Deed to Damnation

The Masks We Wear

Ireland waited patiently for Henry to return. She didn't dare move or sit for that matter. The reminder of the punishment remained. Hiking her skirt up, she gawked at her poor, beaten bottom. It had been about a half an hour since he left her and the fiery redness had ebbed to a tender pink. Where at first the strap marks hadn't been visible, she could now see where the edges of the worn leather belt had repeatedly bitten into the soft, round flesh leaving deeper, scarlet lines. She swore she must have taken at least twenty strikes. Maybe more. It had been awful and yet she felt his excitement pressing firmly against her belly as she lay helpless across his powerful thighs.
And what had she felt besides the steady burn and the feeling of being terribly helpless? It was a hard question to answer but even trickier to have to ask it of herself. Delarue hadn't touched her sex during the reprimanding and she was glad of it. Despite the harsh lashing, she felt a stirring within her. It was the same echoing sensation that overtook her in the past and it was shocking. She was sure that if he had explored her further he would have found wetness between her legs.
"What is wrong with you?" She asked her reflection.
She contemplated the image of herself, her body laced and harnessed in a dead madame's dress and slowly reached beneath the billowing hem of the fancy gown. A deep sigh of trepidation escaped her as she dared touch the small folds of her sex and was shocked to realize she was indeed slippery and warm. She pulled fingers away as if it had burned her and threw the hem back down abruptly. The very reality made her want to cry but there was no time for self pity. Henry's heavy boots were thudding up the stairs. Quickly, she wiped the small hint of tears from her eyes and straightened her shoulders as he came through the door with Missy in tow. The girl was holding a brush and jewel encrusted hair combs in her hands.
"I'll be waiting for you downstairs." He informed her and left, leaving her and Missy to eye each other suspiciously.
Neither of the women moved for a few moments, unable to break the awkward silence. It was Ireland that spoke first.
"I don't think I want to keep him waiting."
"You definitely don't." She agreed.
Once the conversation started it seemed as if the girl couldn't stop prattling on. Ireland listened respectfully, sitting on the bed as Missy's fingers moved deftly and efficiently on her tresses. She learned how Delarue and his gang traveled far and often and that there was never a regular home base. They would go from town to town, collecting money to protect the budding communities from the native savages that roamed the land.
"This was the first time he had to bring us so far out and I thought we had finally found a permanent place in Kansas." She told her. "Our mistress? Miss Odessa? She been stealin' from us and Mr. Delarue. He killed her so I guess he needed to make sure we was all still working and makin' him money."
Ireland crinkled her nose at being reminded that she was now stuffed into a dead woman's dress. If Missy noticed, she didn't let on, content to tell her all about herself and that she had been doing this line of work since she became orphaned at the tender age of twelve.
By the time the last hair comb was in place, Ireland had a better understanding of what this young woman was about and guilt washed over her. She had judged them all so harshly, as if they weren't human and she was ashamed. Not only that, she was outraged. Delarue was profiting from all of it. The sound of Missy's voice pulled her from her angry thoughts.
"All done, missus." She was telling her.
Ireland turned to face her and she was surprised at what she saw in the cobalt blue of the girl's eyes. Despite everything, they held a certain light, a happiness that would seem impossible under the grueling circumstances that she had been forced to live through. Impossible as it was, Missy's gaze held the essence of hope.
"You sure are pretty." Missy gushed. "Mr. Delarue is lucky to git a woman as pretty as you. But you best be gittin'. You don't need him givin' out an order to whoop ya."
"Too late." Ireland quipped. "He beat my ass with his belt not a half hour ago."
"Psshh. His belt?" The petite blonde replied. "And he did it himself? Damn, Miss Ireland, he musta taken a liken' to you!"
Likes? How could she even say that?
A loud voice thundered from the bottom of the staircase making both of the women jump.
"Ireland! Now!"
Missy wrapped one final tendril of Ireland's hair around her finger and pulled it loose leaving a soft curl that brushed her rouged cheek. Glancing in the mirror before she headed downstairs, Ireland noticed Missy had given her an intricate and flattering updo but still left a mass of curling tendrils free to fall down her back.
"Go now." Missy whispered urgently. "You don't want him comin' up here to git ya."
Ireland nodded in agreement and hustled down the stairs where Henry was waiting on the landing. His eyes swept over her quickly without much reaction and he sauntered into the parlor, taking a seat at one of the small tables. She paused only for a moment before following him.
