“Now, Miss Ross, you’re going to apologize to Miss Inez for your foul mouth and Miss Bessie for walking out when she was in the middle of the breakfast rush. Use whatever lame excuse you want – although I wouldn’t expect Bessie to buy it anymore than I did.”
Once again, I gulped down my tears. “Sure whatever you want, whatever I need to do.”
He nodded again and waited while I freshened up. No time like the present to make amends.
Lawton stood right behind me when I walked into Miss Inez’ living room and sheepishly greeted my landlord.
“I’m so sorry for any commotion I caused here today. And for that foul language. I was pretty angry, but it shouldn’t have come to that. Please forgive me.”
Miss Inez peered up at me through her thick lenses, a little puzzled, then said: “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Samantha. I was in my front garden when my nephew arrived. He knows pretty well that I don’t like men in my upstairs bedrooms – that is except for George. But if you two have a problem between you, I hope it’s settled. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my program.” She turned away and plugged back into Wheel of Fortune, which was my cue to exit. Lawton followed me out.
“Nephew? That’s the first I’ve heard about that.”
“Yes, well, I guess it was never mentioned. She’s never thought of me as anything but the bratty snot-nosed kid who chased his sister through her prize roses.”
“Hum, that’s an idea that’s going to take some getting used to. I mean, you two? Blood relatives?”
“That we are. My mother’s sister.”
“Oh, well.” I shook my head and walked to Lawton’s truck, figuring that we had one more stop to make before my boyfriend would finally let me breathe easy again.
I talked to Miss Bessie on my own. Maybe Lawton decided that he’d put me through enough and he waited in the truck.
“You sure have a way of looking spooked sometimes, Miss Samantha,” Bessie responded to my apology.
“I’m sorry about that. I do have a troubled past, one that I really don’t want to talk about. I guess I can’t help looking a little rattled by little things sometimes. Running out was really silly, I know that now, but I certainly didn’t know that this morning. And I swear, I won’t run out on you again, I won’t.”
“Hell, girl, don’t go swearin’ nothing to me. A woman has to do what she got to do.” There was a big smile and an even bigger hug, then she shooed me out the door. It was nearing closing time. I’d be back early the next morning.
Lawton drove me directly to the cabin where we ate frozen pizza and downed a couple beers. I had the feeling all through the evening that Lawton still wasn’t satisfied, and for a while, I even contemplated telling him the same vague story that I’d told Bessie. Finally, when I couldn’t let his uneasiness go unaddressed, I had to ask:
“So, what do I need to do to make things right with you again?” It was more of a light-hearted comment than anything particularly serious. Feeling a little woozy from the beer, I was ready for the mood to change. Up until then he’d been flipping through TV channels, and barely snuggled me in when I tried to get close.
He appraised me carefully while mulling over the question, then with little fanfare, he said, “How about you strip down to your birthday suit, crawl to the rope that’s hanging over there, and bring it back to me.”
His mood was as mysterious as what he asked me to do, and with a shiver of panic suddenly setting my nerves on edge, I began to do as he ordered. The need to obey came from deep within me, a part of my submissive soul that I could not avoid, but this did seem rather strange.
Crawling on my hands and knees, I felt more naked than I’d ever been with him. Something about the detachment in his attitude was far more troubling than his punishing anger earlier in the day – as if he was still judging me and I had to prove myself. My knees were sore as they moved along the rough hardwood, my palms the same, picking up grit that had been brought in on dirty cowboy boots only to be scattered all over the floor. But none of the discomforts really mattered. Keeping my mind focused on the rope he’d sent me to fetch, I felt a wave of surrendering desire sweep through my body with the amazing effect of arousing me more than I already was.
Only the abrupt sound of the front door opening caused me to waver, and when I looked to my right and saw Lawton’s friend Choate entering the cabin, I instantly blanched. He stood like a statue, looking down on me as if he wasn’t surprised to see me crawling like a dog on the boss’s floor.
