Flesh: Alpha Males and Taboo Tales

by Raminar Dixon

  This man was just another ruthless criminal, just like my husband. How could I have ever been so stupid as to think differently? He was going to use me as leverage for something that he wanted, and he didn’t care that I was even a person - I was just a pawn in whatever game he was playing with my husband.

  I felt humiliated and ashamed, hot tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes as the harsh ropes cut into my skin. We left the main streets after a while and ended up travelling through the woods on rough gravel roads, just as it was beginning to get dark, the glowing eyes of wolves and bobcats staring at me from the trees. It occurred to me for the first time that I might not be leverage after all. Maybe he was just going to kill me.

  There was no reading the driver. He was as calm and taciturn as he’d ever been, revealing nothing, his face blank as he finally pulled off into a makeshift driveway in front of a rough-hewn log cabin.

  He sat there for a while in his seat, not moving, until he finally spoke.

  “I’m sorry, Rose.”

  I’d never realized that he knew my name.

  The inside of the cabin was sparse and cold, just a cot and a few chairs and a small table. He took me to use the outhouse when I asked, standing close outside the door, so close I could hear him breathing. He’d untied my feet so that I could walk, but he kept a vice grip on my arm as we walked, and I knew that was no chance I would escape from him.

  He tied me to one of the chairs when we went back inside, his eyes occasionally flicking to my face, gauging my reaction. When I winced, he loosened the ropes.

  Perhaps I’d been right about him, after all.

  After a while, I said:

  “He’ll come looking for me.”

  The driver fixed me with an impassive stare.

  “I’m counting on it.”

  That was all he said for a while. He brought me a drink of water, then some candy when he heard my stomach growling.

  My hands and feet were beginning to grow numb, and my whole body was cramping from being held in the same position for so long.

  “Please untie me,” I said. “It hurts.”

  He gave me a long look, then began methodically working at the knots. I could hardly believe my luck. I still didn’t think I could seriously get away, but being untied was just one step closer.

  When I stood, he took hold of my arm again and jerked me over to the cot, slamming me down on the mattress with a sudden movement that took my breath away. He came down after me, leaning down on the bed, his knee between my thighs.

  “What did he do with the money, Rose?”

  His hand pressed against my throat, not hard enough to choke me, but enough to remind me that he could. I gagged and tried to speak; he let up, just a little.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He sighed, frustrated.

  “He had to have told somebody.”

  “Why don’t you try asking one of his business partners? He doesn’t tell me anything.”

  “Where do you think I went before I came for you?”

  I felt an icy grip of fear on my heart. If he’d already got to my husband’s closest friends, this man was more formidable than I could have imagined. The cold feeling shivered through my whole body, coming to settle between my legs, of all places, and I realized belatedly that my cunt was throbbing.

  I licked my lips and regarded the driver. He was as handsome as ever, little beads of sweat travelling down the sides of his face. Obviously, my husband had done him wrong. Even within the world of organized crime there were still rules, expectations, and I’d always known that my husband tended to do whatever he wanted regardless of what was expected of him. But with the driver, it seemed like he’d finally crossed the wrong man.

  I scooted my hips forward. I was only wearing a nightgown, flimsy and lace-trimmed, and soon my pussy was pressed directly against the fabric of his jeans. I rubbed against him shamelessly, not quite sure if I was just trying to distract him, or if this was really what I wanted. To fuck this man, this mysterious driver with no name, who was holding me for ransom in the middle of the woods as leverage against my no-good husband who didn’t give a shit about my happiness.

  There was a moment where he was thrown off-balance, looking at me like he just wasn’t sure what the fuck I was doing. Then he was there with me, leaning down, his hand still pressed against my throat, his tongue flicking out to run up the length of my face, marking me. I felt a chill there as his saliva dried on my cheek.

  When he released me and stood, I made a move to come after him, but he put his hand on my chest and pushed me back down.

  “Stay.”