Her first hurried step made her stop in her tracks and scrunch her face in disgust. The wooden floor that she had once kept meticulously clean was covered in a coating of goo that made her bare foot stick to the wooden planks. She glanced at Henry who was studying her casually as she pulled her toes out of the mess and hobbled over to the chair opposite of him. Plopping down on the seat, she stole a glance at the sole of her foot. It was already turning a dirty brown. It was almost impossible for her to choke down the insults she wanted to hurl at him. In three days time, Delarue and his gang had trashed the inn. Just a quick glance at the rest of the room confirmed the horror. Not only was the floor splattered in liquor, undoubtedly spilled by smelly, drunk men, chairs were broken and glass littered the parlor. It smelled like sour whiskey and sweat too. The whole scene made her both heartbroken and enraged. Much to her own dismay, Ireland burst into tears. She covered her face in her hands and just sobbed.
Henry let out an impatient huff.
"Cut that shit out."
Taking her palms from her eyes, she stared at him disbelievingly.
"Look what you've done to my home!" She cried, sweeping her hand at the remains of the parlor.
Henry's expression didn't change. His gaze was cool and his demeanor, casual as he tolerated the outburst.
"It's my home, Ireland." He stated coldly. "And you're part of it. I need you to fix it and make me money."
This time she let out a short bark of sarcastic laughter and wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her skirt. The thought of her recent punishment flashed through her mind but it couldn't stop the sheer rage that overtook her. How dare he!
"I will NEVER!" She hissed and popped to her feet.
Delarue stood to meet her, his chair clattering to the dirty floor. Leaning on his palms, he bent over the table and stared into her flushed face.
"You will, Ms. Devereaux." He drawled, watching her bottom lip tremble slightly.
"You'll have to kill me." She retorted. "Just please make it as quick as you did for this business."
The muscle in Henry's strong jaw pulsed dangerously and his eyes flashed with anger. It was getting increasingly harder to look at her as if she had been a gift. She was turning out to be more like an obstinate distraction. By now she should have learned something, he thought grudgingly. He had stolen her virtue and chained her in a barn. She had her mouth violated with the help of a wicked little device of his own invention and he had just gotten finished strapping her ass until it was hot to the touch. Yet here she stood defiant, as if none of those things had ever happened.
Ireland held her ground but her breathing had quickened and the blood that was racing through her veins thudded noisily in her ears. She even managed not to scream when several pairs of large, brutish hands clamped down on her arms, holding her in place. Henry's goons had surrounded her. There was really no need, she thought. There was no intention of backing down on her part. He had made it clear the inn was his now and that came with the mess he created.
"Take her to the barn and strip her down." Delarue ordered icily. "Stretch her from the rafters and tell Daniel to use the cats on her. Ten to start and then ask her when she wants to start working. Keep your dicks in your pants no matter how tempting she will obviously be. She's mine."
By this time, the inn's resident ladies had started to mill about, curious about the commotion that was brewing. They stood at the top of the stairs, gawking with wide eyes. It was clear to them all that this new girl had no idea who she was dealing with, nor did she realize what his order had meant. If she did, she wouldn't be standing there so stoically.
Ireland found herself being swept away towards the door. Did he expect her to plead? She would never give him the satisfaction. Seeing what he had done to her family's legacy sealed the deal on any form of cooperation no matter what.
"Stop!" A woman yelled.
All eyes turned to the top of the steps to see Missy, her pallor as white as a summer cloud. She scurried down the staircase and stood before Henry, wringing her hands nervously. His eyes bore down on the flustered girl as one of the men yanked her away.
"What is it, Missy?" Henry growled , clearly annoyed at the interruption.
"She don't know, Mr. Delarue." Missy peeped. "She ain't learned like all of us girls. Can I talk to her, sir?"
He straightened up and placed both hands on his hips.
"You're gonna take her whipping for her, girl?" He asked, turning his stony gaze to Ireland who had suddenly went pale.
"N..no, sir." Was the tiny response. "Just thought maybe I could tell her some things. Maybe make it easier on you too."
Ireland was dumbfounded. This girl barely knew her and she was imploring her rake of a boss to spare her a trip to the barn to suffer under Daniel's experienced hand.
"That won't be necessa...." Ireland began but was instantly cut off.
"You shut your mouth, missus!" The young woman barked, shocking Ireland into silence.
