Chaning Cheyenne Read online

  Lesson number two, disobedience was costly.

  Cheyenne looked out the window. It was dark. There was a lamp on in the corner. Reed must have turned it on

  This isn't funny anymore, Reed.

  At last she heard the door.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, turning away from him on her side so he wouldn't hear. “Back so soon?” she called. “I was hoping you would fall in a hole somewhere."

  "How sweet,” he said sardonically. “You're all heart."

  "That makes one of us. You gonna take these chains off me? My wrists and ankle are killing me,” she complained.

  "They shouldn't be hurting you. I didn't tighten the cuffs all the way."

  Cheyenne lost her temper. “And I shouldn't be here in the middle of nowhere dressed up like a doll so you can get your sexual jollies,” she sat up to face him. “But I am, so I guess we have to deal with it."

  He was looking at her with glazed eyes.

  "What the fuck is your problem?"

  "I don't think I've ever seen a woman look so attractive, that's all."

  Cheyenne's toes curled. No matter what, he could not know he was getting to her. “You're sicker than I thought, you know that?"

  Reed pulled his shirt off, baring his muscular shirt.

  Cheyenne felt light headed. She could devour him, kissing and licking every inch of perfect male skin. She would start with his nipples and work her way out, circling his pectorals and moving out to his biceps. She would continue down to his washboard abs. Then she would unbutton his jeans, reach in and feel for his cock inside his underwear.

  Assuming he ever decided to unchain her.

  "What did you do that for?” she asked, trying not to sound shrill.

  "I scratched my back, no big deal."

  "Let me see."

  "I said it's no big deal.” He turned around to show her the gash, long and angry and red.

  "You need to put something on that,” she said. “Before it gets infected."

  "It's not worth any medicine,” he dismissed.

  Cheyenne frowned. “Am I supposed to be impressed how macho you are? Because honestly, I think you're just being stupid."

  He snorted. “Your motorcycle friends were a hell of a lot smarter, racing down dark highways a hundred miles an hour with no headlights."

  Cheyenne remembered the last time Frankie had done that. She had pleaded for him not to, hysterical with tears. She had had this terrible premonition she would lose him. It was less than a month later the Hell Raisers struck.

  "The Vipers have balls,” she shot back. “Something you would know nothing about."

  His blue eyes darkened almost to black. So it was possible to get a rise out of him. Interesting.

  "It's time for your punishment,” he said. “Take off your panties."

  Cheyenne had no desire to expose her sopping wet pussy. Didn't he have enough ammunition against her?

  "Come and get them,” she challenged. “If you want them so bad."

  Reed showed no surprise, nor did he have any qualms about moving in her direction, quite purposefully.

  "Suit yourself,” he said

  She slid back on her sore ass, pulling the chain slack. Nowhere to go.

  "All right,” she conceded. “You win."

  He stood at the foot of the bed. His eyes were steady and calm, but ravenous, too. She felt like prey being studied by some big cat about to strike. “Tell me first,” he rasped, his voice trance-like. “Tell me what you are going to do."

  Cheyenne's breath caught in her throat. The words turned like hot knives in her belly. Did he know the effect they would have?

  "I am going to ... to take off my panties,” she whispered.

  Reed's face was cast in shadow. “Speak up, girl. And tell me why."

  Her pulse raced. It was about power, lover's power. “I'm not playing into your delusions of grandeur,” she defied.

  "I will ask you once more, than I will double your sentence,” he said.

  "I'm going to take off my panties,” she said, loudly enough. “Because I am humoring a lunatic."

  He watched, expressionless as she hiked up her dress. Hooking her thumbs under the waistband of her underwear and lifting her bottom, she pulled them down.

  Her only protection from his hand ... and whatever else he chose to subject her to.

  Her chains jingled as she tugged the tiny garment down over her knees.

  Because of the chain, she could not completely separate herself from the garment. She left it dangling over the metal links. Self consciously, she pressed her thighs together. She could smell her own arousal. She wondered if he could, too.

