Retrospection Ch 03

His captive was sitting, sullen but seemingly composed, in the dining nook pondering the remnants of their breakfast when his phone rang. Glancing at the screen he noted a coworker's number and quickly assessed that there was some unquestionably "urgent" crisis that couldn't wait for a return call without creating discontent. He looked over at the girl; she seemed completely uninterested in his presence one way or another, so he headed upstairs to his office to pull up the project he'd been working on for weeks, despite the occasional annoyance of interruptions from his uninvited guest.

It was through the upstairs window that he saw the girl next, as she darted through the meticulously manicured landscaping of the yard towards the rough wooden fence surrounding the paddock out back. By the time he had dropped the phone--leaving his coworker stuttering on the other end of the line--and made it down the stairs she had climbed over the first fence line and was nearly to the fence on the other side. His shouted warnings did nothing to slow her down; thankfully the adrenaline on his part urged him forward at a speed faster than her own. He grabbed her by the waist just as she was throwing a leg over the fence, and pulled her down into his body, holding her firmly.

"What the hell were you thinking? Would you rather deal with this---"

He turned her enough that she could see the space past the fence she had almost flung herself unhesitatingly over, with the thin foot or so of solid ground between the fence line and the 70-some-odd feet drop off into the ravine below---

"Or this?"

With that, he pushed her behind him and faced off with the large raven-black stallion who was quickly approaching towards them, pawing the dust in front of him with his nostrils flaring and ears pinned back malignly.

"Whoa Midnight, easy fellow. We aren't here for you. No need to worry handsome, we'll get out of your way. No harm done."

He pushed her backwards firmly as he retreated himself, stepping backwards with his eye on the horse, all the while soothingly reassuring the spooked creature. When his back hit the side paddock fence he quickly flipped, grabbing the girl and tossing her swiftly over the fence before climbing over himself. The horse paced back and forth, but seemed convinced that they were out of his territory for good and eventually backed off, returning to the other side of the paddock with a huff over his shoulder, as if to make it clear their attempted company was most unwelcome.

"That was completely idiotic. Midnight is unbroken and as unpredictable as you are. If you are going to take action it should at least be reasonably thought through. I told you from the start I won't tolerate you putting yourself at risk."

Her struggles as he tossed her over his shoulder and headed to the house were half-hearted at best.

He pushed through the door and lugged her through the common room to the master suite. They'd avoided his personal territory since the last hissy fit landed her in isolation and he bristled at the new intrusion of his space, but easy access to his remaining collection of tools offset the inconvenience of her presence in his personal dominion.

He dumped her unceremoniously in the middle of his bed. The California king fit his 6' 4" frame nicely, but she barely made a dent as her petite frame hit the mattress. She scurried backwards away from him, until her back hit the dark mahogany headboard.

He turned his back on her, not particularly concerned, and made his way to the back of the spacious walk in closet to the built in drawers where he stashed the remainder of his play collection. He'd pulled everything he had out of storage after the arrival of his guest, so the selection was fairly substantial. For his initial purposes he selected a couple lengths of rope.

He tied the first length of rope around the ornately carved post on one side, expertly knotting them securely, while leaving enough loose to allow for some give. He glared at her sternly, catching her eye briefly, before walking around and repeating the process on the other side. She squirmed further away from him, but made no real effort to escape.

"Easy way or hard way? Give me your wrist."

The girl shook her head stubbornly, pulling her knees to her stomach protectively.

"You really are choosing the hard way when you already know I am pissed? That's your second mistake of the day pet."

He gave her a moment to reconsider before lunging forward, flipping her into her stomach and securing one wrist in his hand before slipping it into the loop of the rope, tightening it just right to ensure secure restraint without cutting off circulation. She flailed around on the bed trying to keep her other wrist out of his grasp, but to no avail. He soon had the second wrist secured just as effectively.

As she sputtered and thrashed he returned to the closet for a spreader bar. Bound securely, she had no hope of escape. She was attired, as usual, in a pair of his gym shorts and a far too loose tshirt--his guest wardrobe no longer boasted the elaborate corsets and provocative minidresses kept on hand for trainees of the past. He wasted no time in relieving her of the shorts, cuffing both ankles and expanding the bar to the point of discomfort without actually becoming painful.

That brought a squawk from the girl; while there had been a handful of spankings administered generously on her naked buttocks she'd never been this exposed to him in the past.

"Hush, or I will gag you as well."

She fell silent, but the blanket clenched in her fists and the tension in her body still conveyed her disapproval. He couldn't hold himself back, he reached towards her and almost compulsively ran just the tips of his fingers from the nape of her neck down the spine, stopping just above her buttocks. He noticed her shiver and then, suddenly and unexpectedly, gave each buttock a resounding smack.

