Nanette's Capture (Brackish Bay Book 1) Page 6

  When it was finished, Lauren showed me where to leave the dirty linens and gave the rug to a man outside to beat clean. She gave me directions for the other men's rooms, but I flew through them, paying very little attention. My mind was preoccupied by Jeffery's threat, by his promise. I found that even the slightest movement of fabric on my nipples drove them into hard points, and the fabric tied up around my thighs had shifted, grazing my swollen lips with a brazenness I didn't know clothing could possess.

  Chapter 5

  Supper was crowded. The table was filled with men, and this time I saw that there were other women. Some wore clothing similar to mine, and some were dressed more like Suzanna or Lauren. I had untied my skirts, smoothing the crumpled cloth as much as possible – not much – and jumped at every chance to take something to the table. There were new women in the kitchen, too, all of them dressed like myself.

  Roy stood up at the head of the table and the place fell quiet. “Suzanna! Come here.”

  My sister went, blushing at becoming the center of attention.

  “This girl is my latest ward. She will stay in Marcus's family, with his daughters, to be cared for as his own.”

  A few claps, a few handshakes, and the man who must be Marcus, broad with dark hair, nodded, solemn and delighted. The woman next to him seemed to be his wife; she smiled cheerfully at Suzanna. My heart constricted. Where did they live? Where did they come from? How would I see her? I'd lived with her, day in, day out, for the last fourteen years. How could I stand to be separated from her now? At least they didn't seem cruel, I reminded myself. At least she would have other girls around her. Still, my hands balled into fists and I bit my lip to keep from crying. She seemed less shocked than I was, and I remembered the woman in the kitchen. Had this been discussed while I was washing Jeffery's room and longing for his bed? Was I a terrible elder sister, for not paying better attention?

  Too soon, she was seated between them, nervous but smiling.

  Roy quieted them again. “Nanette!”

  I went to him, stumbling. He dragged the padlock on my neck chain around so everyone could see it.

  “This woman is my slave. I have given her service to Jeffery.”

  Louder cheers, a few hoots and hollers. Jeffery rose, then stood behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist. Despite his looming menace, I felt a measure of safety there. I didn't know the men in the dining room. I barely knew Jeffery. But I trusted my place with him. I understood what I had to do to stay in his favor, and when I did, he gave me pleasure, gave me certainty. His hand under my chin lifted it, and I felt my nervousness replaced with a measure of pride. Obviously he was known to these men, and they seemed pleased that he had been rewarded with me. Even the women smiled. Except Stephanie. But I was rather glad she didn't – her smiles seemed to indicate the opposite of most peoples'.

  Roy sat down. Jeffery did also, a few seats away, and pushed me down onto a cushion at his feet. I obeyed, my heart beating wildly at the thought of all the people seeing me, eating under the table like an animal. He caressed my hair, and when the plates were brought out, he leaned over to set one on the floor for me. I stared at it, my stomach tight with hunger and queasy with humiliation. What did he expect me to do? Eat it with my mouth like a dog? My lips trembled and I looked up, eyes wide and pleading. He picked up the spoon from beside his plate and passed it down to me with a wink. I gasped, overcome with relief.

  Leaning forward onto one elbow, I ate with the spoon, trying to hide it, trying not to watch the other women under the table who ate with their mouths in the plates. Stephanie was one of them, and she shot me a venomous look when she caught sight of the spoon. I looked away, and noticed that only the women who had chains with padlocks on their necks were under the table. The other half of the women had medallions, and had remained seated. A brief stab of envy caught me in the stomach and I stopped eating for a moment. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the spicy scent of the fish stew, the vegetables, and wondered if it would taste better on top of the table or not.

  Jeffery's hand caressed my shoulders then, and I looked up. He wasn't looking at me, just eating, absently petting me with his free hand. I stayed still for a long minute, watching him talk and laugh with the others at the table. Was this all my life was going to be? A pet? A slave who did menial chores and pleased his cock? He glanced down, feeling my eyes on him, and his fingers caught my ear, rubbing it until I mewed with pleasure. Was that such a horrible fate, if it was?