  He came back with the ropes, but this time it excited me, the idea of feeling the fibers against my skin. He grabbed me by the hips and roughly flipped me onto my stomach, lashing my hands behind my back and pulling me up so that my ass was in the air, my face pressed into the musty pillow. I moaned aloud, not even caring if he knew how much I’d wanted him, and for how long. He pushed my nightgown up past my waist, exposing my ass and pussy to his penetrating gaze. Then, to my surprise, instead of the hot hard press of his cock, I felt his tongue flick underneath me and lick a hot wet stripe from my clit to the back of my cunt.

  I shuddered and almost collapsed, but he held me up, his fingers keeping a bruising grip on my hips as he lapped at my cunt like his life depended on it. I cried out wordlessly, shuddering and clenching, coming within minutes on his tongue, spurts of fluid coming out of me and pooling on the bedclothes.

  When he withdrew, the first words out of his mouth were:

  “Shut up.”

  He leaned forward, slamming his cock into my hot, dripping pussy and clenching his hand around my mouth in one movement. I bit at his fingers as he thrust into me again and again, fucking me ruthlessly with his hot, hard dick, slamming deeper than I’d ever felt it in my life. His other hand left my hip and grabbed onto my hair, jerking my head back, sending shivers of pleasure up and down my spine. Every breath was a grunt as he fucked the very breath out of me.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been fucked like this, or if I ever had. I could hardly remember my own name. After a while, he released my hair, and I was almost disappointed until I felt his hand come down with a loud smack on my ass.

  I moaned my pleasure into the pillow and he hit me again, again and again, every strike reverberating in my clit and making me breathless. Impossibly, I felt spirals of pleasure building again, and every smack of his hand against my reddening ass cheeks just made them spiral higher.

  “You like this?” he said, finally.

  I managed a quiet “mmhmm.”

  He just spanked me harder, spurred on by my moans, which soon grew into hoarse yells as I felt myself come again, going vice-tight around his huge cock. I would have screamed his name if I knew what it was.

  He slipped out of my sopping cunt after I was done, giving me one more smack just for good measure. For a minute I didn’t know what he was going to do; then, I heard him spit onto his fingers and I didn’t know whether to feel frightened, or elated.

  He jammed two fingers inside my asshole without any preamble, shoving into me ferociously, scissoring them open against my tight muscles and ignoring my pained noises. I never told him to stop, although I felt like he would have obeyed me, and soon the burn of pain became something a little more ambiguous. I had never granted this to any man, always told myself I was saving it for someone special, and if this wasn’t the occasion then I didn’t know what was.

  Just as I’d grown used to his fingers, he slipped them out and replaced them with his cock, still rock-hard and bigger than I’d ever had. It pressed insistently at my ass, refusing to take no for an answer, and I tried to relax and bare down on him. Inch by agonizing inch, his cock slid into my asshole, filling me so completely and I felt I might burst in two. When he was buried to the hilt, he stopped for a moment, giving my body a moment to adjust. I struggled to breathe.

  He fina
lly began to move, very slowly, and I felt as if every nerve ending in my body was on fire. Every little thrust of his cock was sending shocks of sensation through me. I was beginning to understand why people liked doing this; it was unlike anything I’d felt before, more intense than the best sex I’d ever had. It was almost too much to handle, but I gritted my teeth and moaned my way through it, moans becoming screams as he began to thrust harder and faster into my ass. Before I realized what was happening I heard myself yelling at him, urging him to fuck me harder, my hand drifting down to my swollen pussy to stroke my needy clit while he fucked me in the ass. He slapped my hand away, growling wordlessly, and I understood. I was only to take the pleasure that he gave to me.

  He made a surprised, pleased little noise at reaching between my legs and finding me still so wet, so ready for him. He stroked me steadily, in rhythm with his hips, until I came again, screaming myself hoarse as I closed my eyes and saw starbursts. I wrenched my head around to look at him, and he brought his hand up to his lips and licked my fluids off of his fingers.