My heart began to race the instant I recognized the scene for what it was, while remembrances from the past produced an ugly pandemonium in my mind. Should it bother me that Lawton was unknowingly taking a page from Ryder’s book of tricks? Should this suddenly turn me off? Cause me to flee the scene? I considered the questions in one split-second of hesitation, reminding myself that Lawton was not Jon Ryder. In an attempt to ignore both men and my own ramped up arousal, I continued with my silent trek until I’d reached the rope. The thick coil wouldn’t be easy to carry while traveling on hands and knees, which I suppose was my burden to bear. Sudden inspiration had me tossing it over my head so it hung down like an enormous yoke, and just that quickly, I became a beast of burden. I was halfway back to Lawton, making every possible attempt to ignore the man who had abruptly intruded on our scene, when Choate stepped in front of me, leaned down and grabbed the rope from around my head.
“On your feet, Samantha!” he ordered.
Lawton, who was still casually drinking his beer, nodded when I looked to him for confirmation. Right. My only assignment was to do as I was ordered.
I hardly knew the blond cowboy with ruddy skin and, when he was smiling, the enormous grin. However, he was hardly smiling as he took control of me. I knew Choate to be Lawton’s best friend since they were kids, which put him into a different category than the rest of the ranch hands that Lawton employed. Even so, his sudden appearance at the cabin was unnerving.
To my continued amazement, Choate began to rope my body, twisting and turning and encircling me again and again in the long length of scratchy rope. He pushed me this way and that, tightly roping my torso above and below my breasts until they stuck out like crude missiles and my nipples turned dark purple. The rope went around my neck and over my shoulders, wrapping my lower torso firmly, then continued down to my thighs. I noticed, whether significant or not, that my legs were not tied together but left free to move. In a final show of surrender, I gave up my hands, which the cowboy roped off behind me and secured to the thick knots at my back.
There was some artistry about Choate’s work that I could actually appreciate. How he’d come to have such expert skill in putting a woman in bondage might have been an interesting story, although what was more important to me was what the unexpected event meant for my evening with Lawton. Where would my dominant lover take me from this point was hard to say, but it was obvious that I’d become no more to him than a toy for his kinky pleasure. Was he really cut from the same fabric as Jon Ryder? I sensed that I had nothing to fear from these two men, and yet, the unexpected physical transformation was enough to give me the chills and hesitate nervously when Choate finished his work.
The tight and sometimes scratchy feeling of the bondage worked on my brain in unexpected ways. Even before the last knot was tied, a submissive feeling of complete surrender, unlike anything I could recall, had wiped aside most of my apprehensions. Then when Lawton said: “Go ahead and string her up,” his first words since Choate arrived, my consciousness was taken further down to its base level of arousal.
Continuing with his task, Choate strung rope over the exposed ceiling beams and attached them to the knots behind my back. There were pulleys used to pull me off the floor and suspend me into the air. My dazed mind could hardly compute what had happened to me in such a short time. One thing I knew for certain, the rope bondage was far more elaborate than I first realized and clearly not a spontaneous act
ivity.
My entire body was lifted into the air and held secure with the knots Choate had carefully fashioned behind me. My legs were tied back against my thighs and then suspended wide open by another pair of ropes. Soon enough, the copious juices so rampant in my pussy would be dripping to the floor. Meanwhile, violent shudders of desire rose from deep within me. The single touch of a finger to my clitoris would have made me come.
At some point during that interval, Lawton’s friend slipped out the door. I have no idea exactly when, in fact, he might have stole through the back entrance to the cabin since I don’t recall hearing the front door open and close.
