Sweet and Dirty

by Christina Crooks

  She considered possible replies, rubbing her forearms against each other to soothe them. “Maybe later,” she told him.

  10

  It was the third day, Nora thought. Her last day at Twisted Wood.

  She walked alone down the center of the gravel road, enjoying the late-morning warmth and the press of nature on either side.

  Tonight was the Chase and Capture fantasy rape event.

  And tomorrow morning she’d drive back down this road with Ryan, leaving behind the erotic bed-and-breakfast. Maybe forever.

  Her ass cheeks felt less sore today, at least. Her nipples, however, were distractingly raw and sensitive after the electrical play, even encased in a tight sports bra.

  The confusing thoughts she’d awakened with rose up again, clamoring and insistent.

  She broke into a jog, her running shoes making poor traction on gravel, then better traction on dirt as she turned off onto a narrow trail. Trusting her sense of direction to not get her lost, and her natural stamina and speed to outdistance any forest nasties, Nora ran, her ponytail slapping the bare skin of her back above and below the green bra top. She ran, trying not to think at all.

  The path grew steep, curving first away, then gently back toward the main house. She breathed steadily, climbing, feeling a new chill on her skin as perspiration began to cool her. Ignoring other branchings from the path, Nora made for a clearing she could see through the woods.

  By the time she burst into it, she felt the paradoxical energy and clarity running always gave to her. Bouncing on her heels, stretching, she let the peaceful beauty of her immediate environment wash over her like a balm.

  Near the entry to the clearing, a beautiful huge Oregon maple erupted from the dark soil like a giant moss-encrusted hand. Ferns and blackberry bushes ringed it and continued all the way around the cleared patch of sun-dappled ground, which was covered only in sparse clover in a few spots. Vines wove through the ferns, climbed a grove of young cedar trees. The spot was as pristine and perfect as a framed painting, and smelled of packed dirt, oxygen-rich air, and mystery.

  Nora just breathed deeply, appreciating it. How wonderful it must be to own twenty-one acres of such land, with a jewel like Twisted Wood at its center. Maybe if she worked enough years as vice president, she could eventually earn enough to buy something similar. Ten or fifteen years, tops. If the long hours without a life and little hope of vacation didn’t kill her.

  Her mood soured and she started stretching more vigorously. Time to run again.

  She stopped. Frowned at something she could just see through the trees. A building? But Twisted Wood wasn’t in that direction, she was sure of it.

  Curious, she stood on a large root, trying to see better. A tiny house, maybe a shed? But it had a window, and a steeply pitched roof, and a small porch.

  She squinted. Was that a bell hanging on a cupola?

  What could it possibly be? A church?

  Even as she pondered it, she was walking, making her own path past the maple and through the low ferns and grass. Vines clutched at her ankles, and once she was pretty sure she broke a spider web, but she only brushed at the web and walked more forcefully through the vines. It looked like a really old building.

  As she approached it, she smiled. It wasn’t a really old building. The single-room schoolhouse didn’t have enough of a rundown appearance to quite pull it off: artfully peeling paint and roughened wood shingles didn’t make up for the way the three front steps failed to sag with age, and the windows didn’t have any cracks or pits.

  If she was correct, Twisted Wood sat only half a mile downhill from this structure. Which meant Sylvester owned it.

  Which meant it probably had some kinky purpose.

  Compelled, she let her feet lead her up the stairs and to the front door, which opened easily.

  Enough light filtered through the windows to allow her to see the teacher’s desk front and center, behind which a large chalkboard dominated the single room. Filling the rest of the small room’s space, short benches created neat rows and a stool was placed in one corner.

  She walked over to the desk. On it sat a dictionary.

  The loud clanging of the school bell made her jump. She whirled.

  Sylvester stood in the doorway, backlit. She could see the shadow of his extended arm, and knew him instantly from outline alone. He’d dominated enough of her fantasies to recognize his silhouette.