Henry stayed silent for a moment, mulling over the unexpected request. He trusted Missy more than most women and she had suffered to earn it too. The young whore had been whipped before and at one time had been just as insolent as Ms. Devereaux except she had been an uneducated street child when he took her. It was worth a shot though. He didn't really want to scar the umarred skin of his gift if he didn't have to.
"Okay, Missy." He conceded. "You've made me curious enough. You've got five minutes. The men will be showing up for cards and I expect my good luck charm waiting on me and figuring out how to earn her keep."
Ireland gasped as if he had thrown cold water on her but before she uttered a single sound, Missy grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her into the kitchen. The double doors swished closed behind them and the two women were alone.
Ireland went to speak but Missy cut her off as soon as she opened her mouth.
"You listen here, missus." She scolded quietly. "I don't know who you think that man is out there but I'll tell you somethin'. He's dangerous and right now he has you in a tight situation. You ain't like us and you better start behavin' before you are. A lady like you ain't fit to be riding cowboys all her life. Because mark my words, he'll make you into one."
"He stole everything from me!" Ireland hissed back.
"I reckon he did but you can bet he'll take more. You're gonna go out there tonight and yer gonna sit by him and be gracious to him. You want some control of yer life back? That's what you gotta do to fix part of yourself. It will start with the inn."
Fix part of herself? There was nothing wrong with her. She was fine until he showed up. As the thoughts turned in her head, Missy started undressing herself and put her fingers to her lips to hush anything Ireland was about to say. She opened and dropped the bodice of her dress down and turned, showing the wicked and raised scars that crisscrossed her back like broken railroad tracks. Ireland gasped.
"That's what I had to go through to prove my loyalty. I had the chance to avoid it once but I was runnin' the streets and was hard to handle. I ran away..."
She was dressing quickly now, satisfied she had shown the new girl enough to hopefully have her take the warnings seriously. With any luck, she could spare her from that fate.
"Now git and do what he asks of you. The more you please him the better it will be for you, missus." Missy cautioned.
"My name is Ireland." She offered.
"Well Miss Ireland. Heed my words or you'll find yourself humping strangers for money and the whole gang for free. You'll belong to all of them."
Without another word, Missy pushed the door open and let Ireland out first. The parlor was filling up with hardened poker players who came with pockets full of money and hopes of a windfall. One of Henry's men stood by the entrance collecting guns and frisking the eager participants. At least he knew enough to do that, Ireland thought as she watched another man carry in a crate of booze. Liquor, guns and sore losers rarely went well together and there was enough nastiness spilled on this floor without added bloodstains.
"Did you have a nice talk?"
It was Henry. He was standing behind her and talking quietly in her ear. Ireland jumped at his stealthy approach and turned to face him, biting her lip nervously.
"What did she tell you?" He asked, studying her uneasy expression.
"She told me enough, sir." She answered honestly.
Oh! How she hated using words of respect on him! The way his eyes gleamed at the pleasantry made her furious even though the smile he gave made him look remarkably handsome. Having thoughts like that made her even angrier at herself and she quickly wiped it from her mind.
"We're sitting over here, Ireland." Henry said and placed his palm gingerly on the small of her back to guide her.
They took their seat at a table in a far corner with Henry sitting so he could survey the room and all of its occupants. The parlor had filled up quickly. There were seven tables in all with five men at each one. They all ranged in age and social status from young, disheveled gunslingers to wealthy old codgers in suits with gold timepiece chains dangling from the pockets of silk waistcoats. Most she didn't recognize but some she did. Mayor Saunders was there along with the constable, Tim Drake, who when he saw her, leveled a curious stare in her direction.
Once the room was at capacity, the gun collector locked the door and drew the parlor curtains closed and the games started.
At first, the room was oddly quiet. There was nothing but the sound of coins being tossed into the various pots and low masculine tones asking for cards or throwing them down in frustration.
For the first few hands, Delarue was content to have her sit quietly next to him. She, of course, didn't understand the game and was allowed to see his cards. Unlike the other players, Henry's table was playing with paper money and the stakes were high. She watched in astonishment as what was equal to a month's worth of the inn's earnings were won and lost with a flip of a card.
Once the whiskey started flowing the atmosphere became more charged and the conversations louder and more animated. The girls were working the room, flirting with winners and pouring the liquor for the losing parties. Ireland sat back and watched it all unfold for the first time in her life. This is what her father had kept hidden from her for all those years. The piano had begun playing and the mood was lightening. Even Henry had seemed more at ease than when the games had first started. And why not? He had won every single hand thus far and had enjoyed a few tall glasses of whiskey.