  After what felt like forever, he began to lose his rhythm, his hips jerking of their own accord, and I felt the head of his cock flare and swell inside my ass. I cried out at the sharp sensation, and he stopped, exhaling harshly as his cock pulsed and spurting hot come inside me.

  He pulled out, stepped away, leaving me cold and alone on the bed. I heard him go over to the wash basin and splash some water on himself; he returned a few moments later, with more rope, binding my ankles together and lying on the bed beside me.

  “Don’t you trust me?” I asked.

  “Would you?” he said, a spark of humor in his eyes that I had never seen before.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll give you that.”

  His smile had an impish quality that was also strange to me. It seemed like he was enjoying having me like this, helpless and at his mercy, in a way that he hadn’t been expecting. But he welcomed it all the same, and hell, so did I. My husband had never made me feel like this. No man had.

  We slept together on the cot, curled up like lovers.

  -

  The next day came and went, and still my husband hadn’t come for me. The driver still kept me tied up most of the time, but he was at least giving me real food now, jerky and cheese and crusty bread. That night he tied me up securely and laid beside me again, but I could feel the hard insistent press of his dick against my ass.

  “You want me,” I said. A statement, not a question.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “What do you want?”

  He seemed to consider this for a while.

  “Suck my cock,” he said, finally, getting to his feet and standing at the edge of the bed.

  I maneuvered myself into a seated position as he pulled his dick out of his jeans. It was the first time I’d gotten a good look at it; it was as big as it had felt in my pussy and ass, long and stiff, and as he pushed it towards me I opened my mouth as far as I could and swallowed him down. He guided himself in, his other hand coming around to grip my hair. I moaned around the mouthful of his cock as he held my head steady, fucking my mouth, his cock hitting my back of my throat with every thrust. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and I could hardly breathe, but I loved every second of it, being helpless in this man’s hands.

  Before long his breathing grew almost as harsh as mine, and I knew he couldn’t last. Saliva leaked from my mouth as I kept it slack for him, my tongue caressing the head of his cock every time it passed. My jaw was beginning to hurt, and I felt lightheaded, when he mustered a few more sloppy thrusts and filled my mouth with long hot spurts of jizz. I swallowed obediently, licking him clean as he withdrew.

  I swore I could see fondness in his eyes as he touched the side of my face. But I’ve been wrong before.

  After that, he lay down beside me and told me about the job he’d gone on with my husband. How he’d been promised a share, how my husband had turned on him, tried to kill him, and failed. He needed the money - for what, he wouldn’t say. But I could tell from the sad haunted look on his face that the cash wasn’t for him - not really. Maybe he had kids somewhere, or a friend who needed help. I didn’t want to ask him. I didn’t feel that it was my place.

  That night, as I lay awake next to him, I tried to imagine my husband bursting into the room, guns blazing. I tried to imagine myself going with him, going back to our home, and I couldn’t quite picture it. Instead, when I pictured my immediate future, I saw myself and the driver going back there together, with an aim to steal back what was rightfully his. And after he took his share, and then some, I would taunt my husband just like I’d dreamed. I’d remind him of everything he was missing, everything he’d chosen to ignore.

  And the driver and I would leave together, for Spain, or Australia, or Japan. Some place where we could have a life together.

  Some place where he would never find us.

  ***

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  ***

  The Highwayman And The Virgin

  By Gia Vanna

  It grew dark and gloomy within the coach as the sun sank behind clouds. Eliza picked at the lace on the edges of her sleeves. Everything had gone wrong this week. A thread unravelled and she pulled at it, making it worse.

  Her older sister Rebecca tutted. She was nestled in the cushions, sitting opposite Eliza, and looking comfortably wrapped up in blankets and furs. Rebecca had an irritating way of always looking at ease with the situation. She was like a fat, placid cat. Perhaps that was what marriage did to a person: made them smug and satisfied, extinguishing the burning lust for life with tepid soups and weak ale.