  He let his arm fall to his side. The bell stopped. “The only wiring in the place.” He walked to the teacher’s desk, reached under it, and pulled out one kerosene lantern, then a second. He quickly lit them. A warm yellow glow bathed both of them, banishing the room’s remaining shadows.

  He stood behind the desk. Spread his arms. “Welcome to Twisted Wood Academy.” Lowered his arms. “Where naughty girls and boys learn interesting lessons.”

  She grinned, saw the answering small smile on his face. “You’re the instructor, I presume?”

  “Of course.” He bent, brought out a long synthetic rod, and placed it next to the dictionary. “I’m quite the disciplinarian. Spare the rod, and all that.”

  She laughed. The sight of him standing there with his hand resting lightly on the rod sent an unexpected jolt of lust though her. They were in the middle of wilderness, nobody nearby to hear her scream…. He could do whatever he liked to her and there wasn’t anything she’d be able to do about it.

  He fondled the rod, looking at her appraisingly.

  Her knees became weak.

  “Would you like a lesson? Something simple. Complexity might discourage you.”

  She looked at him. Had he just insulted her?

  “Something…elementary.” He picked up the dictionary. “Sit, please.” He didn’t even look at her.

  She thought about disobeying, just standing there with her arms folded. Or leaving. But what would be the fun in that? She sat. Then she folded her arms across her chest. Then unfolded them, feeling like an awkward grade-schooler.

  She couldn’t deny part of her thrilled to the game. Especially the part where they were totally alone, far from anyone who could come to her rescue if Sylvester chose to take advantage of her, if he decided to throw her down to the bare wood plank flooring and rip her clothes from her body….

  Nora made a small sound.

  Sylvester marked his place in the dictionary with one finger. “Are you feeling well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, Professor Vincent,” he corrected.

  “Your last name is Vincent?”

  He waited.

  “Yes, Professor Vincent.” She locked eyes with him, feeling her control over the situation slip away. She felt like a child before him. How did he shatter her poise so easily?

  “Nora.” He said her name, then waited.

  When she didn’t reply, he picked up the rod, strode to her. “Hold out your palms!”

  She hesitated, then extended them.

  “When a teacher calls your name, you stand. One stroke.” The rod flashed down, raising a line of fire in the middle of her left palm. She cried out.

  He didn’t wait for her to compose herself. “There will be discipline in my schoolroom. Nora.”

  She stood quickly.

  “Spell ‘mischievous.’”

  “Okay. M-i-s-c-h-i-v-i-e-o-u-s.” She looked at him, half in hope, half in dread.

  “Wrong. Hold out your hands.”

  “But—”

  “Did you say something?”

  She held out her hands. Received one whack. Then another. “For unruliness.” Sylvester gazed at her. “Why are you still standing?”

  She sat.

  “Nora.”

  She sighed, then stood.

  “Hold out your hands.”

  “What for?”

  “For being a filthy-minded little slut.”

  Her body tensed. A bright flare of lust shook her, and she felt herself yielding to the searing desire he always inspired. She craved him. Cr
aved more than his rough words and toys. She held out her hands slowly, defiant. He liked spirit, he’d said. “Do you feel manly, holding a long stick in your hand? Overcompensate much?”

  Their eyes locked again.

  “Hold out your hands.”

  “Here they are, big fella. Ouch!” She pulled her smarting hands back. Sat down.

  “Nora.”

  “Go to hell.”

  She barely saw him move. One moment he stood before her, the next she dangled over his shoulder.

  “Hey!” Fear made her tense up. Where was he taking her? What was he going to do?

  He slid her off his shoulder, sat on the stool in the corner, and put her over his knee, facedown.

  “Hey!” She struggled, but he just pushed her face back down until she enjoyed a scenic view of the wood planks and his black leather boot.

  He yanked down her pants.

  She struggled, enjoying the struggle even as her face suffused with mortification. Her body was all sweaty, dirty, and she wasn’t wearing panties under the running pants. She squirmed, lunging away, but he simply pulled her back.