Ireland's eyes swept the room, focusing on three young cowboys that had made their way behind the bar. Their conversation was boisterous and they were sharing a bottle of whiskey, celebrating their illicit winnings. She watched as the tallest of them chugged the end of the bottle and threw it against the kitchen doors, giving an echoing cry that sounded like the call of the savages. It shattered noisily to the delight of the crew. She turned to Henry, who was pouring two glasses of the amber liquor. He pushed one in her direction. The sound of the breaking bottle hadn't even phased him.
"Drink, Ireland." He commanded.
She didn't want to drink but Missy's confession was still heavy with her and she slammed it back. The look on her face made him laugh. It wasn't a sound she was used to hearing. He poured another but she hesitated. The last one tasted horrible and made her stomach burn caustically. Awful stuff but lucrative.
"Do you know how much I used to charge for one glass of that?" She asked, as he tossed his own drink back. "Five cents."
Henry didn't respond. It was like she hadn't even spoken. He snaked his arm around her cinched waist and pulled her into his lap, his free hand groping her breast over the plunging neckline of her dress. She stiffened at the blatant fondling and darted her eyes around the room. No one seemed to notice. There was a hiatus in the card playing and the men had turned their attentions to the ladies and more booze.
What Henry was doing was tame compared to what was happening around them. One of the girls, whose name turned out to be Robyn, was standing on a  the table, raising her flowing skirt enticingly as men threw coins at her feet. She let them run their hands up her shapely legs, fingers disappearing under the billowing hem. Missy was playfully leading a well dressed gentleman up the staircase by his loosened necktie. She locked eyes with Ireland for a moment and gave her an approving nod.
Ireland exhaled deeply as she felt Delarue's mouth on the soft slope of her neck. His breath was hot and his tongue warm, as it danced over her quickening pulse point. It sent chills through her despite the heat of his lingering exploration. His whiskers scraped against the hollows of her collarbone and his hand became more insistent, finding a slowly hardening nipple and pinching it through the form fitting velvet.
She let him do it, offering no resistance. She even turned her head, exposing even more of her neck for him to kiss and suck on.
"Five cents, sir." She continued. "The bottle on this table is worth twelve dollars and fifty cents. You're giving it away."
Why did her voice sound like this? It was husky and low. Hardly what she wanted to convey. She wanted to sound strong and business like but instead she sounded breathless and weak.
Henry chuckled against her ear. Whatever Missy had said had obviously made an impact. Ms. Devereaux was being remarkably welcoming and was even thinking about making him money with the inn he had taken away from her with a swirl of a pen. He knew very well how much a bottle of whiskey cost but he hadn't had to worry about paying for booze since he had put together his band of brothers and had basically taken over the budding territory. Things were given to him. If the townsfolk didn't have money to pay for protection? They would happily offer other valuables to keep the marauding Indians at bay including horses and land. He had been known to ravage wives and pretty young daughters if the mood suited him too.
"I'm proud of you, Ireland." He murmured in her ear. "You're a smart girl. I plan on asking Missy what she told you. I think she admires you."
His hands were all over her now and she felt so damn good in them even though she started to squirm when his fingers traced their way up her smooth inner thigh. The flesh felt like silk and the higher his touch traveled, the warmer it became as he teasingly brushed her sex with his thumb.
"Please." She begged. "I don't want anyone to think that I'm..."
"The only thing you have to worry about is what I'm thinking and about what I want." He interrupted.
He moved his hand away, petting the supple length of her thigh as the other players started returning to the table.
A new player joined the group now. It was Constable Drake and he took a seat right across from them. He tipped his hat and gave Ireland a wink and Henry a quick nod.
"High stakes at this table, Tim." Henry said, cutting the cards. "The mayor give you a raise?"
The sheriff gave a bright smile but couldn't hide the venom of his stare. In that moment Ireland felt invisible. Delarue pushed her from his lap and lit a pungent cigar, puffing out a smokescreen that made her sneeze.
"How long you planning on being in town, Henry?" Tim asked, pulling out a roll of bills.
Henry looked at the wad of cash in the man's hand and returned the false smile, pouring another glass of expensive liquor. He pushed it towards Tim who refused politely.
"Why, I just got here." Delarue answered. "It's been a while since I've stopped in Solstice. You know I come here quarterly."