  Supper finally ended. I watched the other women lounge under the table, having their own whispered conversations with each other while the ones seated at the table conversed. Alone, I got bored, and finally lapsed into memories of our hike, trying to recreate the path we'd traveled, trying to figure out where we'd gone wrong on the way to Caladonia.

  Abruptly, Jeffery stood up, startling me. I came to attention, knocking my head on the underside of the table and yelping. He reached down, rubbing my head. His voice in my ear again. “Poor little slave. That's not a good pain, is it? I can give you a better one.” My body reacted positively, and I whimpered, just a little. He snapped his fingers, and I followed him, crawling, uncertain if I should stand. No one said anything about it, so I continued to crawl as the conversations swirled nonchalantly around me. I risked a glance at Suzanna. She was talking to the woman who would be taking care of her, and didn't seem to have noticed me. Good. I continued following Jeffery to his room.

  He was taking off his clothes when I got there, hanging them on the hooks. This time, he closed the door. I knelt, watching him. He was muscular, and his thick cock was already hard, standing at attention. I licked my lips, remembering his harsh attentions. He turned to me. “Strip.”

  I obeyed, unclipping the chain around my waist and carefully folding up the cloth strips, leaving the knots as they were. He pointed to the bed. “Here.”

  I climbed up, breathless with anticipation. Would he fuck me now? I realized I'd wanted it since the first time I came around his fingers.

  He shoved me face first into the mattress, the sheets I'd put on the bed just earlier. My bottom high in the air, I whimpered, uncertain. Would he spank me? And I found the thought – while frightening – was not abhorrent. His fingers traced my crease and I tensed, my bottom hole tightening. He chuckled, and pressed a dry finger against it.

  “You belong to me. Every part of you, even your ass.” I whimpered. He slid his fingers lower, dipping them into my cunt until I relaxed, pressing back against his hand. “Your cunt is mine. Your lips are mine. Your clit is mine.” His free hand slid up my flank to where my heavy breasts fell to the bed and reached under them, pinching one nipple, then the other. “Your nipples are mine.” I moaned, my hips rocking with the pleasure he drew out of my body. “When you clean. When you cook. When you eat. When you poop. You are mine.” I wiggled, embarrassment flooding my chest. “When did you poop last?” I bit my lip, mortified. His hand left my cunt and slapped down hard on my sore bottom. I jerked away, whimpering. “You answer any question I ask, immediately.” I cried out, wordlessly protesting his demand. He slapped me again, but I mewed, not answering. Impatient, he shoved me forward on the bed, then spanked my thighs until I started to cry. His voice in my ear again. “I don't care how embarrassed you are. You answer. Or you will be spanked until you do. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.” Sniffling, I looked up at him, hoping the plea in my wide eyes would soften his heart. Not this time. He pulled my thighs apart and spanked the tender inner sides until I begged him to stop. “Please, sir!”

  He stopped. “When did you poop last?”

  I bit my lip, took a deep breath. “Shortly after dinner, sir.”

  He stroked my burning thighs, smoothing the sting. “Good girl.”

  I wiggled at his praise, wondering what had possessed him to ask such a question. He lifted me back onto my knees again, and suddenly my stomach dropped. Surely he didn't intend – couldn't possibly intend – wouldn't, really, wo
uld he?

  He slammed his fingers into my cunt again and I sagged, relief flooding through me. I moaned, reveling in the pleasure his hand could bring. In so short a time I'd been reduced to this – wanting his touch like nothing else. I could feel my juices coating his hand, wet and dripping. He withdrew, and I gasped, needy.

  His fingers pressed against my bottom hole and I cried out, all my unanswered questions suddenly answered at once. Yes, yes, he would.

  A finger pressed hard and I panted, tight with distaste and fear. His voice was in my ear. “Relax. Be a good little slave and open up.”

