Bounty Hunter Read online

  “In here.” At her side with his hand closing around her upper arm, he moved her into the small anteroom between the dining room and kitchen. She’d never understood the real purpose for this tiny alcove, except as a convenient hiding place, where she’d be furtively taken in a sexual manner whenever Christopher wanted quick relief. “Bend over, darling,” he said, as if trying to be kind. This was the only time he called her ‘darling,’ and that was fine with her. Moved solely by his physical passions on these occasions, he was hardly kind. But he always started out as if she willingly, wantingly participated in the swift rapes. Having become accustomed to the demand, Jillian bent over as he raised her white straight skirt above her hips and wiggled his hand between her upper thighs in search of her wet channel. She even assisted him by moving her legs a little further apart to allow him easier access. It didn’t pay to fight him anymore. A moment later, he impaled her on his cock and he furiously rutted her from behind, until with a low rumbling groan, he jerked hard once and rammed his erection deep, depositing his ejaculate neatly inside her. For several seconds afterward, he caressed her naked thighs above her stockings, which seemed like an affectionate gesture, but she knew it was only a brief segue between the consensual rape and whatever he planned to do next.

  “You’re not gaining weight, are you?” he said, as he removed himself from between her legs and wiped his cock on a handkerchief.

  “No. Why would you say that?” she asked annoyed. She stood up abruptly and turned around.

  “You just look a little… ah… plumper these days.”

  “Then you’re seeing things,” she said tersely.

  “What’s with the contempt all of a sudden?” he wondered.

  “You know that I find these little escapades with you demeaning. I don’t know why I give in.”

  “Because you’re obliged to, Jillian,” he stroked the side of her face tenderly, but that only mocked her. “I take care of you and you can’t live without that.” His syrupy voice belittled her. “Besides, you’ll get what you’re really after from me in due time. Just be patient.”

  She hated that he knew her sexual longings and spoke so bluntly of them. Even more, she hated that on other occasions he did in fact do things to her that satisfied her deeply. That was the only reason she stayed. On days like this she wanted to leave him, walk out the door without packing a bag. Everything she had belonged to him and she wished she had the courage to throw it in his face. But she never had the guts to act when her terrible secret drew her back to him again and again.

  Monsieur LeBec…

  “Jillian! Jillian!

  She was upstairs in her room reading a juicy mystery story, fast reaching the thrilling climax. This one even had her sex juices flowing—of course, she was on her period, and always more receptive to sexual stimulation on days like this. Even the slightest provocation made her quiver between her thighs. She was damned horny!

  “Jillian!”

  She heard Christopher’s voice become more shrill each time he called and she refused to answer.

  “Jill, you’d better skedaddle down there,” hissed the maid, Marie, popping her head in the door. “Ignoring him ain’t going to make him go away. He’ll only get madder, especially in front of his company.”

  “I know, I know.” She put down her book. Might as well, the spell of mystery had already been broken. She’d get no peace until she answered the man’s call. How many times had she reached that conclusion? And still, she continued to ignore him, avoid him and with every bit of determination she had, put off the inevitable. He never changed his mind and she always gave in. Putting her book on the table beside her, she rose and followed Marie out of the room.

  “Christopher, you called?” Jillian appeared in the man’s office doorway, speaking pleasantly, as if she’d promptly responded to his call.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Upstairs in my room.”

  “You didn’t hear me call you?”

  “No. Not until Marie told me so,” she lied. “I must have had the water running or something.”

  He inspected her carefully, his eyes running over her body beginning with her brown eyes and the auburn, chin-length hair that framed her face in soft curls. Her hair was full and thick; how he loved to run his fingers through its silky texture. Her lips were blushed with red lipstick—not a glaring color, but something as sensuous as she was. Her throat always beckoned him to explore deeper, to travel to the musky cleavage between her breasts and bury his head, taking in the aromatic scent of her vibrant body. But he’d never done that. Just as he’d never made love to her. His desires for her always expressed themselves in cruder ways. And it was too late now to attempt a different, more wholesome relationship with his stepdaughter. Too late. She was only twenty-three and he was not yet forty. They certainly had time, but not in this lifetime. Their relationship had been etched in stone. Remembering that, his desire disappeared like the sudden whiff of spring on a late winter day. And he wouldn’t bother to revive that pleasant, fleeting urge because the effort would be a waste of time.

