Deed to Damnation

Good Intentions

Delarue did return that night but it wasn't to have Ireland prepare food. She had cried herself to sleep after desperately trying to get the stains off of the sheets. In the end, she simply stripped the bed, dumping the soiled linens in the farthest corner of the room and throwing the blanket over the top of the bare mattress. She had put her dress on too, buttoning it all the way up to her neck and pulled on as many undergarments she could find. It was as if she was trying to build a wall of cotton and gingham to keep him from touching her. She was so sore everywhere from tensing through the violation and her sex felt so swollen, it hurt to even sit.
Catching a glimpse in the mirror, she gasped at the sight of her face. Her lip was puffy from the heavy handed swat she took and her eyes were as red as desert rock from crying. Her whole life had been fiction, carefully crafted by a gambling father with the best of intentions but the worst of luck. He had handed her over to a dangerous man who just helped himself to her body like a dead man's gold. Delarue said she would learn to love what he did. It would be over her cold, lifeless body if that ever happened. What he had done was disgusting and foreign. It was something only a man would do. Worst of all, it had been excruciating.
The card game was still going on downstairs when she finally passed out from exhaustion. The next thing she knew, the bedroom door was thrown open, slamming noisily against the wall. Henry stood leaning in the doorframe, a bottle of the inn's best whiskey in his hand. He took a long draw from it and eyed her coldly.
"Ms. Devereaux, why are you wearing that awful dress?" He drawled. "It's ugly."
Ire pushed herself up and moved to the top of the bed, tucking the bustled garment under her knees.
"Worse than that, who said you could dress at all?"
She blushed profusely, not just from embarrassment but from toxic rage. If it had been any other man, she would have tried to rake his eyes out. But Delarue had shocked her with his swift and relentless brutality so she stayed quiet, unsure what she should say.
"Take it off." He ordered, his voice calm but menacing.
"I don't want to." She squeaked, holding her palm over the little pearl buttons that ran up the bodice.
He took another slug from the bottle and stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. He contemplated her, letting his eyes move over the woman he technically owned now. Unfortunately for her, he found her quite attractive on many levels and the fact that he had been her first pleased him. She was a blank canvas, unknown to men and he planned on molding her into what he wanted her to be. There was so much for her to learn and he was going to make sure she learned quickly.
Delarue extended the bottle of fiery liquid.
"I...I don't drink." She admitted.
"When I say you drink, you drink, Miss Devereaux." He warned.
"Drinking breeds sin." She answered.
"I'm well aware of what it breeds."
Henry formed what was almost a smile but not quite. She saw the dark flash in his eye and she snatched the whiskey out of his hand, taking a tremendous gulp that made her choke and sputter. How could anyone ingest this on purpose? The dark alcohol made her scrunch her face up and almost retch.
"Now, Ireland. Take off that damned dress before I do it for you." He ordered, shedding his dark red duster.
Ireland's heart began to race. She wouldn't do this. The thought of him doing what he did to her again chilled her. Certainly the act itself would kill her this time. As if reading her thoughts, Delarue sprang, knocking her back and hooked his fist into the high collar of her bland prairie dress, ripping it straight down, the opalescent buttons scattering on the wooden floor. She let out a frightened shriek and began kicking her feet and swinging small balled up fists at his unshaven face. He ended the struggle quickly by wrapping his other hand in her loose tresses and snapped her head back, his mouth instantly against her ear.
"You are not to deny me anything." He growled, shoving one hand inside the torn bodice and grabbing her breast boorishly. "Right now, you're only existence is to please me. Fail and they'll be consequences a lot worse than me pounding that tight little twat."
"Please..." She cried. "I won't be able to do it. It hurts too much."
"Only one way to fix that, ma'am." He informed her. "And that's to wear it in like a fine leather saddle. You gotta ride it. A lot."
He had her flat on her back, sitting on her stomach with her arms pinned under his knees. Taking one more mouthful of whiskey, he threw the bottle across the room, smashing it into shards and tossing his hat right near it.
All she could do was start screaming in desperate hope that someone downstairs would feel for her and come to make it stop. No one did. Delarue had reached behind him, fumbling with layers of her long skirt, getting more frustrated when he realized she had put on several pairs of undergarments. It made him furious. It was her very first act of willfulness and he was going to have none of it. What was between her legs belonged to him now and he would have it when he wanted.
Springing off of her, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her up. Immediately, Ire's hand closed the gaping hole in her bodice but he slapped it away with a stinging swat. She knew that tears didn't extinguish the demon that lurked in this man. He had the face of an angel but a heart as black as the oil that bubbled through this wild land.
"Put your hands behind your head."
