Captured by Time (7 page)

Cimmy had never realized how hard it was to simply obey someone, especially when one was conflicted about whether or not obedience was a good idea. Even though she didn't want to be restrained, and she'd never thought of being bound as an advantage or a kindness, she recognized with a start that it would have been so much easier for her to obey him if he had tied her hands so that she
couldn't
bring them down, even if she wanted to.

As it was, they began to creep further and further downwards, to where she knew he didn't want them, bending at the elbows to try to be as unobtrusive as possible, but they were lowering almost of their own accord. She wasn't even sure what she was going to do with them when they reached him—he was much too big for her to move or do much to him, especially from this terribly vulnerable position.

And Jude was thoroughly engaged in his task, having exposed that blossoming little clit of hers, holding her lips apart with one hand while the other searched for and found her opening. He bathed the tip and more of it in her freely flowing libation, then very, very gently, began to press his index finger inside her.

* * * * *

He was aware, however, on the fringes of his consciousness, that she was disobeying him. That her arms were slowly, stealthily moving closer and closer to him, so that soon she would be able to reach out and touch him. But for the moment, because he simply couldn't resist the impulse, he settled his mouth over her and pushed that thick, stiff digit further inside, demanding a response from her and getting a groan that sounded as if she was being torn apart but was thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

She didn't seem to be experiencing any pain from the presence of his finger within her, so as he kept a wary eye on where her arms and hands were, since they weren't where they were supposed to be, he began to use it to fuck her, not so gently, listening carefully for any signs of distress, but there were none. Quite the opposite, in fact.

And he didn't spare her the avid attentions of his mouth, either. As they were much less constrained than they had been the first time they were together, he went all out, doing things he hadn't intended to until she was very near her climax, almost demanding a response that she seemed incapable of denying him.

But still, those hands continued to descend towards him. He wasn't worried they were going to be able to do much when they got there—he was much too big for her to be able to lift him off her or impede him much at all.

However, it was the principle of the thing. She was disobeying him—again—and he wouldn't have it, even if he did intend to let her go tomorrow, although the thought caused a painful twinge in his chest. There was no telling what would happen between then and now, and he intended to ensure that she would do as he told her to do, and there was only one way he could think of to do that.

* * * * *

As soon as one of her hands—her right hand, as she was right handed—began to come close enough to almost touch him, he lurched up and surprised her by grabbing hold of both it, and its close behind match. And then, using the leverage created by pulling on them, he managed to get her onto her tummy in the middle of the bed while maneuvering himself out from under her in record time. Before she had a chance to realize what he was doing and try to prevent it, he had her arms lashed together and then secured to the top of the bed with spare lengths of leather that had spilled out onto the floor from a saddle bag. Then he stood at the end of the bed and pulled first one ankle away to one side, then the other, separating and binding each of them to a corner with leather, so she was tied fast to the bed.

"Little miss, I can't for the life of me understand why you refuse to follow orders," he boomed. "Has no one taught you to obey a man?"

She huffed. "Hardly."

He glared at her, licking his lips when all he wanted to do was taste her wet pussy. "Hardly what?"

"It's not the same where I'm from. Women don't have to listen to what a man says. A woman can do whatever she wants. No man has the power to say otherwise."

Jude paused, taking it all in. "Well, that is a mighty shame. And you like that?"

Cimmy remained motionless, clearly thinking about his question. Very slowly, she shook her head. "No, I don't like it at all. I much prefer a man to act like a… man. Dominant, strong, protective. Like you."

"Well then, darling," he growled, "you are about to see how a man acts when a woman refuses to obey." Then he pulled the blanket up over her back, arranging it carefully so it ended right where the spankable portion of her behind began, and doffed his shirt to cover her calves and feet. He couldn't imagine how horrible he'd feel if he accidentally hit her back or lower legs. The rest of her—the parts revealed between the two drapes, anyway—was fair game.

As he did so, she of course deduced a general idea of what it was that he intended, and began arching up violently as best she could, and generally trying to work herself free. So he took a relatively thick length of leather and ran it across her lower back, attaching it to the bed at either side, eliminating her ability to raise her behind off the bed, and sending her into a paroxysm of fighting against the new restriction.