Two of the players who were sitting with them stood up and left. They were replaced by a duo of Henry's top men who didn't utter a word. They didn't need to. Tim Drake knew why they were there. There had to be a show of force and it was an undeniable fact that Henry Delarue and his group packed a punch.
One of the men began dealing cards and Ireland stayed quiet. She had seen the sheriff looking her way earlier on and he was doing the same thing now, shooting glances at her while he studied his hand.
"Just kinda figured you'd be on your way is all." Tim continued, raising his eyes from his cards and looking to Henry.
Delarue asked for three cards and flicked the cigar ash on the floor. Ireland took a deep breath and looked away, hiding a perturbed scowl.
"I haven't picked up my pay yet." He answered. "Besides, I'm getting kinda tired of moving around so much. A man's gotta find a homestead. There's some beautiful scenery here in Solstice."
"Yes. Congratulations on your acquisition. The inn is, er, was real nice. A real goldmine." Drake snickered. "And I imagine you're taking care of Shawn Devereaux's daughter in the same manner?"
Ireland's face flushed at her mention and Henry leveled a hard gaze at the nosey opponent. Tim Drake, a good boy to the end, Delarue thought with amusement. Still looking out for a dead man's daughter.
The men played a few hands in silence and Ireland watched, stealing looks at the constable when she could. Henry had won all the games but one. His right hand man had claimed a pot too. Tim's cash was dwindling but he didn't seem to mind. By now he was down to his last few dollars when he turned his attention to her. He reached out and patted the back of her hand. She flinched at his touch and she felt Henry stiffen next to her. Drake's brown eyes sparkled and his teeth were white under his tan skin and neatly trimmed black beard. He had tried to court her once long before he was elected sheriff but like most, she had rebuffed him in favor of a sheltered life. She could hardly stand to look at him now in her madame's dress and her dirty bare feet.
"I never got to say my condolences. You lost a lot when your father died, didn't you?" He asked, shooting a sideways glance towards Henry.
"I..." She began.
But Henry lifted his hand and held two fingers to her lips. His gaze was unwavering as he stared Tim down.
"She's just fine, Drake." Henry answered. "As a matter of fact, Ms. Devereaux is gonna build this place up for me. Aren't you, princess?"
"I..."
"She sure as hell is. We're just gonna change the venue up a bit." He answered for her again.
Tim looked at his last hand of cards and threw the last few dollars in the center of the table. He was the last to put in.
"You gained a lot from Devereaux's death, Henry. Perfect timing too. Shawn gets put in the ground and you come riding into town to collect what's yours? Impeccable timing, I say." Tim subtlety challenged.
He placed his cards face up on the table.
"Four of a kind." He stated.
The other two men threw their hands down in disgust as Drake leaned back in the creaky parlor chair.
"What can I say, Drake?" Henry purred. "I've always been lucky. Straight flush."
He dropped the winning hand and pulled the cash towards Ireland. All she could do was stare at the pile of money in front of her.
The sheriff stood and tipped his hat, an odd smirk on his face.
"I'll be seeing you, Ireland." He said casually and turned to go.
"Hey sheriff." Henry drawled, pulling Ireland between his legs again. "How you going to explain going home with your tail between your legs and with no pay? That pretty little wife of yours isn't gonna be too happy."
Henry drew on the cigar again and his cohorts laughed.
"My wife is very well taken care of." He replied. "Most decent men know how to do that. And my pay? That ain't my pay, Henry. That's your money. I collected it from the townsfolk for you. Just doing my part to keep you in luck's good graces."
That quieted the men real quick and Henry's grip on Ireland's thigh tightened, squeezing until she sucked in her breath. He let Tim go though and threw back an enormous gulp of liquor. His mood had turned dark. She could feel it radiating from him like heat from a roaring fire. She reached for the near empty bottle and very carefully, poured the rest into his glass and offered it to him gently without saying a word. He gave her a cold stare but drank it and licked his lips.
"God damn, if he didn't ruin my mood." He growled.
Ireland sat there, studying his face and seeing the rage in his eyes that were hooded with long, dark lashes. Be gracious, she reminded herself, thinking of Missy's torn up back.
"Well, at least you didn't lose anything." She managed to peep.