  It heated my insides, and before I knew it, I found myself obeying, relaxing that tight ring of muscle and trying to open up for his finger. It slipped in, my own lubrication easing the way. I gasped, moaning softly at the strange invasion. It felt intimate, violating my most private body part. His finger moved then, sliding in and out, stroking the sensitive walls. I cried out. It hurt, but it felt good at the same time. So very very wrong – and yet, it was sending out ripples of pleasure.

  Is there anything more humiliating than a finger in your bottom? I found out that yes, there was.

  “Good little slave. Good girl, Nanette. I'm going to take my finger out now, and I'm going to put my cock inside you. I want you to open up and bear down.” His cock nudged my tight hole, smearing its own lubrication on my flesh, and I flushed red. He slid fingers from his other hand into my cunt, dipping them in and using the juice to stroke himself, painting himself with my lubrication. I squeezed my eyes shut, and he pressed harder, demanding entrance. “Open up like a good little slave. You know you want to feel my hard cock inside you.” The greatest humiliation was knowing that it was true. I really did want to know what it felt like, his hard length buried inside me.

  “Open up. Relax.” I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I belonged to him, and opened my bottom hole as wide as I could. “Good girl.”

  The smooth head of his cock pressed in, and I suddenly felt so full I couldn't bear it. I cried out, gasping and twisting away from him.

  “No. Stop. You'll hurt yourself if you do that. Just relax.”

  I listened, whimpering my pain and fear, but I obeyed. He pressed deeper, and I tried to relax as much as I could. With a sudden slide, he was seated fully in my ass. I moaned, clenching around him. He petted my hip, his fingers damp with the soapy cloth he'd used to wash them. “Good girl. You're such a good girl.”

  I whimpered, and he slid out a little ways. I gasped. The feeling reminded me too much of relieving myself and I gagged in disgust. Then he slid in again, and the sensation strummed my nerves. Thrusting in and out, his thickness seemed to find a point of pleasure I didn't know was there and rubbed against it. I moaned, dazed by the unaccustomed sensation, the strange intensity of the pleasure. He caught my hips, and began to pound into me, hard, fucking my ass like he had my face.

  Unlike my face, there was no ambiguity in this pleasure. It radiated, twisting around my core and turning me to a flopping rag doll of need, begging incoherently for more until he touched off something deep inside me, sending me into a fountain of loud pleasure. When I clenched down, my body trying to wring every last drop of sensation from him, he erupted inside me. I could feel the heat of his cum as it shot in deep. I groaned, collapsing bonelessly on the bed.

  He softened and we lay together, my ass stretched and full, his cock gradually shrinking back to its sleeping size. When it was smaller, he slid out of me and I moaned, shocked at how empty it made me feel. My cunt ached, and he reached around me for the soapy cloths he'd prepared. Washing his cock off, he tossed the cloth in the pot beside the bed, then wrapped his arms around me. I dozed, worn out from work and pleasure.

  Some time later, the door opened softly and I awoke with a start. Jeffery was snoring quietly beside me. I gathered the sheet up to my chest.

  “May I come in?”

  I recognized Suzanna's voice. “Of course!”

  She tiptoed in, and it was then that I saw Marcus's wife standing outside the door. Suzanna sat on the edge of the bed, and I bit my lip, ashamed for her to see me here, obviously disheveled from the man's bed. The moon lit up the room with a pale light, and I hoped she didn't see much.

  “I'm supposed to go with Marcus and Julia tonight. They live on the same island we're on, just the other side of it.”

  I nodded, relieved to hear she wasn't going as far as I thought. “Good. I hope you have a good time with their daughters.”

  “I hope so.” We sat together for a long minute. “They aren't going to be my parents, not really. Just until Daddy and Mom get here.”

  I bit down hard enough on my lip to draw blood, sucking it before she noticed. “They can never replace Daddy and Mom, no. But Suzanna, I don't know if Daddy and Mom will ever find us.”

  She shook her head, stubborn. “They'll find us.”

  I swallowed hard. “Okay. You go with them. Be good. I'll visit you as often as I can.”

  She touched her forehead to mine. “Okay.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  She rose and Julia tucked her under an arm. “Don't worry, Nanette. We'll take good care of her.” I nodded, a lump in my throat. They left, closing the door behind them.

