Betrothed to the Bandit

Chapter Nine

Lydia frequently stared out the window at the storm raging on, her thoughts confused and tortured. One memory that haunted her was her harrowing attempt to escape. She found herself watching Dean as he worked around the cabin, her heart aching with the knowledge that her actions could have killed such a good and talented man. At the time she ran away, she couldn’t have cared less for his safety, thinking only of herself, but now the thought of getting him killed bothered her greatly.

He didn’t hold what she’d done against her. He seemed to blame himself more, which did little to assuage her guilt. He had called what she’d done foolish, but it had been in a mild way, in between trying to assure her that he wouldn’t harm her.

She imagined him changing into his bandit persona, the strong and terrifying man who had insisted on her compliance. She imagined him making her pay for her mistake. She would see glimpses of it in him sometimes. He would assume a stern expression that made her insides quiver when he instructed her on how best to build a fire or how to use the rope for direction from the house to the barn.

Once when he brought her to him in a hug, she knew by the way he stroked her that he longed to lay with her again. She loved the feel of him, the closeness of him. He had the effect of softening her.

“What troubles you, Lydia?” he asked. She looked up to find his expression stern. His eyes were narrowed, as if searching for the truth. She loved that expression on his face. It always reminded her that she was with a strong and capable man.

“Does it seem as if something troubles me?” she asked.

“It does. You look guilty or worried.”

She sighed, wondering how best to express how she felt without sounding like she had a screw loose. “It’s hard to explain. Sometimes I think about how I ran from you and you nearly died rescuing me. I feel guilty about that.”

“You know I don’t blame you, though? The circumstances for that are easily understood.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, pulling away. She walked to the other side of the cabin and buried her face in her hands. She could feel the heat from her face at what she was about to admit. “Sometimes I feel as though I ought to be punished. I think of you as the stagecoach bandit, the terrifying robber, and I imagine being punished by him. I know I sound batty.”

When she brought herself to look at him, his eyes were twinkling. “It’s not batty. You’re more transparent than you think, darlin’. I can see what you like about me. You like the idea of the frightful bandit now that you know I’m not truly dangerous.”

“Yes! That’s just it. Odd, isn’t it?”

“Not odd at all, but I must warn you… Now that I know for sure what I only suspected before now, I will punish you when you need it.”

Lydia’s stomach fluttered, so aroused by his words she could hardly speak. “And how… how will you punish me?”

???

Dean stared into her wide eyes, noticing the flash of arousal at the thought of punishment. He’d seen the same look in her eyes when he dominated her even slightly in bed or used a sterner tone than normal to ensure she knew he was serious about something.

He liked teasing her and making her laugh, but he really liked her response to his dominance. When she had declared him stupid and na?ve, he’d worried he would never earn her trust and respect. But now having earned not only her trust, but also her submission, he would treat it as an honor and not ignore it.

He reached down and unbuckled his belt, releasing the leather from around his denim trousers, pulling it through the loops in one long motion that caused a whoosh to echo against the walls.

Lydia licked her lips and stared at the belt as he folded it in two. Having never used a belt for the purposes of whipping before, he took a practice swipe on the top of his own leg, igniting a burn even through denim that he knew would make quite an impression on her bottom.

“Take off all your clothes, put them on the sofa,” he said.

“All of them?”

“Did I stutter?” he growled.

Lydia’s eyes didn’t veer from his face as she lifted her trembling fingers to the first button at the collar of her dress. She undid each one, then allowed the dress to fall to the floor. She stepped out of her petticoat and finally her drawers and stockings. She placed the clothing unfolded on the sofa and then clasped her hands in front of her womanhood, appearing completely naked and vulnerable. Her head was bent, her cheeks flushed pink.

Dean allowed himself to look at her for a moment. She was loveliness personified, and she was his. He walked to the kitchen table holding the belt. “Come on over here, young lady.”

She heard her sharp intake of breath as she meekly padded over next to him, still fixing her gaze to the floor.

“Bend over the table.” His voice was steel. While he wouldn’t have chosen to punish her over running out into the snowstorm, she’d asked for it. She craved his dominance, and he was glad to deliver.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with what looked like fear, but the arousal in her gaze was unmistakable. Dean watched as she turned around, revealing to him the entire back side of her naked body. Her skin was the color of cream, white and unblemished from the nape of her neck to the heels of her feet.

She bent over the table so slowly it seemed intentionally provocative, though Dean doubted that was the case. She was only carefully obeying him.

“Stretch your arms in front of you,” he said. “That’s it. Palms down.”

Her legs were parallel to each other, thighs touching. “Spread your legs apart, darlin’,” he instructed. He wanted her to adopt a sturdy stance, but he also wanted to glimpse the soft lips of her pussy that appeared when she obeyed. He was surprised to see that her lower lips already appeared slick. He touched her back, causing her to start. “Easy,” he said, his voice so gravelly he barely recognized it. He slid his hand around the perfect curve of her bottom and brushed her pussy lips with the tips of his fingers. She moaned and arched her back, practically begging him to explore her more deeply.

That would have to wait. For the time being, he was more than satisfied with what he’d discovered, which was that she was wet with need just by being prepared for punishment. He removed his hand from between her legs and wiped her juices on her own ass, then clapped her left cheek with a smart swat. “Naughty girl, getting wet for punishment. Your body is begging for chastisement, and that’s what it’s going to get.”