It was the wrong thing to say because he stared at her intently, shining eyes flicking over her. In an instant he was up, wrapping her under one arm and pulling her away from the table. He was crushing her against him, the boning in her corset digging in painfully and she began to flail. Instantly, he dropped her and it was all she could do not to fall to the floor. She managed to catch herself on the edge of the table and stared up at him wide eyed.
"Collect my money and get your ass up stairs!" He boomed.
Her hands were shaking as she gathered up the bills and began collecting them in the skirt of her gown. Henry was instructing one of his men to keep the games rolling and the liquor flowing until it was gone. He wanted the girls put to good use too. He expected to collect the earnings in the morning. He turned to see her standing there and gave her a look of shock.
"I said get upstairs!" He roared.
Ireland pinched closed the folded skirt containing the money and scurried to the stairs, pushing a few drunk men out of the way. One grabbed at her and found himself on the receiving end of Delarue's fist. He was right behind her, ushering her up the stairs and into his room. The one that used to be hers. He slammed the door and locked it.
"You are not to talk to Tim Drake." He said. "You are not to talk to anyone without my approval."
"But I didn't!" She answered. "You wouldn't let me!"
"And you're not going to." He retorted, slapping her hands away from the skirt.
The winnings fluttered down like paper rain. There were hundreds of dollars. She was sure of it. How much had he taken from her father over the years? Worse yet, how much did her father lose to him? More than was on that floor, she thought bitterly. Her life was part of those spoils as well.
"Take off that dress." He ordered, tossing his hat on the dressing table. "I need something to make me feel better and you've been so accommodating tonight. I'm wondering if it was for show."
It had been a show, orchestrated by Missy and it was completely backfiring. She had hoped he would let her rest or maybe take a hot bath. He told her good behavior gets rewarded. It was apparent his idea and her idea of what a reward entailed was completely different.
"I'm not washed up. I'm not..." She protested but Henry was too aggravated for excuses.
His fingers found the clasps of her bodice and unfastened them faster than she could have done. She was always hesitating, he thought angrily. Before long she was standing before him in the constricting corset once again.
"I don't care about that. I'm about to make a mess of you anyhow." He growled as he pulled the glittering combs from her head.
Her hair tumbled down in a mass of strawberry blonde waves, the scent of orange blossom drifting to his nose. Grabbing a fist full, he crashed his lips to hers and sought out her tongue eagerly.
Ireland's heart was thudding in her chest and she was helpless against him as he held her head in an unforgiving grip. When he pulled back, she was dizzy and her lips felt swollen and bruised.
"You're going to make me feel better, Ireland." He said, his voice husky with want. "That's what your role is. Make me forget about Drake and his suspicions. Make me forget all my suspicions about you too."
"About me?" She asked, studying his stormy eyes.
"Yes." He answered, pulling her breasts from the corset. "You've been so warm and inviting this evening. What did Missy tell you to warrant such an unexpectedly pleasant change?"
As he was pressing her for answers, his rough palms were petting her soft mounds gently, enjoying how the small, pink points tightened at the deliberate stroking. He found it amusing how she was trying to stand there as if he wasn't exploring her generous curves. Her gaze was stony but she was trembling slightly. He could feel it beneath his eager fingers.
"She told me enough." Was the simple answer.
Her repeated reply was met with him bending and taking a nipple to his mouth, swirling the hardened bud with his tongue. She stood like a statue, only gasping when he began nibbling incessantly until it ached. Finally, he raised his head when he got a response from her.
"Let's see if she did indeed, tell you enough." He responded.
She watched as Henry unfastened and dropped his gun belt to the floor. It made a loud thud as it hit the wooden floorboards, followed by the popping buttons of his breeches. His hands went to her shoulders where he pushed gently, urging her to her knees. When she offered resistance, he reached into his shirt pocket.
"Will we be needing this tonight, Ms. Devereaux?" He chided, dangling her custom made bit before her widened eyes.
Of all things, she did not want that! He may have liked watching her struggle and choke on him but she did not. Missy's words echoed in her ears. 'The more you please him the better it will be for you. It's how you start to take your life back. It starts with your inn.'
"No." She said. "No. You won't need that."
Her voice was barely a whisper. It betrayed her once again. She wanted to sound confident, to sound as if she wasn't afraid any longer but it didn't come out that way at all and she hated it.
"Well, get to it then." He chuckled. "Let's see how much you remember."
By now, Ireland was on her knees at Henry's insistent urging. In this moment she had never felt so insignificant and small. This man, her guardian and tormentor was looming over her and grinning slightly as he pulled his member out of his pants and pointed it right at her face.