  “You lied. You always do,” he accused her.

  “You can’t really prove that, Christopher,” she said, as her body trembled uneasily. She was not a good liar.

  “You know what lying gets you in this house?”

  “You’re going to punish me over such a small matter?”

  “I punish you whenever I want to, Jillian, and yet you continue to resist the power I wield.”

  She decided not to answer. He resented her, and she never knew why. Arguing only made things ugly. Maybe he was right, she shouldn’t resist.

  “If you don’t like the arrangement, you’re free to leave,” he added with disdain.

  “Well, not exactly,” she reminded him.

  His smile alarmed her, containing within it the truth they both understood about their unusual relationship.

  “Well, that is a problem for you, isn’t it? Her eyes smoldered like a demonic furnace of heated coals. “Yes, I would cane you, if I had the time. But I have a business appointment in the city in a half hour. I’m already late because you’ve dawdled so much. But I need your body for the afternoon. Monsieur LeBec is in the blue room. He’ll be expecting you to open your pretty thighs for him and let him in the door for a little thrill.” Christopher moved from his chair and strolled her way, as his strange, powerful aura began to blanket her with expectation.

  “Christopher, I’m on the rag, I can’t very well have any man screw me.”

  “Well then, show him the door to your ass.”

  “Oh, please, no!” she droned unhappily.

  “Don’t be difficult, Jillian,” he said. He was just a foot from her face, close enough for her to feel his hot breath on her cheek. “You’ll get your fun later. Promise. Just treat the man nice. He’s tired of whores and the thought of fucking a pretty innocent has him really horny.”

  “I suppose you owe him this?”

  “My business with Monsieur LeBec is private. You just take care of him.”

  Hearing the spiteful threat in his voice, she shuddered head to toe, and sighing, renounced her personal desires for the next hour. “I suppose I can give him a quickie with my ass.”

  “Oh, he’ll want more than that. You stay until he’s satisfied, or so exhausted that he passes out.”

  Jillian cringed in disgust, wondering as she always did why he made her do these demeaning things and why she so readily submitted.

  Christopher ran his hand across her curls with an air of adoration. And for that brief moment, his eyes transported her back to those precious intimate moments when he had taken her to the extremes of physical pleasure.

  “You’ll be a good girl for me, won’t you? No complaints from my friend?”

  “Oh, of course not,” she told him.”

  “Yes, that’s my girl.” He patted her on the butt as he left the room.

  Jillian gave the door to the blue room a gentle tap, then op
ened it slowly, peeking in, her mind racing. If only he were decent looking—reasonably attractive, so that she could imagine that this was her choice and she wasn’t being used like a whore. She looked toward the bed and he wasn’t there… the windows, the closet… still no sign of him. She moved inside the room and closed the door behind her.

  “Monsieur LeBec?” she quietly called for him. “Monsieur LeBec?”

  A moment later, a gray haired gentleman moved through the doorway of the connecting bath. He wore a short silk robe, loosely tied to cover his genitals, but not his chest. For a man pushing sixty, he was fit and handsome, sporting a rich tan, looking the way she pictured aging playboys.

  “I’m Jillian,” she told him.

  “Yes, I’ve been told. And pretty. You’ll certainly do for an afternoon.” His eyes lit excitedly. “Why don’t you come here and fluff this up a bit?” He pulled the sides of his robe apart, revealing his limp penis hanging inside a nest of curly gray pubic hair. She watched it pulse in response to her presence.

  “I’m afraid you won’t be able to take me vaginally, I’m menstruating,” she said.

  “And that’s a problem for me?”

  “It’s a problem for Christopher. I’m to offer you my ass instead.”

