by Zoe Blake
Breathing in short gasps, Annabelle closed her eyes and arched her back, pushing her breast against the rounded edge.
Prying the tight prongs open slightly, Mason placed her nipple between them before releasing his grip. The wooden prongs snapped back into place, trapping her nipple in their painful clasp.
Annabelle let out a cry of shock and pain. Looking down she saw the clothespin latched to her breast.
“Oh my god! Take it off! It hurts!” she whined. She tried kicking her feet but any movement caused a fresh wave of pain as it jostled the clothespin.
Ignoring her, Mason paid the same attention to her left breast. Pulling it deep into his mouth, preparing it for punishment. This time Annabelle watched with horrified fascination at the opening of the prongs.
“Don’t! Please!” she begged right before he released the prongs, the stiff wood pinching her soft nipple.
Crying in earnest, she couldn’t help but move her body, trying to escape the pain.
Mason dragged the rounded edge of the clothespin between her breasts and over her belly. “Just one more, love.”
Annabelle realized his intent and started to sob. “Please! I’m sorry! You can’t! Please!”
Annabelle had a hard time focusing. Her nipples were throbbing with pain. Then there was his dark caress. Feeling the smooth cold wood glide over her heated skin. Knowing his destination. Her body tensed in fearful anticipation.
Mason slid his index finger between the folds of her cunny, parting her, opening her. He placed the open end of the clothespin against her clit. The press of the wood against her sensitive nub caused her whole body to tremble. Slowly he pushed it down. Slowly the pressure increased. Slowly the space between the prongs got smaller and smaller. Tighter and tighter. Increasing the pressure on her clit. The pressure turned to pain as the prong tightened and pinched.
Mason released the clothespin and took a step back. Her cheeks were flushed a bright pink. Her nipples looked like two dark plump berries. The rounded top of the clothespin peeking out between her thighs, only hinting at the torture it was pressing upon her clit. He tapped the head, knowing it would torment her little bud. He could see the wood darken from her dew. She loved as much as she hated his punishments.
Annabelle bit her lower lip, trying to hold back a moan of pleasurable pain. She watched as he turned to walk away from her.
“Wait! You can’t leave me!” she cried out.
“I have no intention of leaving you.”
Mason walked into the bedroom. Retrieving the yarrow flower salve, he bent to unbuckle one of his spurs of his boots. Returning to the living area, he saw Annabelle trembling as conflicting sensations raced over her body.
Mason placed the objects he had retrieved close by before approached her again. Grasping the prong edges, he pried the first clothespin off her right breast before quickly doing the same for her left.
Relief quickly turned to torment as the blood rushed back into her nipples. It caused a pulsing sting. Annabelle looked down with alarm as her nipples seemed to swell to twice their size. Mason then carefully removed the one torturing her clit. The same flood of throbbing pain shifted to between her legs. She groaned and swayed against her binds.
Mason took two fingers and slowly swirled them over her clit.
“No! No! Don’t. Oh god,” she groaned, the pressure of his fingers causing as much discomfort as pleasure.
Mason picked up his buckled spur. Waiting till Annabelle’s pain-hazed eyes once more focused on him. They widened when they saw the clean, polished wheel with its metal spikes.
“What…what…are you going to do…to do with that?” she breathed anxiously.
Mason raised an eyebrow. “This” he said, his voice gravely with desire.
He placed the spur against the sloping curve at the top of her breast. Leisurely dragging the small wheel with rounded spikes down her skin. The spikes had just enough bite to make Annabelle hiss in agony as they pressed into the swollen flesh of her nipple. He circled her nipple with the spur before sliding it between her breasts, tracing a line to her left breast.
Annabelle’s skin was on fire. She could feel every sharp pinch. Every biting spasm. He ran the spur over her other throbbing nipple. Annabelle bit down on her lower lip till she tasted blood. Her hands twisted and flexed against her binds. Oh god!
The spur made its way over her flat stomach.