While the expert rigger was making his exit, my night in bondage began with the mesmerizing Lawton circling me like he might a prize steer he planned to purchase. He moved in and out of my line of vision, as my body swayed in its suspended prison of rope. I felt as if I were swimming inside a dream, having been lifted from one consciousness to another that resided in a completely different and forbidden territory. The silence became unnerving. The tapping of his boots on the hardwood a reminder of my vulnerable position. The sound of the heels sliding against the dirty floorboards menacing. For a while he stood directly in my line of vision. The way I was hung from the rafters, the natural line of my eye became focused on the crotch of his jeans. I could almost see his cock throbbing beneath the denim. My mouth longed to open and my parched tongue taste the salty flesh, for it would quench my thirst. At the right angle, at just the right height, he could have raped my mouth and I would have loved him even more than I did before this strange scene began. The fierceness of my physical response to the defenseless position alarmed me. He made a pass around behind me where I could not see him for a long while, and when he emerged from that black hole there was a riding crop in one hand and a signal whip in the other. I became victim to the dark side of Lawton’s heart and the unsettledness of spirit that the scene seemed to evoke in us both. But as I dangled from the ceiling like a tethered bird, I could do nothing but accept this obvious demonstration of his control. Already, there were beads of perspiration forming on my face, and sweat running down my sides, the juices of sexual arousal beginning to gather at the opening of my pussy where my flesh itched to feel some kind of real sensation; any at all would do.
Anticipation swept all my thoughts aside. Every sense was focused solely on his slow, deliberate movements. And so, the stalking continued until I was about to scream for relief from my zealous worry.
Wisely, I remained silent. Lawton was in no mood to suffer a squawking protest from me. Nor had he been in such a frame of mind earlier in the day when he spanked me. He’d been tough and unyielding then, just as I expected he’d be now.
Earlier, our confrontation was fueled by his righteous indignation, but what was happening now was a very different thing, a very different Lawton Brady in charge.
I would succumb to whatever dangerous mood the placid dominant chose to show. Though it seemed during those bristling moments while I waited for him to act that he became little more than just another Jon Ryder…another man on a mission that seemed far more about him than it was about me. His pleasure. His need. His darkness begging a form in which it could express the cruelest of his passions. I was simply there to meet that need with my surrendered body.
In truth, I had little choice; my options were small. Submission. Surrender. The words hardly mattered when he could have taken from me what he wanted whether I consented to the act or not. There he had the advantage. There he could triumph, for he’d already conquered me – long before this day, this hour.
Yes, I had allowed this. Although in my defense I had no idea what Lawton had planned when the day moved from scenes of punishment and forgiveness into this reckless territory.
Had my bad behavior created a mood in Lawton that demanded this kind of act to follow? Or was I simply seeing a side of the man that until this day I’d only seen in small, measured glimpses? Were the day’s events independent of one another, or were they in some way connected? I can’t say that these thoughts were foremost in my mind as Lawton circled me with the implements ready to strike. But I knew that they were hovering in the back of my mind, festering there, and would be days later as I still sought answers to explain the extraordinary moments suspended in such artful bondage.
Like spoken barbs flung from an angry lover, the instruments of torture lashed out at me and landed rudely on my skin. My body jerked, tugging, wrenching, back arched. He worked me slowly, allowing each strike to speak before he delivered the next. After the initial shock, a lasting pain lingered long after the crop and whip fell back to the floor. This was for me to absorb before the man continued. Lawton circled me with cut after cut flailing on the exposed places of my naked body. My thighs took the brunt of the beating, and my sore ass suffered more abuse. My breasts were particularly vulnerable, jutting out in such a lewd display, but so were my shoulders and tummy more blank canvas upon which Lawton could paint his wrath. But it was the stings of leather striking my sodden, swollen pussy that produced livid screams that rose up above me, as if they weren’t even connected to my voice box and my hurting body. I lurched involuntarily, only to be struck in a more painful location…would this ever end! I began to worry.
Then there was Lawton’s warm hand roaming over the punished flesh in a reminder of what he’d done to me. My skin tingled with life, while my pussy was left spasming in powerful waves of anticipation, wanting cock, wanting Lawton’s cock – or that of any-old-man who happened on the scene. Not that I expected the cabin to suddenly fill with horny men in need of what I had to offer, but I doubt if I could have denied any man a place to satisfy their lust.