And then, as he stood there staring down at her bare behind, he unbuckled his belt, and her efforts at escaping redoubled before his eyes; not that it did her one bit of good. She was there, and that was where he wanted her to be, and where he was going to keep her until he thought she had learned her lesson.

"Have you never been punished before me? Never had your ass tanned by leather?"

She shook her head. "Never," she panted. "But…"

"But what, Cimmy?"

"But I want to be," she replied, in a tone sounding very much like pleading. Regardless of whether she deserved a true belting or not, this woman
needed
it, and he was definitely the man who could handle the job.

Jude didn't much believe in delaying what needed to be done, no matter how distasteful it might be… and it was to him, at least to have to be quite this harsh with her. Oh, there were definite stirrings between his legs, but overall, he preferred to have her over his lap and be spanking her with his hand, the way God intended, so that she could feel a closeness and intimacy with him—especially with his hand swatting her backside—that this position was definitely lacking.

But sometimes sterner measures were called for, and she had already shown an appalling lack of respect for his wishes. He intended to rectify the situation now, before she did something he was going to regret. They were of different beliefs, different lives, different in more ways than he could put his finger on. But she was in his world now, and it was his duty to show her what would be expected.

As he brought the wide leather strap down across her cringing bottom for the first time, and the heavy
thwack,
as well as the resultant bellow of agony she issued, resounded within the small room, he began to speak, ignoring both of the other sounds. "I don't like to do this, Cimmy. I would much prefer it if you had done as you were told and kept your arms out of my way so that, instead of yelling and moaning because you're getting your little behind blistered, you were doing it because of my mouth between your legs. But you're a stubborn woman, and despite the fact that you say you're a doctor, I can't help but think you're not very smart. As I've pointed out to you on various occasions, one of which was just a few minutes ago, I have a gun. Secondly, you know I won't hesitate to spank you, or worse, if you don't obey me. And lastly, you can't help but realize that I'm a hunted man, and that I live a very dangerous life. I'm sorry that you got tangled up in it. But until I can get you somewhere safe, I am responsible for you, and I intend to keep you safe. Even if that means that I have to tan your hide every hour on the hour to help you remember that I mean you to do exactly what I say!"

The belt had risen and fallen more times than she could count, and he wasn't bothering to. How many stripes he gave her was of absolutely no meaning to him. He would be able to tell when she had accepted what he'd said by the quality and quantity of her tears, and he wouldn't let up until he got her to that point.

Cimmy was in agony from the time that length first seared her flesh until the last. It was wide enough, and her backside was small enough that, even as he marched it up and down her butt and the backs of her thighs, every single livid, vivid stripe overlapped with at least one other—sometimes two or three, especially near the end, when it seemed that he had not only increased the strength of the lashes, but also the frequency, as if he was trying to drive her towards something. It took much longer than he had intended, but he set his teeth against wavering in his resolve, and didn't relent in the least.

Finally, she collapsed onto the bed, and he could see that she was no longer fighting him, or herself, or even the belt itself. And even though he would have given anything to stop there, he knew he couldn't. Instead, he gave her ten more, delivered very slowly and deliberately, and they were the worst she had yet experienced, each one eliciting a full, howling scream of its own, until on the fifth one, her voice broke and she could barely whisper the depths of her misery, not that she didn't give it a good try every time that leather seared her flesh again.

When he was done, he literally threw the belt away from him and got on the bed between her legs, leaving her bound as he lay atop her. For the second time, he felt he couldn't take the time to climb out of his pants, but simply rearranged things to release himself, his rampant erection springing from its confinement and swelling to even more enormous proportions.

He could feel the heat he had created within her backside as he lay over her, even through several layers of fabric, using his fingers to guide himself to her entrance, and was both amazed and relieved to realize that she was at least as wet as she had been the first time he had made love to her.

As he very slowly pressed himself inside her, he reached up beneath her to capture a breast in each hand, locating each nipple and pinching and rolling it as he claimed her to the hilt, seating himself within her fully, all at once, then rocking a bit experimentally, to make sure he was truly surrounded by every bit of her that he could get—and he was. There was nowhere else for him to go but out of her and back in, which was what his body was demanding.