  "I'm curious about something,” he said.

  "What?"

  "It's about Frankie. Will it hurt you to talk about him?"

  "What do you care about my feelings?"

  "I asked you a question,” he said flatly. “And I want an answer."

  "No,” she said honestly. “At this point talking won't make me feel any worse."

  "I want to know why Frankie didn't take his hand to your ass. It's not like you don't walk around begging for it."

  "Frankie was a gentleman,” she shot back. “And I don't beg for anything."

  "Sure you do. You act tough, but you scream out for a man to put you in line."

  "You sound like Mad Dog."

  Reed shook his head. “Men like Mad Dog and me are worlds apart. The fact that you don't know that shows just how misguided you are."

  "And you're going to teach me, right?"

  The sarcasm bounced right off his armor. “That's right, I am. Now show me what a good girl you can be and get on your belly."

  Cheyenne threw herself down on the bed, face first. “I can't believe I was worried about your stupid scratch. You're not even human, how could you possibly bleed to death?"

  Reed moved beside her, his knee pressing the mattress once again. She felt his muscular, denim covered thigh against her own. “You know you're kind of amusing when you stop swearing."

  Cheyenne released a string of expletives in reply.

  Reed chuckled. The sound thrilled and chilled her. What if he cut loose and really enjoyed himself? What would that look like? More to the point, what would her ass look like?

  "Lift,” he ordered.

  She obliged, allowing him to push the dress completely up to her belly.

  The cool air rushed over her warm bottom.

  "Last chance to ask for clemency,” he teased.

  "Will it do any good?” she asked.

  "No, none at all,” he deadpanned.

  "In that case, you can go and—"

  He cut her off, delivering a ferocious blow, as hard as it was unexpected.

  "You asshole! You could at least give me a warning."

  His hand made contact again, this time he pinched her, grasping a large bit of flesh between thumb and finger. He kept hold of her, infusing sharp, deep pain. “The cursing is over, Cheyenne. You may object, argue and debate, but you will be civil, is that clear?"

  Cheyenne whimpered, sensing he would not let go until she conceded.

  She had reached a limit with Reed that was not to be crossed.

  "Yes,” she managed. “It's clear."

  She was practically panting as he released her. Something had shifted in the dynamics between the two of them. He had won a battle, but what about the war?

  He stroked her hair. She felt like he was praising her, but for what? She was obeying him. What was she, a pet?

  "Just get it over with,” she said, hating how defeated she sounded. “Please?"

  "We'll go to twenty,” he replied, not the least bit of mercy in his voice. “You will keep count. If you miss any we will start again from the beginning."

  Cheyenne moaned softly in reply. He might as well have said a million.

  "One,” she announced as her formal punishment began, the crack of his hand reverberating off the walls of the tiny cabin.

  Two fol
lowed immediately, the heat burning and building and then three. By four she was too miserable to remember the count.

  "We start again,” he declared as though it were nothing at all. “From one."

  "No, Reed, that's not fair,” she protested.

  He ignored her, delivering a fresh spank.

  "One,” she repeated, her breath ragged, her mind already launching into an unknown zone, one where pain and pleasure knew no distinctions.

  Where the trip ended she had no idea.

  So long as he was with her.

  Her handsome, relentless tormenter.

  Her captor.

  She had never wanted to escape so much. At the same time she wanted something else, not his hand, but his cock. Would it prove as punishing to her raw nerves, as completely devastating?

  No doubt it would be worse, much worse.

  The question was whether it was inevitable.

  "Six,” she said, wondering what had happened to two through five.

  Everything began to blur after that.

  It wasn't until around number twelve that rebellion came.

  "No, more, Reed!” Cheyenne was bucking wildly. Reed had expected the reaction. Placing his hand on her bottom, steadying, he issued a command.

  "Be still, girl."

  "It ... it hurts,” she stammered.

  "It's supposed to, it's punishment."

  "I can't take anymore."