Certainly, Lawton alone would do just fine, but for a long while Lawton was busy with other matters… thoroughly preoccupied with making me the target of his malevolent passions.
As he continued with the whip and crop, I shrieked, pain lighting fires throughout me. Sometimes I broke through into the twisted realms of pleasure. For me the distinction between pain and pleasure was obvious, but I doubt that there was any real difference in my responses to the untrained eye. The twisted grimace, the gut-wrenching cry, the vicious body spasm – all would appear the same, whether I experience the cutting bites from the whip as a brutal terror or the pathway to sexual nirvana.
Like the blade of a knife cutting me to the core, the whip’s fall suddenly splatted across my tender labia and for moments after I suffered the pain with wails of agony, twisting madly inside the ropes. He couldn’t have stopped until he’d made me hurt in the most defenseless place on my body and, likewise, I would have felt cheated had he stopped short of this final cruelty.
At last, Lawton settled me with his warm hand resting on the hurting welts, and from them drawing out an easier eroticism, one that had been huddling somewhere in another dimension waiting to be set free.
Oh, but how powerful was the eroticism that began with his gentle touch!
My cumming began in a sudden and inexplicable frenzy and ended almost as violently. One after another the orgasms crashed through me while Lawton moved from place to place, from pinched nipples, to a tongued clitoris, to my asshole penetrated with several fingers. I exploded every time, almost shamed by what a slut for pleasure I’d become, but then not yet cognizant enough to know what was really taking place.
He began kissing me, kiss after kiss on my cry-weary mouth and tear-stained eyes; down my cheeks and arms into the crevice where the pulsating slit and bud that lay there groveled with silent, orgasmic need for more touch, more stimulation, more…
My hungry body desired more and Lawton gave to my unbearable need what his own desires dictated. All so silently, without a word. The ropes creaked overhead from the strain against the heavy beam. At times, the cry of a distant coyote penetrated the walls of the old place. Sometimes I heard the sound of the wind. But it was the sound of kissing, the groaning from deep inside my body that effected me most, those sounds and that of Lawton’s s
huffling boots on against the floor.
I almost cried when Lawton began the slow journey back through Choate’s intricate knots, unraveling me from the bondage. As the rope pulled delicately across my skin, I spasmed more. In anticipation of my release, numerous exhilarating sighs followed. Finally I was freed and my feet hit the floor for just a second before Lawton’s strong arms scooped me up in their embrace and he carried me into the bedroom.
“I love you, Lawton,” my dreamy voice made the announcement, the words a delirious and repeated refrain.
“And I love you,” he whispered back, before kissing my cheek.
I lay on my side with him at my back, his long, muscled body snuggling in behind me, his erection spearing me swiftly with a jab that might have taken me to the moon in one violent thrust. I cried out then settled in for another long and sensuous surrender to my lover, forgetting everything while getting used to the feel of his erection and the renewed spasms beginning deep in my belly and continuing until long after he finally ejaculated inside me and his hard erection dwindled and fell free.
As Lawton slept that night, I laid awake and stared out to the sky. A full moon was making its journey across the heavens and for a long while I was mesmerized by its passing. At times my hand, or maybe the blankets would graze my flesh, and find the remains of a welt. A whole universe of desire seemed contained inside the sore, tight place and I would relish the imprint it made inside my soul.
Two men had brought me to such dangerous sexual depths. Jon Ryder. Lawton Brady.
In my silent meditations, I wondered what makes a good man, or bad one, hunger for this? What makes them jump from civil behavior to sadistic pleasure? What makes it permissible in a modern society to turn love play into animalistic rituals like the one I had been subject to that night? I’d come to believe that Ryder was run by demonic forces that even he could not explain. That was the only excuse I could imagine. Either that or pure evil.
Nightmare of Vengeance Page 11