about to come out of that mouth of yours.” Mason twirled her silver-backed hairbrush in his hand to emphasize his meaning.
The water was already getting cold. The tips of her fingers were going numb. Realizing he had left her with little option, Annabelle bit her tongue and slowly made her way to the shore. The bottom of the rock basin was smooth but slippery so she was careful how she stepped. As she rose above the water’s edge, she did her best to cover her breasts and between her legs.
Mason rose, a square of soft, homespun linen in his hand. Annabelle reached out for it. Mason held it away.
“Allow me,” he drawled.
Annabelle gritted her teeth as his linen covered hand stroked down her right arm before he circled to her back. His hand followed the curve of her back till it valleyed then peaked over the rise of her pert little bottom. She jumped when he gave it a playful smack but refused to react. She stood still, arms at her side, fists clenched, determined to show no emotion to his ministrations. Mason rose to the bait: literally and figuratively. Running the cloth down her other arm, he circled back in front of her. Catching her eyes, he caressed her breasts with the cloth, never taking his eyes off her own. Holding her gaze. Forcing her to read the look of dark promise in their stone gray depths. Mason took one nipple between his cloth covered fingers and pinched, hard. Annabelle’s head tilted back, her mouth open.
Mason leaned in close, and said soft and low against her open lips, “Lie back on the rock.”
Annabelle obeyed without objection, lying on the sun-warmed, smooth surface. Mason knelt between her legs, pulling her knees up. Running the back of his index fingers over the seam of her cunny lips. Using his knuckle, he rubbed her clit in slow circles, applying subtle pressure. Annabelle’s back lifted off the rock as she swallowed a moan.
“You like that, don’t you? Show me again how much you like it.”
Annabelle shook her head side to side. Unable to tell him no. Unwilling to tell him yes.
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. I’ll just have to convince you.”
Mason slipped one long finger inside her tight cunny…her wet cunny. He could feel the untried entrance clench and squeeze his finger. Jesus Christ she was small. He pushed a second finger in. Her body had to stretch and strain just to acco
mmodate him. The brief bite of pain brought the present crashing in on Annabelle.
“Oh god! No! I…I…no,” she stammered as she sat up and tried to dislodge his hand by grabbing his wrist as she tried to close her knees. Her hands were so small she could not even wrap around his thick wrist. The image played havoc on his senses. If her hand barely wrapped around his wrist, his cock would be a real challenge.
“Lie back,” he ordered.
“No!” she argued, shaking her head wildly. “I don’t know what I was thinking…you have to stop!”
“You weren’t thinking. That’s the point. I’m not asking, Annabelle. Lie back.”
Annabelle lay back, defeated.
Mason thrust his fingers deep, searching. After pulling them back and pushing in even further, he finally felt resistance. He pressed his fingertips a little deeper, feeling her maidenhead push back. Mason tried to tamp down the fierce rise of primal satisfaction. She was a virgin. It should have been immaterial to him. He was going to revenge fuck her anyway but somehow knowing he would be the first man to enter her body…to claim her…was calling to the primitive beast in him.
Spanning his hand over her lower abdomen, he started to violently thrust his fingers into her pussy. Using her. He wanted to see if her body would respond to rough treatment as he suspected it would. He saw her bright eyes light on fire whenever he threatened her with a punishment or afterwards as her body was sensitized to the heated glow of pain.
Ramming his fingers into her body, he curved the tips upwards, scraping along her delicate inner walls.
Annabelle’s resolve broke. She tried to stay impassive but it was too much. The sharp pain as he forced his fingers into her body. She tried to clench. To force him out but it only sent more tremors coursing up her back.
“Cum for me, Annabelle,” he commanded, his voice hoarse with desire.
She shook her head no.
Mason smiled. Stubborn till the last. He slid the hand on her abdomen lower, pressing into her skin. As his fingers tickled the soft curls at the top of her pussy entrance he shifted his thumb down to tease her clit. Swirling the pad of his thumb over her sensitive nub, he continued to punish her pussy with his fingers, driving into her over and over again. Mimicking what he planned to do with his cock soon. He had something to prove to himself and to her. He hated to admit it but he would have an easier time enacting his revenge on her body if he could justify her getting some pleasure out of it as well.