  After a long minute, I lay back down beside the man who'd claimed me.

  Chapter 6

  Dawn found me wrapped inside a pair of brawny arms. At first I jerked away, still foggy with sleep, but his voice, gravelly and soft, brought me back to the present. “Go back to sleep, little slave.”

  I settled against him, my heart beating fast against my ribs. For a long moment I could not relax, worried about Suzanna, worried about Daddy, worried about Mom. His lips brushed the back of my head, and I realized he had never kissed me. I twisted around until I could face him, craning my neck.

  I meant to ask what he expected of me, how I could best please him, but what came out instead was, “Why did you want to keep me?”

  He opened his eyes. “Because you're beautiful.”

  For a moment I was crestfallen. It was only the sex, then.

  “Because you fought like a cougar to defend your sister.”

  I looked back up at him. “What if I hadn't?”

  He shrugged. “I might have asked for a day to use you. But I wouldn't have asked to keep you.”

  “Why not?”

  “This is a hard world. Women are vulnerable. But women who succumb too easily are even more vulnerable. I wouldn't want to share my room with a woman who would roll over at the slightest threat.”

  “But I did. Submit easily. I mean I do.”

  He stroked my hair. “Yes. And that's what I want. You fought, when there was a chance of freedom. But once you realized there wasn't, you obeyed. Practicality, adaptability – these will help you survive in this world.”

  “What if I don't want to survive here?”

  He shrugged. “You're safer here than anywhere else. Your sister is safer here than anywhere else.”

  I started to say home was even safer, but then I remembered my parents' words, and bit back the thought. Maybe he was right.

  “I own you now, and I protect what is mine.”

  I dropped my head, considering his words. I remembered Daddy's instructions. Love someone who can protect you. Could I love this man?

  His fingers stopped my thoughts in their tracks as he eased them between my thighs, spreading my legs and caressing my lips, pinching them together and rubbing. My sensitive nub woke up and swelled, his fingers tight as they rolled back and forth, back and forth over the bump between them. I squirmed. He nuzzled my face, his breath hot in my ear. “How wet is my little slave? Would you like my fingers inside you?”

  I arched off the bed, my hips pressing towards his hand. “Yes. Please. Yes, sir.”

  He released my hot flesh and I whimpered. Sliding a single finger between my thick lips, he grinned. “You're wet, little slave. But I don't think you're wet enough ye
t.”

  I arched towards him again, trying to get more pressure from his fingers.

  “No, Nanette. Lie still.”

  I obeyed, my breath coming quickly as he shifted, looming over me. His head dipped to my heavy breasts and then his mouth closed over a nipple. I shrieked, arching off the bed towards the shocking sensation.

  “Oh, oh, oh!”

  He released it and growled at me. “I told you to lie still.”

  His voice sent shivers through my body, and it was all I could do to lay flat. His mouth captured the other nipple, and his tongue teased it, flicking the hard flesh until I couldn't think. He released it, then turned back to the first one, biting and licking my breast. My hands fisted in the sheets, desperate to obey. When he was satisfied that I was nearly out of my mind with exquisite sensation, he started on the other. I wailed, panting with need. Having bound my breasts for years, they had been protected from the harshness of clothing, and he ruthlessly exploited that tenderness.

  Jeffrey shifted his elbows closer to my body and grabbed handfuls of ample flesh, squeezing and caressing. His voice was low. “How wet is my little slave now?”

  I moaned, too lost in the feel of his calloused hands rasping over my soft skin to answer. He pinched hard on my nipples, and order forgotten, I arched off the bed, keening. His voice rasped against my ear again. “Did I tell you to move? Or did I tell you to lie still?”

  I panted. “So – so-sorry. Still. I'll – lie still.”

  He grinned then, the cruel predatory grin he'd first frightened me with on the boat. “Of course you will. After I punish you for disobeying me.”

  I cried out as his fingers tightened, pain shooting through my breasts. “Please! I'll be – be good.”