  “Well, perfect. I’m sure your ass will do the trick as well as your pussy. Now, how about the blow job?” He pointed to his exposed groin and the already expanding penis. “You call me Monsieur; I’ll call you whore.”

  As she moved toward him, she took on the role she’d been trained to play over the last two years. The habit was second nature now. For an hour or even half a day, on Christopher’s instructions, she’d click into ‘sexual robot mode’ and perform whatever sex act demanded from her. She assumed Christopher was paying off business debts, which turned her into a sexual commodity. Her payoff was what Christopher did for her in return… and some curious, unexplained satisfaction that occurred when she gave her sexual treasures for men like this one to use.

  Dropping to her knees before Monsieur LeBec, Jillian reached for the half-flaccid erection with one hand, his package of balls with the other and began working them both. Leaning in to his crotch, she took his member into her mouth, with her lips and tongue taunting and teasing the swelling organ to its full firmness. The organ seemed to billow like a sail inside her mouth, becoming an erection was as large as any man’s she’d fucked. To think, on a man his age! Maybe he’d just downed a handful of Viagra. As he insistently lunged into her mouth, she felt the head tickle the back of her throat and she almost choked. Afraid of offending him, she drew him out and worked him hard with her hands and lips, slurping the stalk with a vigorous action so he’d forget about forcing the thing deep. She tasted his pre-cum oozing from the tiny opening and remembered with horror that he expected to use more than just her mouth.

  Was she insane? Fit this in her ass? How? she wondered. A sharp chill raced down her spine as the thought of her ass widening to take this hefty thing made her quake in fear.

  “Ooo, you’re good as promised, whore,” the man purred with delight. He clutched her hair in his hand and jerked his penis in and out of her mouth with ever more vigorous strokes. He thrust deeper and deeper, demanding her ready submission. She almost gagged and spit him out, but just before that regrettable act, Monsieur pulled the organ from her mouth and dragged her to her feet. He then pushed her to the bed, saying: “Oh, your knees, putain! Kneel with your ass to me!”

  Her knees sank into the soft blue silk coverlet and she fell forward on her arms, which only made her ass stick out as if she were begging him to use her—which she wasn’t really trying to do; she was simply playing her role. The fabric of her pale green skirt stretched tightly across her ass cheeks, clearly slowing the demarcation of her anal cleft. It had been some time since she’d worn panties. Christopher had banned them in his house. She wore nothing under her clothes but her stockings and garters—occasionally an actual garter belt to hold her nylons, when Christopher wanted that particular look.

  “Ooo, oui, oui!” Monsieur murmured with a guttural quality to his rich baritone.

  Thankfully, she could close her eyes and think romantically about this man; his voice resonated with a sexual timbre that made her shudder.

  When he raked his eager nails across the back of her skirt, her pussy lips could feel the vibration teasing her skin. Despite his impatience, he had so much more finesse than Christopher. His urgency sparked her own desire, as his fingers moved underneath her skirt, exploring her bare skin carefully, while leaving a trail of sensation to further warm her pulsing crotch. She felt the heaviness of her period weighing her down, making the ache in her lower regions brutally claw her insides. When he raised her skirt above her ass, the air felt cold against her hot skin. And when he traced his finger down the crack of ass, and her whole body shuddered from the added pleasure. She instantly caught herself about to convey her arousal in a tiny, gasping moan. But she stopped short, as she always did. This was one thing Christopher and his friends would never get from her. They might see her body respond sexually, but there would be no verbal clue to encourage their erotic advances.

  Monsieur’s fingers probed deep, running delicately along her labial lips with one finger pressing its way toward the bloody opening. She worried that he’d tug the string of her tampon, and force his way into her vagina. “Too bad my little whore can’t satisfy me here,” he said despairingly.

  Yes, too bad, she thought.

  “Next time,” he added, as that investigating finger moved slowly upward where he found the taut, rosy entrance to her rectum. She jerked, wincing, as he poked his finger into her anus and she felt his fingernail snag the tender flesh. Finding the opening in need of lubrication, he quickly grabbed for a jar of cold cream on the nightstand nearby. She looked back watching with some relief, as he smeared the slick substance into her crack and began an earnest massage of her ass with several fingers preparing the entrance for his enormous erection.