His voice was calm with an icy edge that made her start to sob. She didn't even bother screaming anymore. It was a waste of breath.
"Now."
Ireland quickly laced her fingers behind her neck and gathered enough nerve to raise her eyes to his face. The whole time she had tried to look anywhere but directly at him and she wished she had kept that strategy. His stare bore down on her like dark thunderhead ready to unleash a terrible storm. He snatched her by the jaw and squeezed until she winced.
"You will address me as Sir until I say otherwise." He instructed.
She could only nod. The words seemed to be stuck in her throat but when he released her small chin and gave her cheek a quick smack, she relented.
"Yes, Sir." She hissed.
She couldn't hold the contempt in her reply and it was answered with a harsh tug on her ruined bodice, effectively tearing it off of her. Goosebumps rose on her flesh and the urge to cover herself was unbearable. Is this how men treated women? Was this what went on behind closed doors between couples? Ireland had no idea. But if it was, she couldn't imagine why any girl would want a spouse. And how could they ever walk in public with a smile on their faces?
Delarue cupped both of her ample breasts in in his palms and gave them a firm squeeze. He was watching her face and felt a small tremor move through her. Fear? Anger? He didn't know but his little prize held her ground proudly.
She thinks she's tough, he thought with amusement. The truth was he was just as ready to find out what this prude, innocent little filly was really made of. It wasn't about trying to break her. He knew that was inevitable but just how long it would take was the question. As if to press his silent thoughts, he rolled her nipples between his fingers and pinched, forcing the little pink tips into hard tender buds. She winced and bit her lip at the slight pain.
"I can't believe you managed to hide yourself for as long as you did." He said gruffly, bringing his mouth to her breasts.
Ire held her breath at the feel of his mustache on her tightening skin and the warm swirl of his tongue encircling each nipple. He began lapping them with a slow, slithering strokes, coating her breasts in a sheen of his saliva. It made Ire's stomach feel strange, like a churning that she had never experienced. When he finally stood upright, she was relieved he had stopped. She didn't like that it made her feel like that.
"Now about that skirt." Henry snarled.
He swooped at the knees and pulled the course material down to her ankles, crinolines and all until she stood there in no less than six pairs of puffy drawers and over the knee socks. She looked absolutely ridiculous and if she thought it would put him off, she was completely wrong.
"Take every last one of those stupid looking things off or I'll cut them from you." He grumbled, pulling a knife from his belt.
Ire unlaced her fingers from behind her head and began unfastening each undergarment. She couldn't look at him as she did it, knowing he was watching as if she was unwrapping a gift for him. She felt that maybe if she complied he would let her be, handing him each pair as she stripped them off.  He took them and shredded them one by one until there was just a pile of torn material at his feet and she stood before him completely exposed for the first time. She had never let a man see her like this in her entire life.
Delarue looked her over with a discerning eye. He had his share of women. All kinds of them. From ladies in fine city clothes all the way down to some pretty grungy whores who he only let suck him off, he had experienced them. Ireland Devereaux was most decidedly different from all. Whether those women were for free, taken or paid for, they weren't innocents. He would get to personally corrupt this one in so many different ways.
Ireland just stood there waiting for him to say something. The silence was worse than the threatening commands and lascivious looks. It was completely unexpected when he gave her a hard shove that sent her back on the bed. He pounced, holding a few pieces of the shredded underwear in his fist and flipped her onto her stomach. She wailed at the familiar positioning and began bucking wildly. Henry gave her a stinging slap to her ass and grabbed her wrists, forcing them behind her back and tying them tightly together. There was a slight sense of relief as he turned her over but it didn't last long as she watched him drop his trousers. He was ready again and she started screaming at the sight of his rigid manhood.
Delarue grabbed her by her throat and stuffed her mouth with another piece of torn material. He leaned down into her horrified face, the smell of whiskey assaulting her.
"Lesson number one." He growled. "You fuck me whenever I want, wherever I want. No more lady pants under the skirts."
With a groan, he pushed himself into her and she let out a muffled cry. God she was tight, he thought, maybe even tighter than before. He knew she was most likely swollen from the first violation but this time her body had its first reaction. The dry friction was easing even if it was only slight.
Ireland began sobbing. He just stuffed himself in and her sex burned  from the invasion. Delarue's fingers were digging into her thighs, splaying them as wide as they could go. She was begging him with her eyes but his determined expression never changed. In fact, with each small sob, a light would flicker in the darkness of his irises, the flecks of gold catching fire with her distress. For reasons she didn't understand, the searing pain that racked her only moments before was ebbing, the walls of sex giving up moisture to ease his rough battering . Slamming her eyes shut against his hardened stare, she waited.