"I want to make sure we are absolutely clear. I am not punishing you for trying to run. I am not in the habit of holding unwilling women captive and attempting to remove yourself from the situation is a completely reasonable undertaking. But I. Will. Not. Tolerate. You. Putting. Yourself. At. Risk. Of. Harm."

He accentuated each word with a particularly heavy smack on her naked buttocks. She squirmed, but stayed quiet. Spankings weren't anything new, even if the restraints were. However, he hadn't even begun actually punishing her yet.

Returning to the closet he pulled out several more tools and lay them out next to her, just out of sight. He picked up the first, a paddle similar in size to a ping-pong paddle, but this one covered in leather. With no warning he began peppering her bottom with blows, beginning relatively softly but gradually increasing the intensity. She whimpered through the twenty or so strikes.

Dropping the paddle on the bed he went back to using his hand. These blows were harshly unforgiving, too fast to count. That attention, administered without commentary for several minutes, escalated her own muffled complaints to occasional verbal strong objections, which he resolutely ignored.

Next he picked up the heavy leather strap and measured it's weight in his hand. Positioning himself off to her side, he aimed carefully and delivered the first blow. A resounding smack was immediately followed by a screech from the girl on the bed. He clenched his teeth and resolutely administered a dozen blows. By the end of the series the objections had been replaced by outright sobbing. He was convinced she had learned her lesson...almost.

He picked up the last implement from the bed. The riding crop made a whistling sound as it whipped through the air. He'd selected this final implement more for the connotation than the effect, though he didn't hesitate to strike her thighs and the back of her legs, which he had avoided completely with the other implements. If she was going to demand he demonstrate his skills as a rancher, he would most certainly use a tool appropriate to inspiring an immediate response in both horses and women.

"I am fully capable of breaking in a horse. I can unquestionably break you as well if I want to. I don't. But I will not allow you to put yourself in an unsafe situation. I will ensure your safety, whether you want me to or not."

By the end of his speech the sobs had faded from wracked torment to silent tears. He'd had his say, and she clearly had learned the lesson. There was no need for additional scolding. He knew the beating had been harsh and, as such, after care was a necessity, not a nicety.

He returned to the closet and dug in a different drawer for the ointment he was looking for. Returning to the bed, he placed a hand on the middle of her back and visually examined the results of his efforts. She lay still, not wanting to encounter any further wrath. The smell of peppermint filled the air as he squeezed a generous amount of arnica gel from the container. He applied it liberally, particularly making sure to generously cover the lashes from the strap. She would certainly bruise and sitting would be uncomfortable for quite some time, but his aim had been sure and not one blow had passed beyond the safe strike zone between the buttocks and the fleshy areas of the thighs.

Once he was satisfied with his treatment of the bruises he put the tube aside and moved towards the headboard. He gently slipped a finger into each knot and loosened it sufficiently to pull her wrist out. He carefully examined each wrist in turn; the cotton rope he'd selected had left nothing more than red imprints despite the twisting and tugging.

When he stepped back she instinctively rolled to her side and drew her knees up into fetal position. He grabbed a lush throw that had been draped over the baseboard and tucked it securely around her, covering her nakedness completely. Gently, he reached down and wiped the tears from her face with the palm of his hand. He had the ridiculous urge to kiss her forehead, but brushed it off promptly and settled for brushing the hair from her face as well before stepping away from the bed to allow her space to recover.

-----

The girl whimpered as she rolled over, feeling the ache throughout her body. She wanted to hate him. But deep down she was more frightened by the reality that he was right---she had acted impulsively and in doing so had put herself at risk of harm.

Her step-father had taken a belt to her a time or two and while the punishment at her captor's hand had been harsh, in actuality it hadn't been anything more than she had experienced in the past. The difference was in the reasoning behind the chastisement. Her step-fathers abuse was typical administered when she attempted to fight his advances or, on one very memorable occasion, when she accidentally had let something slip to a teacher at school that had drawn attention to the family. Those beatings were very much about retribution, never actual correction.

She tried to convince herself that there wasn't a difference--that her captor really had simply been taking his frustration about her presence out on her ass. Somehow, she couldn't manage to delude herself. While he had consistently remainder guarded and she was constantly on edge trying to read his subtle shifts in mood, there was no denying the fact that the discipline administered was done so out of a desire to keep her physically safe.

Somehow that reality was comforting. And that realization scared her far more than the fear of future beatings.

----

She wasn't sure how long she had slept before his hand was on her arm, the other prompting her mouth open to deposit two small pills on her tongue. She startled and moved to spit them out, but he closed his hand over his mouth gently, but firmly.

"It's just pain pills, nothing more. Swallow."