But he grabbed a fierce hold of himself and forced himself to wait. He wanted her to be aroused too, although he knew he might have set himself an impossible task considering the condition of the bottom that was snugged up against him, and how she had moaned as he'd joined their bodies together. He couldn't really tell whether that was pleasure or pain, but he would have bet on the side of the latter.

At first, when the belt had finally stopped its rise and fall, she'd barely moved, lying there and trying to get to grips with what he'd done to her, trying to wrap her head around how much pain she was in, yet how aroused she felt at the same time. So when he climbed onto the bed between her legs and began to fondle her, rooting around rudely between them as if he had every right, she all but moaned in delight.

And she was sure he thought he did have every right, after all, as he'd said, he was the one with the gun. Cimmy had clearly lost her mind—even more than she already had. She had actually asked—no, begged—to be spanked by him. Her curiosity about what his belt would feel like on her flesh had overwhelmed all sense of reason. Even as she cried out in pain—and Jesus, did it hurt—she still wanted more. She didn't want him to go easy. She really wanted a true whipping. The feel of submission, surrender, and allowing Jude to dominate was by far the most powerful and erotic feeling she had ever experienced. And even now, as she recovered from his discipline, her body hungered for more as she remained there, bound and helpless. She'd wondered if he would release her, but he made absolutely no move to do so.

Instead, she felt him locate her no longer virginal entrance and felt and saw every one of his motions as if her mind had a camera angle view of what was happening to her, as he released himself from his pants and underwear and then nosed her cunny with his fully erect cock. Almost in the same motion, she felt him begin to invade her, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

It felt much, much better than she wanted it to, almost but not quite enough to overpower the way her flesh continued to throb and sear, like a burn did after the fact. The pain continued to mount, even though the punishment was over, probably because of the way his movements against her caused the fabric of his pants to rub over her abominably sensitized flesh.

But still, to her deep shame, it wasn't enough to override the pure, unadulterated pleasure of his possession. She could feel it not only in her quim, but also in her breasts and nipples, and her scalp and her toes, which were curling unconsciously until she forced them to straighten out. Every little bit of her felt every excruciating centimeter of him as he sank himself into her—not quickly, not as if this was something he needed or wanted to get over with, but with humiliating deliberation, as if he was savoring it as much as her body wanted her to.

And that was before he reached down to claim a nipple in each hand, teasing and pinching them, rolling them tightly between those big, callused fingers of his, adding insult to injury and ratcheting up her level of desire to the point where she thought she was going to come right then and there.

And when he touched the bottom, when she had no more of herself to give him, she felt so full of him that it was almost unbearable—stretched and firmly packed and… possessed. Truly possessed, in a way she hadn't felt even last night when he'd taken her. She wanted to move—to her complete humiliation, not to get away from him, not to escape this degrading thing that he was doing to her, but to lift her hips up to him, to offer herself to him, to give herself up to him completely, even though there was really nothing left for him to take.

As she tried to deal with her own body's betrayal, to her horror, his mouth found its way to her ear and he breathed into it in a voice that was almost as hoarse as hers was. "I'm going to make you come as I fuck you, Cimmy. I'm going to make you come hard."

Her mind rebelled at that idea completely, but was just as completely overridden by the rest of her, which was wholly on board with whatever he wanted to do… as long as he brought her to completion while he did it.

His right hand released its possessive hold on her breast to move downward—and she felt him lift himself a bit away from her and had to ruthlessly suppress a cry of loss that would have given her away—to her mons and below, where it sought and found a clit that was wholly, fully engorged, just like himself within her.

She was more than wet enough to provide him with the lubrication he needed to do exactly what he wanted to with her, and those broad fingers immediately began to rub themselves over her as she felt him draw his hips back to plunge himself back inside.

He kept up a terrible rhythm for the longest time, as if the two of them were competing to see how long they could hold out against each other and their orgasms. And he played dirty; varying the strength with which he fucked her, and the ways in which he tormented her clit, to say nothing of how he pulled and twisted and crushed her nipple, then soothed it for long moments… only to repeat the cycle.