“No!” she cried out in panic. “Please, not that!” She couldn’t take it. The feel of that metal on her overly sensitive clit would kill her she was sure of it.
“Beg me to fuck you instead,” he growled.
“Fuck me! Fuck me! Just please don’t torment me anymore.”
Annabelle was shocked to realize she meant it. Her whole body thrummed with awareness. There was a building pressure. She wanted to feel his cock inside of her. To feel the stretch. The fullness. She wanted to feel his calloused hands on her hips. Feel his breath against the curve of her neck. To feel him.
Mason threw aside the spur and grabbed the jar of salve. Opening the flap on his pants, he dug his three right fingers in salve, generously coating his erect shaft. Then grabbing her legs, he lifted her high till they wrapped around his slim hips.
Wrapping his arm around to her back, he glided his right hand between her bottom cheeks, pressing his middle finger into her puckered hole, swirling the beeswax in. Following it with the head of his cock, He didn’t hesitate this time. With brutal force, he broke through her body’s resistance and plunged deep.
Annabelle screamed as the wrenching, searing pain exceeded anything she had felt so far. He filled her. She could feel her body strain to accommodate his thick girth.
Her weight drew her down further on his cock, helping him sink deep inside her back passage. Mason pulled his hips back before thrusting again to the hilt. She was so god damn tight. He could feel every quake, every tremble. Jesus Christ it felt like he could feel every breath she took through his cock. Pushing her body against the wall, he drove in fast and hard. His fingers would leave bruises on her thighs from his strong grip but he didn’t care, he needed this. She needed this.
With her legs wrapped tight around his hips, his body pushing against hers. She could feel every shift, every thrust as it pressed against her swollen clit. Sparks of titillating satisfaction rocked her hips. She itched to grab onto his hair. To drive her fingers into its thick, wavy depths.
The scent of him. The feel of his hips pressing against her inner thighs. The light scraping of the wooden slat wall along her back. The pulsing soreness as he forced his shaft into her bottom. It was wrong. Very wrong. But it felt…it felt…
“I can’t. It’s too much,” she breathed against his neck.
“You can and you will,” he growled, punctuating his command with a harsh thrust of his hips. “Now, Annabelle. Cum for me now.”
For once in her life, Annabelle obeyed. Her release so powerful she bit down on his shoulder. The salty musk taste of his skin adding to her frenzy.
The burst of pain from her sharp teeth sinking into his flesh, sent Mason over the edge. Throwing his head back, he let out a guttural shout as he released deep in her bottom.
Annabelle sagged, allowing his strong arms to support her. She felt wrung out, sated, but someone not completely fulfilled. Something had been missing from the intense encounter. She wanted more. Her body clenched. She had wanted to feel him inside her. Really inside her. Appalled and confused by the direction of her thoughts, she realized with a start…she had wanted him to take her virginity.
Mason gently released her wrists and gathered her into his arms. He began to walk across the room.
“Where are you taking me?” she muttered against his bare shoulder.
“I’m going to lay you down on the bed, while I draw you a hot bath. You’ve earned it, Calico,” murmured Mason as he kissed her forehead.
Annabelle smiled and snuggled further into his arms.
Chapter Ten
&nbs
p; Mason didn’t sleep that night. He watched Annabelle and thought about revenge.
After her punishment, he had prepared a hot bath for her in the copper tub by the fire. You would have thought she had been handed a jeweled necklace she was so happy. He remembered the look of pure pleasure on her face as she sunk into its warm depths. After a little fussing, she even allowed him to wash her hair. Not that he was going to take no for an answer. The silky locks fascinated him almost as much as her changeable eyes. Depending on the light, her hair could shift from a warm, tawny brown to bright gold.