  When he placed his large, warm hand on her bared ass, she stilled. “I’ll have to pound the defiance out of you, won’t I?” The velvet menace of his voice made her instantly wet.

  Instinctively, she responded the way they both needed. “Don’t hurt me.”

  She felt the tremor pass through his body. If anything his voice grew even more chill, more cruel. “You deserve it. You’ve earned it. You need it.” He punctuated each sentence with a hard spank. Each time, the force of it made her lunge forward under the stroke.

  Then he picked up the cane. “For your appalling lack of decorum in not wearing panties.” He striped her fanny three times with the cane, pausing torturously in between each strike. The compressing of the skin with his hits faded to deeper pain. Tears stood in her eyes by the time he pushed her off his lap.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He averted his gaze from her, as if she were not worthy even of his attention. “Place the hat on your head, and seat yourself. No!” he said when she went to pull up her pants. “Sit just as you are, to remind yourself just what a slutty little thing you really are.”

  Her hands trembled, putting on the tall, conical dunce cap. She collapsed more than sat on the stool, feeling the roughness of the wood against her assaulted bottom. She looked down. Her expensive running pants pooled around her ankles.

  She wanted Sylvester driving inside her so badly she saw the thick stool limbs and her mind’s eye imagined them penetrating her body. Didn’t he know what he did to her? The dormant sexuality of her body had been awakened, here at Twisted Wood. Her fantasy no longer existed only in the privacy of her own mind. She ached for Sylvester’s touch to make her fondest fantasy come true. She felt her mouth tremble, and knew she was on the verge of begging him. But that wouldn’t work.

  He didn’t want her begging, unless it was for him to stop.

  “Stay seated. You will give me correct answers to the following questions. If you hesitate—or worse, if you lie—you will be one sorry girl.”

  Her mind whirled. What would push him over the edge, make him seize her and force her? Should she defy him further? Or continue to play the chastised dunce, the helpless victim? She’d grown a little tired of the spelling challenges and palm canings. Time to ratchet it up!

  But as it turned out, his next words altered the game yet again. “Your checklist. I want to revisit it.” Sylvester stood at the front corner of the broad teacher’s desk, staring at her. “You gave a number of items a score of ‘three’ or higher. Spanking was a ‘four.’ Did you experience this activity? Yes or no.”

  “Yes.” She wanted to remind him he’d been there, but seeing the look in his eyes she didn’t quite dare.

  “Would you want to repeat the experience?”

  “Yes.” Now would be fine. His large, warm hands on her ass, on her body, touching her expertly and tormenting her mercilessly…and then thrusting up between her legs with enough power to split her in half. That’d be okay.

  His voice brought her back. “Tickling. A ‘three,’ I believe. Did you experience this activity?”

  “Sort of.”

  Three strides and he was beside her, his hands wrapping in her hair, grasping a thick wad at the back of her head and pulling it to a craned-back position to meet his gaze. “Yes or no.”

  Her eyes were pulled into slits. The pain in her scalp made her gasp. “Yes.” Mage had half-mockingly tickled her under her arms after tying her. It hadn’t done much for her. Unlike Sylvester’s possession of her hair and scalp. Sylvester’s grasp felt more like pressure than pain, now that she got used to it. A seizing of control that went to the heart of her psyche. She let her eyes broadcast her wants and desires to him.

  He remained impassive. “Would you repeat the experience?”

  “No.”

  He released the handful of her hair, but remained standing over her. “Electrical play.”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you want to repeat the experience?”

  “Yes.”

  “Feathers, fur, food.”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t experience those? Do you still want to?” His silken voice caressed her even as his hands touched her hair, stroking it until his fingers found her ear. He rubbed it between two fingers, making her want to purr.

  Until he pinched the top of her ear once, just hard enough to remind her.

  “Yes. Maybe a little.”

  Seemingly oblivious, he continued. “Role playing.”

  She caught her breath. Looked up at him. “No.”