"No teeth, Ireland. Show me that I can trust you." He warned.
God, he loved the way she looked right now. Her eyes showed everything she was feeling as she peered up at him. He had seen so many women in her position but not like this one. This virtuous, brave and headstrong woman was about to perform her first womanly duty. She was going to do it willingly and it was all for him. Okay, maybe it wasn't completely voluntary, he thought wickedly, but he wasn't going to have to use the bit this time.
She bit her lip nervously but then opened her mouth wide and closed her eyes. Looking at him or it was out of the question. He didn't wait for her to take his length between her parted lips. Instead, he pushed himself in and glided over the warmth of her tongue. He heard her exhale and then she finally closed her full lips around him and began moving her head back and forth.
"Good girl." He groaned.
The last time this happened, Ireland's senses had shut down and what she did remember, had been blurry and vague till now. Then, she could only remember the helplessness and the feel of her jaws being forced apart and the stifling heat of the blacksmiths shop. Now there was none of that. Just the taste and feel of his manhood filling her mouth and the sound of his raspy breathing.
The skin of his member was soft but she could feel the veiny underside as it slid over her tongue and it grew even bigger as she strained to please him. He was too big, too thick, and she felt as if she could not take another inch without gagging. As if reading her mind, he pulled out and slicked it across her wet lips. She was able to take a breath.
"Use your hands, Ireland. A man likes that too." He growled sternly. "Remember how I showed you."
She nodded nervously and grasped the pulsing shaft. 'Touch me like a woman should', he had told her the first time she had ever put her hands on him. He meant gentle but there was really no other way to be in her opinion. She was afraid to hurt him although there was a part of her that wanted to slap it away from her face. Who would have thought that this was the way she would be introduced to pleasing a man, she thought bitterly. He may be darkly handsome but this was supposed to be done lovingly not like... 
Why?! Why was she even thinking about how he looked? Missy had warned her that he was dangerous and here she was thinking about what he had looked like when he had taken her in the kitchen. His beard was wet with her musk when he ravaged her mouth. He had broken her with his tongue that day and she never could have imagined that her body would respond the way it had. It was shameful!
"Ireland!" Henry barked, pulling her from her perplexed thought.
Immediately, she went to work on him, pumping him gently but firmly. He groaned softly at her clement stroking. When he wanted a harder touch, he grabbed her fist and guided her without words before thrusting himself back into her mouth.
"Deeper, princess." He ordered huskily, pushing himself towards the back of her throat. It slid all the way back and she gagged, expelling him completely. He gave a dissatisfied huff.
"You did better with your bit." He informed her.
She panted and slowly enclosed him in the lush warmth of her mouth again. Scrunching her eyes closed, she swallowed him whole, opening her throat to accommodate his girth. She didn't want that bit put back in her mouth again at any cost. This time she didn't gag, even when she felt the thickness slide past the tight muscles of her throat that choked off her breathing momentarily. Delarue groaned loudly from her efforts and stroked her hair softly in approval.
"Now both." He ordered. "Use your hands and that talented little tongue of yours. It's nice to know it's good for something other than waggin' it."
Ugh, he was such a sarcastic bastard, she thought, as she poked her tongue out and gave him a small lick. Her effort was met with a violent buck of his hips that jammed his slick manhood back down her throat again.
"Not quick like a snake's tongue." He scolded. "Slow and sweet like licking honey from a spoon."
She hoped he didn't see her snarl her lip before she stuck out her whole tongue and slithered it up the full length of his shaft before popping it back in her mouth and started sucking earnestly. She alternated between her hands, mouth and tongue just as he requested and it was a few long minutes before his muscular thighs began to quake from the impending release. Her mouth was saturated from her own saliva as he occasionally thrust to the farthest reaches of her throat. She was relieved as the wetness made it easier for her to take him all the way in without much of a gag.
"That beautiful mouth." He rasped. "Hold still cause I'm gonna fuck it to finish."
Crude. It was so crude it made her want to cry. But she stopped and let him do the work, allowing him to batter the back of her throat mercilessly. His fingers tangled in her hair and his soft moans grew louder with each relentless thrust. Finally, with a roar, he climaxed, flooding her mouth with his thick, steamy seed.
Ireland gulped to keep it from spewing from her lips but it was too fast and too much. It coated her mouth and drizzled from her lips in thin streams, dripping from her chin and onto her bare thighs. Henry looked down from above.