And when he finally settled into fucking her very hard, driving himself into her relentlessly while his hands continued to torture and tease her, she was the one who broke first, ruining her voice even further as she tried to scream it out while her body contracted helplessly—ecstatically—around him. And he didn't stop then, didn't let her go or let her relax, but hurled her into her next orgasm without a break, and then her third, and after a longer while, her fourth, during which he lost control of himself and grabbed her hips to pull them as close up against him as he could, losing himself within her over and over as he poured himself into her.

Cimmy recovered first, but then she had come first, too. She didn't know if he was asleep up there or what, but she used the time to see if she could make out how to get out of these bonds, and began to try to peer around the room in the firelight, looking for something she could reach that might help her in that pursuit.

But what she saw instead was a dark patch right under where he had been lying on his side while trying to warm her. And she knew it wasn't anything as innocuous as water or sweat; it was too thick and dark.

It was blood. There was no mistaking it. He was bleeding.

* * * * *

Unaware of what she had discovered, Jude knew that, for the second time, he was spending much too long on top of her than he should, but he couldn't make himself get up—even though she seemed to be even more fidgety than when he had been giving her the belt, for some reason—he was just that spent. Eventually, still breathing hard even after so much time, he finally rolled off her.

"You're bleeding!" she croaked as loudly as she could. "Let me up so I can take a look."

"I know," he answered calmly, staring down at her. Jude realized that he wasn't at all sure he wanted to let her go. It certainly removed the concern about whether or not she would obey him if he kept her trussed up all the time. It definitely did have its merits…

But he didn't really want to restrict her quite that much—at least not now. It wasn't safe to do that, either. If someone came in unexpectedly, she would need to be able to move.

Now, after he got all of this nonsense settled, and came back to get her so that he could have her to himself in the cabin he owned in the hills of Virginia, then all bets were off. Yes, no doubt about it, he wanted Cimmy as his. Whoever this woman was, wherever she came from, all he knew was that she belonged to him. He would do whatever it took to provide for her and keep her safe. When he was declared an innocent man, his next mission would be to make sure Cimmy was a happy woman every day of her life. Safe, loved, cherished… he would make damn sure she knew the meaning of those words.

With a mild reluctance that he didn't bother to hide from her in the least, he began to release her from her bonds, but only her feet at first, and then he gathered her to him while her hands were still bound together above her head. "I hope I've made my point about you obeying me, Cimmy Monroe."

She frowned but nodded, and he untied her wrists, only somewhat hesitantly.

"Let me see your wound," she demanded, sitting up and reaching for his side, where she could undoubtedly see that there was a long gash.

But he was already buttoning his shirt again. As the fire died down, it was getting to be a little chilly in their cozy hideaway, and he wasn't interested in letting her poke at him. Regardless of what she said, she was a woman, and women weren't doctors. Besides, he was fine.

When she persisted, he reached around and grabbed one cheek of her ass, squeezing it as hard as he could. She yelped—sort of—and tried to move away from him, but found he was directly in front of her, so there was nowhere to go.

"I said no, Cimmy. We're both tired and we need to get some sleep. We have a long, hard day ahead of us tomorrow, and I want us both to be well rested for it, especially you." He heard her impatient sigh and ignored it as he gave her a swat to that cheek that, based on her quick intake of breath, reignited a level of intense discomfort that had just barely begun to recede in the afterglow. Then he settled back down with her, arranging them once more in spoon fashion, so she would get the most of the heat of the dying fire. "Sleep. You must be exhausted," he said.

"I need to see if you need stitches. Was it properly cleaned? You could get an infection!"

"Tomorrow, Cimmy," he said with a yawn. "It's too dark in here anyway for you to do any good. We've had a long day and an even longer one tomorrow."

"But—"

"Am I going to have to spank you again, stubborn woman?"

She paused and crossed her arms with a pout. "Fine. But when it gets infected…"

Jude kissed her softly on the cheek and then whispered, "Sleep, beautiful lady, sleep." And he was asleep as he finished his last word.