She moaned in what sounded like humiliation but offered no argument. There was no way she could deny it. He had felt the proof on his own fingers. If he’d had any reservations before about whipping her with the thick strap, they were eliminated completely.

He tapped the folded leather against her bottom, noticing as he did the light pink mark the single swat from his hand had left. She marked easily, and he wondered what shade of red the first stroke with the belt would cause. He reached back and brought the strap down smartly across the center of her buttocks. She didn’t cry out, and instead drew in a sharp breath. Immediately a red welt appeared on her skin.

Dean switched the belt to his other hand and ran his right hand over the mark. “How did that feel?” he asked.

“Like I’m being punished.”

“And that’s what you want, isn’t it, darlin’?”

It took her a moment to respond, and Dean imagined what thoughts that might be passing through her mind in that moment. Embarrassment over the realization that she desired punishment, and further embarrassment for admitting it.

“Yes, that’s what I want,” she said meekly.

Dean returned the belt to his right hand, drew his arm back, and whipped her again, this time a little lower. She cried out but remained in the same position. After a very brief pause, he brought the belt across her tender skin again, crossing over the two previous stripes he’d left.

Lydia squealed and danced from one foot to the other. Her hands were balled into fists, no longer calmly palming the table.

“One more,” he decided.

She looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I don’t want another.”

He nodded. “And that’s precisely why you must have it. Otherwise, this wouldn’t truly be punishment, would it? Merely a prelude to pleasure.”

She blinked and returned her head facing forward. “I suppose you’re right about that,” she said, her voice strong with determination to endure another lick.

“Good girl,” he said. He landed the final stroke, a bit lighter than the first three.

She seemed to sigh in relief, and he thought to himself that he was a bit soft on her. He would likely always take that approach. He wanted her to feel dominated, not beaten.

He ran his hand over her hot flesh, caressing her punished skin. She sighed and remained bent over the table, accepting his ministrations. When she widened her stance further, Dean understood the invitation. He delved between her legs and explored every inch of her sweet pussy. His fingers were coated in her juices within seconds. With the knowledge that she was fully ready for him, his cock strained painfully against his denims. He released it, and his erection surged forward.

He swirled his forefinger around her clit and listened as her breath became ragged.

“Take me like this, Dean. I need it. I need you.”

He increased the pressure and speed he was applying on her clit. “You know this is how you deserve to be taken,” he growled. “Bent over with a hot punished bottom.” He guessed his words would arouse her further, and he wasn’t mistaken.

She groaned. “Please,” she begged. Her thighs began to tremble.

Dean removed his hand from her pussy, causing an anguished wail, which only served to excite him more. He would deny her orgasm until he was ready to give it to her, and that would be when he was balls deep inside of her.

He took hold of her hip with one hand, enjoying the fleshy firm feeling of her in his palm, and grasped his cock with the other. Slowly he guided the thick tip inside of her. The walls of her opening stretched around him.

“Oh!” she said, sounding surprised by the sensation, and also deeply excited.

He waited only a brief moment before he released his cock from his hand and clutched her other hip. It was driving him mad with need, being only partway inside of her velvety core, and it took all his self-control not to surge into her with all the gentleness of a sledgehammer.

He pushed into her a little more, and the tightness around him caused his heart to pick up speed, especially when her pussy contracting around him. He squeezed her hips and, as he thrust toward her, he pulled her tight against him, causing his cock to slide into her fully.

She let out a moan. Her hands gripped the edges of the table as he thrust in and out of her. She let out another moan, and Dean could hear the excitement in it. That was all he needed to speed up his thrusts. His need grew such that he had to fuck her hard. Her luscious bottom, striped red from his belt, rippled after each of his thrusts.

“Oh, Dean,” she cried out, her voice high-pitched. He could tell that she was nearly there.

“Come for me, Lydia,” he growled, and slapped her bottom hard as he rammed into her even harder and faster.

She undoubtedly could hear it was an order, not a request, and for someone like Lydia who craved dominance, it was all she needed to take her over the edge.

Her legs trembled violently, her back arched, and she screamed so loudly that if they weren’t isolated in the middle of a snowstorm, he would have worried that someone outside would hear them.

He placed one hand on her lower back and focused on constraining himself until the last tremor of her pleasure receded, then removed his cock from inside of her and released himself over her ass, grunting with the exertion and pleasure of it. Her body heaved up and down on the table with the giant inhales and exhales of her breath.

Dean watched his seed slide over the welts on her bottom. It was the most depraved, most delicious thing he’d ever seen. Never had he felt the surge of possession before as strongly as he did in that moment, witnessing her marked so conspicuously with both pleasure and pain.

Once he’d recovered from the orgasm, he left her bent over the table, dripping with cum, as he dressed himself. He found a clean cloth, wet it, and proceeded to gently wipe her bottom with it. The welts from the belt were tender and raised. “You might have some trouble sitting, darlin’,” he said. He set the cloth aside and took her naked body into his arms.

She leaned her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around him with a giant, contented sigh. “I’ll lie on my belly,” she said.

He walked with her to the bed and observed her carefully sit before turning and laying herself face-down. Her exquisite body, unblemished ivory except for the four red lashes on her bottom, lay exposed to his view. He sat next to her on the bed and stroked her from the nape of her neck down to the backs of her thighs.

“This is heaven,” she said. “We’re perfect for each other.”

He couldn’t have agreed more.