"Show me those eyes." He demanded, tapping his spent member on her bottom lip.
That was the last thing she wanted to do. Would he ever stop finding new ways to cheapen and humiliate her? Probably not, she thought miserably as she turned her gaze up, flashing green meeting smoldering hazel.
"Mmmm.." he growled with a lascivious grin. "I love the way look with my leavings on your face."
Outrageous! He was surely testing her now. The way he was looking at her! The way he was talking to her! It made her blood boil and she wanted to pull that sack between his legs like a cow's udder but he was tugging her up by her hair.
"I do believe you've made me feel better. You made me forget all about your friend, the sheriff."
Once again he spun her and bent her over the side of the bed. Another whipping? After all she had done too. But instead, she heard him kneel behind her, his strong hands kneading her shaking thighs. He was unlacing the bindings of the beaten up corset.
"Put your hands behind your back, Ireland." He ordered.
She did as she was told as goosebumps rose all over her body. His fingertips wisped her sex and she shivered slightly. He bound her hands with silk corset ties tightly and gave her bottom a hard smack. She jumped at the sting and it made him smile.
How inviting she looked with her fiery, golden hair draped down her back and skin so fair it was as if the sun had never kissed it. She bore his marks too. Her round ass held thin, bruised lines from his belt. It was delicious.
Ireland was in an internal panic. What was he going to do? She couldn't take another spanking like the last one but when he pushed her legs apart and she felt his course beard stroke her inner thighs, she knew he wasn't going to strap her. Instead, she felt his tongue take a long, languorous lick through the folds of her sex and all the way up before planting a kiss on her lower back. She gasped and stiffened at the unexpected invasion.
"Stop." She whimpered.
It was all so foreign and humiliating.
"Every piece of you is tantalizing." He drawled, burying his tongue into her clenching sex. "And I plan on tasting every goddamned inch and you're going to let me."
That statement was true because she was frozen in place as he explored her that way. His mouth devoured her sex which began to respond despite where her mind was. He was able to invoke the strange, serendipitous sensations easily with his ravenous mouth and eager tongue, sucking and licking that secret little spot that made her legs turn to jelly.
Ireland heard herself moan softly as he thrust two long fingers deep inside her now sopping sex. He answered with a husky groan as they became slick with her honey and she began pushing back against them in abandon. He concentrated on the little pearl that was hardening and growing at his insistent attention as her welcoming walls tightened around his probing digits. She was turning into quite a little vixen, he thought lustily and began sucking on the tight bundle of nerves until she cried out and finally released, her juices pouring from her like rain.
He had done it again and this time she hadn't fought him or against the unspeakable waves of pleasure that wracked her whole being and she let her body still until her rapid breathing calmed.
Henry had stood and she could hear him stripping off his clothing. When he was through, he got into the bed and pulled her spent form next to him so that they were face to face. He left her tied. He still didn't trust her enough to sleep without it being that way, although in this moment she looked tired and probably didn't have the energy to fight. But still...
Ireland closed her eyes, wanting nothing but sleep. She felt drained. Not just physically but psychologically and spiritually too. What was she becoming? She felt Henry smooth a sweat soaked tendril from her cheek.
"What did Missy tell you?" He murmured.
Ireland opened her drowsy eyes. Should she tell him? If she didn't, he may have another punishment awaiting an outright denial to answer and then he would simply go ask Missy. She decided to respond with a partial confession.
"She said you would make me a whore. She said everything would be alright if I gave myself willingly instead of fighting you at every step." She admitted, hoping the response was good enough.
She said nothing about seeing the scars.
Henry studied her face and she gazed back. He was always so damn unreadable, she thought with annoyance. Everything about him was an enigma.
"She shouldn't have told you that." He murmured lazily. "Just because you don't fight me, doesn't mean everything will always be okay. It will just be a bit easier at times. I'm a fickle man, Ireland, and I always get what I want."
Moody and brutal was more like it, she thought.
"And as far as making you a whore? I already have." He said flatly. "You're my whore and don't forget it."
He closed his eyes and turned over then, leaving her shocked and speechless. If her hands hadn't been tied, she would have raked his eyes out. She silently cursed Missy for talking her into this madness. Apparently, succumbing to him made her his whore now? Well, if that's what he thought, he was going to be absolutely right about that. If Henry Delarue wanted a whore, that's exactly what he was going to get...