  "We can stop, continue later."

  She shook her head. “No, I don't want it to start back up again, I want it over, done with."

  "Then we need to finish it now."

  "I'll give you anything. You know my father has money."

  Reed rubbed his hand over her back, trying to focus her. A warmth pervaded him, unexpected empathy. He hid it behind sternness. “There is no way out, Cheyenne, your spanking will continue."

  "Fuck me instead,” she said, lifting her bottom in utter desperation. “Take me any way you want."

  Her sex lips were swollen and lusciously pink. Clear and fragrant liquid oozed out, tiny droplets collecting on the fine tuft of dark hair, neatly trimmed. Reed ached to taste her sweet nectar, to feel her pulsing pussy against his tongue, his lips.

  "My body is yours, if you stop punishing me,” she continued, hopeful. “My pussy, my mouth, my ass..."

  Reed clenched his fists. She had no idea what she was starting. “No, Cheyenne."

  "You're turned on, though. This is how you like it, with the girl submissive,” she said.

  "Not you,” he said, forcing the coldness into his voice.

  "Don't tell me that,” she defied. “You do want me."

  "No, I do not,” he persisted.

  "You're a liar!"

  He smacked her again, eliciting a low moan. “I didn't mean it,” she gasped, sounding broken. “I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you. Let me suck your cock. You would like that ... with me in chains."

  She was trying to manipulate him. And it was working.

  "You should not offer sex to men you don't love. You should save yourself, Cheyenne."

  Cheyenne laughed, sarcastic. “For what? All those knights in shining armor out there?"

  He almost mentioned Frankie. Was he a knight for her or just a fallback?

  "You can't force love, it comes when it does."

  "Who are you?” she scorned. “Dr. Phil?"

  "That's enough spanking for now,” Reed decided.

  Cheyenne's ass was twitching, red and warm to the touch, she oozed her submission. She was so totally available ... and off limits.

  "Oh, no you don't, you are not postponing the rest of it,” she said. “I want it over with."

  "Consider your sentence commuted."

  Reed should have known better than to expect any gratitude.

  "I knew you'd back down,” she gloated. “All bark and no bite."

  "You aren't going to goad me, Cheyenne."

  "Undo my chains,” she ordered, turning over.

  He looked at her, red faced, her hair tousled. He wanted to grab those raven locks in his fist, force a kiss on those ripe lips.

  Her wrists were extended as far as the chain would allow. She was testing him. “Didn't you hear me? I said undo my chains."

  "I heard you, Cheyenne,” he said evenly.

  "Then why aren't you doing what I told you?” she demanded. “You're going to fucking piss me off."

  Reed frowned. “I think you should rephrase that."

  Her eyes were wild, wicked. She licked her full lips, a quick dart of that perfect little tongue. “You're right,” she smiled without humor. “I meant to say ‘take these fucking chains off, you mother fucking cock sucker."

  Reed moved without thinking, the motions fluid, measured.

  "What are you doing?” she cried.

  Reed had the neck of her dress. He ripped downward exposing her bra. It was her left nipple he wanted. Pushing the bra cup aside he took hold of it.

  The tiny bud was hot and swollen, rubbery between thumb and forefinger. His eyes bore down on hers. “Are you going to listen to me or do I have to gag you with your own panties?"

  "I'll ... listen,” she croaked.

  Reed was lying across her, pinning her. “Don't confuse mercy with weakness,” he said. “I decided to end your spanking early, that does not mean I'm putting you in control, got it?"

  Cheyenne, nodded, her eyes wide.

  Her chest was rising and falling. The fight was out of her. Her sudden surrender was the greatest aphrodisiac.

  Power surged through him, through his finger tips were he held her nipple. It radiated through out him, to the tip of his cock, on the verge of orgasm. How was he going to hold back?

  "What do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded, exerting just a little more pressure.

  Cheyenne arched her back. Her belly strained against the material of the torn dress. “Unchain me,” she whispered, her voice hot and dry. “I'll be good."