Henry smirked as he picked up the pace of his thrusts until he was rocking her violently, the soft mounds of her breasts bouncing with each jarring stroke. He wanted to touch her, to awaken what he knew was in her but not yet. She had no idea how things should feel or could feel. He was going to make her feel whatever he decided. He had control of all of that and it was a delicious power to have.
With a husky roar, Delarue released deep inside of her desecrated walls and collapsed. He was so heavy and she squirmed beneath him, feeling his damp, hot breath deep in the crook of her neck. He pulled himself up on his elbows and looked down into her confused and outraged face. She was a hot mess, wisps of sweat soaked hair stuck to her neck and flushed cheeks. Without any further hesitation, he got up and began stripping.
"You'll soon learn a few things, Ireland." He said, still breathing hard from exertion. "Good behavior gets rewarded. Bad behavior gets something quite different. Tonight, you were good even though I wasn't happy about your over dressing. You've earned yourself a soft place to sleep."
Reaching down, he grabbed the linens she had stripped earlier and spread them on the floor next to the bed. He was completely unclothed now and Ire tried not to stare but she had never seen a totally naked man before. Her father taught her modesty, even making sure that she never saw him without a shirt let alone pants.
She saw the different muscular outlines and the course dark hair that covered his chest and trailed down to a patch between his masculine thighs. He was still half aroused, his thick member hanging over a sack that was tucked tightly underneath it. She was so intent on how different their bodies were that she hadn't heard what he said.
"Ireland..." He growled and grabbed her by her ankle.
She snapped out of the haze and stared at him, sea green eyes as big as milk saucers. His mouth was as tight as razor as he yanked her off the bed. She hit the floor with a loud thump, unable to use her tied hands to soften the landing. Delarue pushed her till she was flat on her back, splayed out on the thin covering.
"What do you say to my generosity?" He taunted.
"Thank you? Sir?" She stammered.
It came out as question even though she didn't want it to. Surprisingly, he accepted the uncertain response. Maybe he was finally tired, she though hopefully. He had gathered his clothing and tossed them on the mattress, laying down on top of them. He rested his head on his arm and looked down at her, his eyes still as hard as stone. They traveled between her legs and rested there for moment. She held them clamped together tightly.
"Tomorrow I'm gonna tend to you." He announced. "I like my women a certain way. I'm gonna shave you down and get you all fixed up. Make your daddy proud."
  Henry chuckled at his cruel joke. Shawn Devereaux was probably rolling in his grave at how he had defiled his only daughter. The man was stupid believing everyone in this world would care for her like a father would.
As soon as Delarue turned down the oil lamp, tears sprang to Ireland's eyes. Last night she had went to bed just like any other night and now she was tied and naked on the floor of her own bedroom, a strange and terrible man sleeping in it. No sooner as she heard him start to snore that she went to work on her bindings.

It had taken her a long while to loosen the restraints that pinned her wrists under her body. From the look of sky from the open window, Ire knew that dawn was going to break soon. She had decided on a plan the moment the bastard had mentioned her father. She could not, no, WOULD not live like this.
Her hands were numb by the time she slipped out of the clumsily tied knots and sat up silently. She looked up. Delarue's arm was hanging over the side of the bed and his breathing was deep and steady, assuring her that he was in a dead sleep.
"I know what whiskey breeds." She sneered under her breath, mocking him.
It bred sin and unconsciousness is what it bred, she thought slyly. She stood up silently and realized that he had purposely laid on his clothing. His knife and most likely his gun were beneath his heavy body. There was no way she could get either without rousing him. If she had been strong enough, she would have choked him with her bare hands but she was a diminutive woman and he outweighed by she didn't know how much. Her eyes darted around the dim room until she spotted the shining broken neck of the discarded whiskey bottle. The end was a long, jagged,pointed shard and just as lethal as any blade if pushed into a soft throat. Grabbing the piece off the floor, she crawled gently up the foot of the bed and poised herself over him, bringing the sharp piece of glass up over head her with two hands, gripping the smooth neck.
Suddenly the sound of thundering hooves traveled through the open window along with the creaking of rolling wagon wheels. Delarue's eyes shot open to see his naked acquisition kneeling over him, a vicious snarl curling on her full lips. He raised his arm as the broken glass came down, slashing a wicked cut along the back of his hand. As quick as a rattler, his other arm came up making contact with her face, flinging her from the mattress like a rag doll. She hit the floor hard and Henry was on her instantaneously, squeezing her wrist till the weapon popped from her grip. His voice never wavered from the low growl as he wrapped his fist in her hair.
"Well Miss Devereaux, if you insist on acting like a wild animal, I'm going to treat you like one..."