  Scared as she was of what his prick would do to her, the pleasure was an indescribable joy. She seethed silently to herself, acknowledging how long it had been since any man, including Christopher, had taken the time to nurture her arousal. Of course, Monsieur was a Frenchman. He understood the nature of female arousal. This knowledge was as natural to him as Jillian’s submissive response was to her. Why not take pleasure in this man?

  Jillian became so lost in the feel of his exquisitely probing fingers that she forgot about the end he aimed for. Even when she awakened enough to realize that he was about exchange his fingers for his erection, she played along, believing he couldn’t possibly hurt her now. But when the head of his cock pushed against her rectum door and began the slow, deliberate entry, her body clenched hard, stunned by the extremes that fat prick required.

  Every muscle in her body tensed. “Oh, no! I can’t,” she gasped.

  “You’re too much a virgin,” the man complained. But he didn’t stop. Instead, he fondled her with his hands, through her clothes above and along her naked skin below as he eased even deeper inside the widening channel. She feared her body would rip apart, that he’d leave her ass as bloody as her vagina. But his attentive caress soon vanquished her concerns, her body opened wider still, and the whole of his erection was driven to the hilt where he nestled deep.

  Jillian muffled the sounds of her distress as the fucking commenced in earnest. Monsieur had done enough to soothe this whore; she was on her own from there. Grabbing her hips and squeezing tightly, the Frenchman rammed her asshole hard. The fast thrusts made her insides howl, but at the same time, her submissive soul hung on, acknowledging the bliss in being so cruelly taken. She consciously squelched any overt signs of pleasure and groaned with disapproval the more the man’s big prick wrenched into her ass. Clutching the silk coverlet in her fists, her mouth opened in a silent scream.

  Suddenly seizing her hair in his fist, Monsieur jerked her head back so he could see her face. He liked the look of her in
desperation, and yet, he sensed that there was more behind her expression—pleasure, perhaps? He wanted to see a sign of that, too, although he knew she’d tried to hide the truth from him. There was a touch of regal arrogance about this one, which even Christopher’s heavy-handed training methods could not crush.

  The thrill that passed through Jillian when their eyes suddenly locked was enough to ignite her clenching groin and set free an orgasmic blast that had been threatening since this started.

  He was cumming; she was cumming. Their bodies tensed in unison, and for a brief moment, they froze with his cock lodged deep and Jillian waiting. Then Monsieur’s cry rang out loudly, a deep, powerful cry of tortured pleasure that vibrating through Jillian’s every nerve. For her, anal sex was never the same, never quite as satisfying as a pussy fuck, but with Monsieur, the act was far better than sex of any kind with the man she served.

  “Ahhh! Tres bien,” Monsieur sighed as he fell to the bed beside her and she collapsed against the mattress exhausted.

  Jillian waited, wondering if he was the sexual athlete Christopher led her to believe?

  Her eyes opened on him, questioning if he’d insist she submit again. Yes, she’d taken him once, but another in her ass in a single night? She’d barely survived the first assault. Maybe he’d be satisfied with a blowjob, she prayed silently.

  She watched him for a moment, as he lay motionless beside her. He lay so still, so silently. She couldn’t even see him breathe. Good god! Has he passed out? Worse yet, died?

  She waited, too afraid to shake him. Maybe he was just sleeping.

  Then he snorted. He’s been sleeping. Thank God!

  “Ah, my Cherie,” he said, as finally he turned on his side and petted her face with his hand. “You go do what you do now. I need to rest.”

  She was greatly relieved.

  “Anything else you need?” she asked.

  “No. I shall sleep like a baby until morning.”

  And she was sure he would.

  Bound…

  Christopher never lived up to his promises. She should have known not to count on him to keep his word, especially when it came to her own sexual satisfaction. But Jillian could never understand why he was so reluctant. Maybe he was more aroused denying her than giving her the promised reward—even when that reward allowed him to exercise his sadistic bent with little restraint.