After her bath, he prepared supper. It was a simple meal of wild duck with boiled potatoes and mushrooms. She sat on a small stool by the fire, allowing her hair to dry as she watched him. Eventually she started to ask questions. Where did he learn to cook? Where was he from? Mason was not the talkative type, especially not since the war and his brother’s death, but he found himself lulled into a sense of quiet contentment which loosened his tongue. He told her how he’d learned to cook from his Mama. He talked of his family’s small farm and orchard in Virginia. She asked him if that was why he fought for the South. That was harder to answer. He talked of his parents’ death and how they sold the farm right before the war. His brother headed West and Mason decided to stay and fight. It wasn’t for any misplaced notion of Southern ideas. It was loyalty to his family’s roots and the people he grew up knowing and respecting.
Finally, it was her turn. Mason was struck by the tone of loneliness. Upon learning of her connection to Waltze, he had always assumed she was a cold-hearted, spoiled brat who like her step-father cared only for wealth. While she certainly could be stubborn and impudent and lord knows he had been on the receiving end of enough tantrums in their short acquaintance, none of them were mean-spirited. Ah hell, he actually had to remind himself he was her abductor. She had every god damn right to throw shit at his head and try to scratch his eyeballs out. Still, Mason’s past was filled with warm memories of laughter and love. Annabelle’s childhood seemed cold, distant.
“You know, I don’t think I have ever allowed myself to really think on it, but I don’t believe my mother was truly happy,” she observed, looking down at her plate, avoiding eye contact.
Mason’s gut twisted. He knew for a fact her mother wasn’t. He had learned quite a few things about Annabelle’s mother while he was preparing his revenge on Waltze. Nothing she would like. The question was, should he tell her?
“I convinced myself she must have been because she always had pretty dresses and parties to go to. If you cover something with enough gold right?” she continued sardonically.
They fell into an awkward silence. Mason knew if they talked any longer, she would ask about the poker game where her step-father offered her up like a poker chip. It was something he had avoided discussing with her. And still would…
“Pie!” he laughed. “I forgot the pie.”
Mason pulled a linen cloth off an apple pie and sliced the remaining portion in half, placing them on tin plates.
“This is delicious,” Annabelle offered shyly. “Did you make this too?”
Mason shook his head. “Mary Sue, my farmhand’s wife. My specialty is a molasses raisin pie.”
“Now you’re teasing me,” she laughed. “A man knowing how to cook meat I will believe but baking pies? Not a chance.”
Mason brought his hand to his chest in mock affront. “Does her majesty doubt the verity of my words?”
“Her majesty does,” laughed Annabelle throwing her chin in the air in an effort to look regal in her homespun blouse and tousled hair.
“As I see we are out of pie anyway, I will just have to prove you wrong,” winked Mason.
“Could I help?” asked Annabelle eagerly before she had a chance to think better of it.
“You want to learn how to bake?”
“Yes.”
“You realize it might get messy?”
“Yes.”
“That you might get flour on your pretty outfit?”
“Yes.”
“And you would actually have to touch an egg?”
“Yes!” she responded, exasperated that he still teased her for being prim and uptight. She wasn’t like that…well, not anymore at least. “Let’s get dirty.”
Mason’s eyes darkened at her unintended seductive phrasing but didn’t want to ruin the light-hearted mood.
They had spent the rest of the evening baking pies. His molasses raisin pie was blue-ribbon worthy if he said so himself. Hers…well the best he could say of her pie was…well…she tried…very hard.
And now Mason sat up in bed, watching her. He hadn’t thought about his brother or his plan for revenge in days. Somehow his single-minded purpose of breaking Waltze got kicked to the ditch the moment he met Annabelle. He found himself trying to come up with reasons or ways to make her stay. That wasn’t true; he could make her stay just like he made her leave with him. He wanted her to want to stay. To stay with him…his revenge plans be damned.
If they had any chance, he was going to have to tell her about his real motive behind the poker game and her abduction. She had hinted at not being close with her step-father so there was a chance she would see his side of things. He hoped so. There was still time. He didn’t have to tell her today. He had other plans.