She pushed herself up on her side and he removed his hand from her mouth, replacing it with a bottle of water. She drank greedily, the liquid washing the pills down along with rinsing away the coppery taste of blood from the lip she had bit while crying out during her punishment.

He stood over her at the side of the bed, towering above her even as she pulled herself hesitantly onto her knees, avoiding contact with her bruised posterior. She was kneeling before him yet again, and once again choosing the pose over sitting. His training was subtly sinking in and she wasn't even aware of the reality that he was gradually stripping away her resistance. Choosing to run had been nothing more than instinct and opportunity, not an act driven by an actual desire to escape.

She didn't recognize that, at least not fully. He, on the other hand, was fully aware of her underlying, subconscious motives.

"I've drawn you a bath. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

He extended a hand, but she ignored it, groaning as she pulled herself painfully to her feet. He watched her efforts closely, disapproval evident in his gaze. Despite her determination to resist his insistent efforts to nurture her as she recovered from the pain he himself had inflicted, she found herself following him into the bathroom without resistance.

It was the first time she'd entered the master bath, and the title seemed inadequate to describe the palatial room. Two walls were covered with mirrors, one full length from floor to ceiling. The other spread the length of the wall over a spacious granite countertop equipped with two raised vessel sinks. Glass walls outlined a spacious tile shower with multiple shower heads and a generous sized bench. Next to the shower steam was rising from the water filling the large free standing tub.

He stood expectantly next to the tub, and she moved hesitantly towards him. As soon as she was in reach he scooped her up in his arms. Surprised, she let out a yelp but made no effort to resist.

He lowered her gently into the bathtub, paying no attention to the water as it moistened his shirt sleeves. She sunk thankfully into the water, wincing only slightly as her bruised buttocks hit the bottom of the deep soaker tub. The faint hint of vanilla permeated the steam as it surrounded her body.

After just a moment she felt the rush of water as several jets burst into action. The water swirling around her further embraced her in warmth and soothed her tense and aching muscles. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, allowing the tension to drain from her body.

His touch moments later startled her. Eyes snapping open, she found herself face to face with him as he carefully studied her reaction. His hair, a dark rich brown, curled slightly, accenting the curves of his face. A slight stubble graced his chin, leaving a subtle casual hint to his appearance. He had removed his wet shirt and his well-toned abdomens belayed his strength; a hint of hair tracing the midline of his body surrounding his belly button. His ice-blue eyes stared into her as if he could see past her physical appearance into her soul.

Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he gave a sharp nod, then reached for a smooth ball of soap resting in a small basin on the edge of the tub. The smell as he lathered his hands wasn't quite identifiable, it just smelled...clean. He reached for her closest arm and tenderly rubbed the soap in, gently rinsing with a cupped hand of water before reaching over her to do the other arm.

Lathering up again he started on her leg, from knee to ankle and then her foot, not only washing but also tenderly massaging the soles of each of her feet. When he sat up again he gently touched her on the shoulder, silently but firmly prompting her to sit up. She did so and he ran his lathered hands gently up and down her neck and back. She shivered as he reached her hip and softly ran his hand over her hip and the top of her buttocks, soothing the welts that were within his reach. She thought, perhaps, he was done at that point, but he reached again for the ball of soap.

She tensed instinctively as he ran his hand over her shoulder, then shivered as he ran his hand oh so lightly over one breast--thorough but not lingering--and then the other. Next he took the ball of soap and slid it down her stomach and up and down each of her thighs, the glistening of the soap on her skin and his hand as it moved to make direct contact was captivating and she couldn't seem to voice an objection. Finally he had washed every possible area of her body--except for one.

She stared on, enthralled, as he wrapped his hand around the ball of soap and slipped it between his fingers suggestively. He purposely guided his slippery fingers into the curves between her thighs, stroking until the bubbles arose and then gathering water in his hand and drawing it up between her legs to rinse it away. She wasn't sure at this point why she wasn't objecting--but he seemed so confident and matter of fact it was as if an objection on her part would be nothing short of ridiculous.

As he slipped a single finger into her moist folds she gasped, threw her head back and closed her eyes--the objection she had been searching for vanishing completely. Ever so tenderly he added a second finger, scissoring them slowly back and forth before reaching her sweet spot. When he added a stroke of his thumb expertly tracing circles around her clit the girl's breath deepened and she began to quiver visibly as all resistance whatsoever drained into the warmth of the water surrounding her.

Her climax, when she reached it, was not earth shattering. It was just enough to ensure a rush of endorphins flooded her system, leaving her limp and satisfied. She opened her eyes again after a moment, but he had already risen and all she got was a glimpse of his bronze back as he walked out of the bathroom, leaving her alone to engage in silent contemplation.