  Surprise flickered in his eyes. “No? You haven’t done that?” He raised one eyebrow and tapped his palm lightly with the cane.

  “That’s not the kind of role playing I want.”

  He stared down at her. The air between them grew electric.

  His voice became soft, almost a whisper. “Don’t you think you’re in a dangerous position right now? A vulnerable one? Look at yourself.”

  She didn’t have to. Flushed face, parted lips, traces of recent tears, bruised hands, sore ass-cheeks, pants around her ankles. She knew what she looked like.

  She trembled with desire. She was aware the trembling looked like fear to Sylvester. She knew what the image of her like that did to him.

  She brought her legs more tightly together. Made a small sound of anguish.

  He dropped the cane.

  Pulled her to her feet by her hair.

  Sealed her lips to his, once, a bruising dry kiss. “Bitch,” he said. “Get those pants off.”

  She pushed at him, started to pull her pants up. “Don’t. Please. You can’t do this.”

  He slapped her hand away. Yanked her pants back down.

  She hit him, a weak punch that he probably didn’t even feel. Stumbled away, pulling her pants up.

  He caught her, collared her neck with his hand, walked her backward until she felt the cold edge of the teacher’s desk. He whirled her around, bent her over it. “How about I fuck you this way. Like this.” He ground his hardness against her crack.

  “No!” She struggled, splinters stabbing her fingertips. The little pains were only hot goads to her, with Sylvester’s enormous cock so near, almost there. He still wore his clothes. Damn it, why was he still dressed? She was about to come just from his pinning her. The thought of him penetrating her with his cock while scornful and violent made her pant with an animal lust she’d never felt before. “Let me go,” she pleaded, making sure a thrust of her hips brushed against his rigidity. She didn’t have to fake the desperate sound in her voice.

  He cursed. The sound of his zipper was loud in the empty schoolroom. She closed her eyes in silent gratitude, until she remembered to whimper.

  It acted on him like an aphrodisiac, and his castigation of her grew more vicious as he dry-humped her, a promise. “No,” he snapped when she struggled too hard. He gr
abbed a handful of hair, yanked her head back, spoke in her ear. “You’re not going anywhere until I’m done with you. And I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk.” When her head fell back, movement caught her attention. A shadow in the window. Someone watching?

  Sylvester saw it, too. He froze.

  A moment later, the wooden door flew open. A man entered, his apologies panted out. His frantic air made her not recognize him at first.

  Tense, Sylvester pushed away from her with, “Time out.”

  All she could do for a long moment was gape at the intruder. “Mage!” A thin sheen of sweat gave his olive-toned skin a frenetic glow. His hair stood up in wet spikes. His clothes stuck to his body in places. He looked as if he’d run a four-minute mile.

  He didn’t seem to even see her.

  Mage got his breath back. “Kiana, she has collapsed, she will not let anyone call an ambulance. She is asking for you.”

  Sylvester nodded. He walked as he buttoned. His brusque voice galvanized. “Nora. Get dressed. Mage? Wait for Nora.” Sylvester disappeared through the still-open door.

  Nora dressed, unselfconscious. “What happened?”

  “Kiana. Stubborn, willful woman. I do not know what is wrong with her. No ambulance. She is foolish.” His tone of frustration with a woman’s stubbornness made laughter well up unexpectedly in Nora.

  “We’d better go, then. Help protect her from herself.”

  Mage nodded, serious. “Yes.”

  She snorted but followed him, her mind at odds with her body. Her mind mulled over the latest development, filled with curiosity and concern about Kiana, along with a tiny jealous worry that Kiana inspired Sylvester to drop everything to rush to her assistance.

  Her body still burned. Her skin prickled with the memory of Sylveter’s harsh touch, and butterflies in her belly reminded her of him with every step. He’d raised her to a cataclysmic threshold of physical desire…and just left her there.

  Mage moved with surprising grace and speed through the forest. He seemed able to avoid the vines catching at her ankles. He never stumbled, even when the moist ground broke and slid under his feet on the downslope.