  Reed didn't bother with the cuffs. There was no mistaking the double entendre of her words. She wasn't bargaining with her body this time, she was begging ... to be taken.

  Reed put her back on her belly, flipping her gently but firmly. Pushing her knees up toward her chest and spreading her ankles, he readied her for penetration.

  "Oh, god,” she breathed in anticipation.

  Her ankle was pulled tight against the chain. Her cheek was down to the mattress, her cuffed hands in front of her.

  This means nothing, he wanted to say as he pushed her dress up out of the way, well up her back.

  Who could say what any given act would mean, though, in the scheme of things. The sexual tension, once dissipated might disappear forever. Or it might kindle again. This was why military forces the world over were leery of putting women side by side with men in combat. It wasn't the female's lack of ability to kill, it was the factor of sexual heat, multiplied under firing stress.

  She was his captive. This was a game, a fantasy of hers and his, too, truth be told. It wouldn't count in the scheme of things.

  Or so he hoped.

  Reed pulled his cock from the opening of his jeans and underwear. He would fuck her fully clothed. It was a distancing action, or did it have to do with the exercise of power, his right to strip her and bind her as he wished while remaining free and aloof himself?

  Cheyenne was wet and hot to receive him. If there was any chance of reconsidering, of appealing to reason it was lost in that single thrust. She took him to the hilt, her pussy muscles clenching, holding him.

  "Ohhhh...” Her voice was sweet, feminine, expectant. Her bare toes curled. She was adorable, beyond cute. She was all woman, though, and he knew she needed it hard.

  He would oblige, making sure not to let her injure herself against her steel bonds.

  "Fuck me,” she groaned, impatient.

  Reed pulled back, nearly extricating himself. All the better to pound her again. She cried out this time, nearly in the throes of orgasm.

 
Damn, she was hot.

  If he wasn't so needy himself he would play with her, tease her some. As it was it was going to be a race to see who exploded first.

  Reed wanted her breasts in his hands. He yanked the bra from both sides, his arms wrapped around her. Her breasts spilled out. He clamped them hard, kneading. Cheyenne thrashed beneath him, writhing.

  His cock surged, looming above her, he took possession ... and kept it.

  Even at this pace, with this amount of frenzy, he made her acknowledge her conquest.

  "Beg for it,” he growled.

  Sweat soaked bodies pounding, a rhythm old as nature, and yet miraculously fresh. “Let me ... fucking ... come,” she said, the words coming in short bursts to match the motions of his cock, in, out, in, out, his pelvis against her ass, slamming, muscle, bone and flesh, teeth clenched.

  All the tension, ready for release.

  "Yes, Cheyenne, show me ... what your body can do."

  She reared up underneath him like a wild cat. It was a good thing she was chained down. The first orgasm ripped through her, tearing into him and releasing his own. He groaned aloud, pulling back on her hair, slamming as he ejaculated, a white hot stream, thick and explosive.

  Like he hadn't come in a hundred years.

  Reed's world slowed for a minute, a single heart beat like an eternity, melt down ... and then he came out of it.

  He was aware of his own voice, roaring shouts as he pumped and pumped, each thrust a new burst. Cheyenne answered with fresh orgasms, too many for him to count. She arched her neck, enthusing at the pressure, the containment, the forced release.

  In short, she came alive in bondage, fucked on a bed, clothes ripped ... a prisoner.

  It could have gone on forever. His cock barely felt relief though his body was exhausted.

  He collapsed on top of her.

  Now what?

  Cheyenne had the answer, a sure fire cure to any post-coital awkwardness.

  It came in the form of blind rage.

  Chapter Five

  Cheyenne's anger came like a storm. It rushed into her consciousness, filling the void left by the Earth shattering, mind stealing orgasm.

  Had Reed really dominated like her like he had?

  Where was her will power?

  She had begged like a slave, whimpering for release at the hands of her captor, the bastard who had chained her up and spanked her.