~*~
Annabelle passed the day in pleasant companionship with Mason. It was as if after their conversation last night, a truce had been called. There was still a lot unsaid between them. The poker game. Her supposed fiancé. The inevitable day he would return her to her step-father. Annabelle shivered at the thought. Maybe she could convince Mason to allow her to continue on to Phoenix. She would have to borrow some coin from him, but she would promise to repay him. The thought he would want to keep her around never occurred to her. The only thing she did know was that she didn’t want to think about it now. Now she just wanted to enjoy the sunshine, the earthy scent of the barn, the sweet scent of apple as they mashed the latest batch to prepare to turn it into whiskey…and his strong presence by her side.
~*~
“Can you teach me how to play cards?”
Mason looked over at Annabelle, surprised by the request. They had just finished supper and were sitting in the living area. He was cleaning his Henry rifle. She was flipping through some old Godey’s Lady Books he found in the smaller bedroom. He jumped on the idea. Mason had been sitting there all evening with seduction on his mind. After deciding to no longer use her as a pawn in his revenge, he needed to change tactics. He was half ashamed at hoping she would pitch a fit over something so he would have an excuse to punish her. He did love punishing that cute little body of hers. More importantly, he knew she secretly loved it too. But that was no longer enough. He wanted to truly claim her. All of her.
“On one condition,” he stated with a grin.
“What is that?” she asked warily.
“We play strip poker,” he offered, giving her a seductive wink.
Annabelle thought about it a moment and said, “Deal.”
Mason cleared the table and started to shuffle the cards as Annabelle poured them two glasses of warm beer.
“Nope,” he drawled. “When you play poker, you drink whiskey.”
Annabelle smiled. Putting the beer aside, she grabbed the bottle of applejack from the still out back and a couple clean glasses and joined him at the table.
“Where did you learn to drink whiskey?” asked Mason. “Aren’t ladies supposed to drink nothing stronger than sarsaparilla?”
“That stable hand I mentioned. He liked whiskey so I forced myself to try it. I was only fourteen years old. At first, I absolutely hated it but as I got older, I started to appreciate the sweet, smoky taste. I could never drink it in polite company of course,” she finished.
Mason felt a familiar stab of possessiveness when she mentioned the stable hand. It was five years ago for Christ’s sakes! He didn’t even know her. She was just a girl. Somehow none of that mattered. He s
till wanted to kill the man.
Mason placed the deck in front of her, a seductive gleam to his eye. “Cut the deck.” He would have her naked within three hands, thirty minutes at the most.
~*~
Two hours, ten hands of poker and three shots of whiskey later…
“And that’s for your drawers,” crowed an almost fully dressed Annabelle triumphantly as she laid down four queens. “This game is really quite easy. I cannot understand why so many men lose so badly at it.”
The air cracked with sudden tension at her casual comment. Her step-father had lost badly. Lost her.
Wanting to deflect her thoughts, Mason stood up and started to unbutton his drawers. Annabelle held her breath. He looked so tall and powerful in the small kitchen. He had gamely stripped away his pants, shirt and boots. Now she had just won his drawers.
Mason watched her eyes turn from blue to violet. He could feel his cock fill and lengthen. He let the drawers fall open, slipping low on his hips. He watched as she licked her lips, so intent on his body she did not even heed his regard. The drawers fell to the floor. His cock jutted out, thick and proud. Annabelle’s mouth fell open on a gasp. Once again, she marveled how something so big could fit inside of her…fit inside there.
Mason’s eyes lit with dark promise. “I think it’s time we played a new game.”
Like a cornered rabbit, Annabelle tensed. Slowly rising, she took a step back. She was once again dressed in only a corset and pantalets having lost her skirt and blouse to him a few hands back. It was amusing to see his surprise and disappointment when he realized she had dug through the hope chest to find underthings. It was also astounding how comfortable she now was standing in front of him so scantily attired.
“What kind of game?” she asked breathlessly. Her heart started to race with fearful anticipation. She took another tentative step back.