  Eliza pulled her cloak up around her. The wool made her neck itch. The rocking of the coach jolted her spine – Rebecca seemed to ride the motion with ease, but Eliza hated it. She'd be feeling sick by now, except she'd got out of bed too late to have any breakfast.

  They'd stopped once on their journey out of London, changing horses at an inn. They weren't due to stop again until late that night. Forty miles was too far, really, for one day's journeying but in spite of his vast wealth, Lord Du Marron resented paying out if he didn't need to. So, no overnight stop for his daughters, and no more dancing in London this year.

  "I wonder if the Lady Jacqueline has grown even fatter," Eliza said.

  Rebecca's voice was languid and sleepy. "One day, I intend to become very fat indeed."

  Eliza snorted. "With seventeen children running around you, no doubt."

  "I hope so."

  Rebecca was the eldest daughter and had been hitched to an equally calm and mild minor Baron with a decent income and a twitchy eye. At twenty-two her life was sailing along, untroubled by storms. They'd spent the last month as guests of the Baron's mother. It had been Eliza's first experience of dining, dancing and society and with Charles II restored to his throne, the atmosphere had glittered.

  But too soon they were heading north to spend an obligatory two weeks at the house of the Baron's sister before they went their separate ways – Rebecca back to her husband to work on the seventeen-children-plan, and Eliza back to the parental pile to languish while her mother and father sought a match for her. It was like she'd been taken out of a box for four weeks, but now she was to be wrapped back up in tissue paper and stored under a bed again.

  "How do mamma and papa expect to find me a husband if I'm holed up with them?" Eliza burst out petulantly.

  "I thought you didn't want to be wed."

  "Well. Yes. I don't. But that's not the point. It has to happen, I suppose. So I want him to be interesting, at least. And all the interesting men are in London."

  "All the vain, shallow men are in London. Young bucks who pretend to have money. Papa know
s who's suitable for you. Trust him."

  "Papa thinks anyone with cash is suitable for me, that's all." Eliza huffed and leaned forward to peer out of the coach window. It was fully dark outside now, and starting to spot with rain. She sat back and drew the curtains, plunging them into total blackness.

  Rebecca made no reply to her younger sister's inevitable and predictable complaints. They rocked along. Eliza closed her eyes to try and sleep. She heard the soft snores of Rebecca but she was unable to stop the thoughts whizzing through her own brain. A mishmash of remembrances, hopes, and crushing fears whirled and she sighed. What a curse it was to be wealthy. Though she knew she would be even worse as a serving wench or farm girl than she was as a Lord's daughter.

  Damn it all!

  The clatter of the horses' hooves on the stony road seemed painfully slow. Rebecca snored. The rain picked up, pattering on the roof of the coach. In the darkness, tiny sounds were amplified. Eliza folded her arms tighter around her body, and tried to imagine getting married.

  God. The fuss.

  At first she thought the horses' pace had changed, but then realised that the grind of the coach wheels was the same. Another rider was coming. Then there was a shout, and the coachman shouted back, and the coach drew to a shuddering halt. Rebecca was thrown forward with a cry.

  "What?"

  Eliza groped for Rebecca's hand and the women clutched each other as they strained to listen.

  "Who's in the coach, sir?"

  They heard Jake, their man, answer with a quiver in his voice. "Just two young women, sir, and nothing of value."

  Rebecca dug her nails into Eliza. Eliza felt cold sweat prickle along her spine. "A robber!" she hissed.

  She heard Rebecca swallow in nervousness. "Shhh."

  "Who are these women? I like women." The man's voice was light and casual. It sounded as if he were smiling. Rebecca moaned quietly.

  "Let him take me – and you run," Rebecca whispered close in Eliza's ear. "I'm a married woman, and there is nothing he can do to me that...is new. I think. But you must stay a maid. Run as soon as you have the chance. Promise me!"