Long Road to Freedom Ch. 04

TRIGGER WARNING: Non-con

Author's Note: Hey ladies, gents, and all you lovelies in between, this chapter may not be for everyone. I recognize the controversial nature of stories with non-con material. So, if these themes are not for you, that is perfectly okay. There are many other wonderful authors with incredible stories on this site to explore.

4

Pushing Boundaries

He watched her tuck fallen branches and loose sticks under her arm, adding them to a growing pile of dry wood. "You're working too hard, Nora," he drawled, his voice cutting through the calm quiet of the camp. "At this rate you're gonna pick the desert clean. Come here and help me wipe down the saddles."

She stopped dead in her tracks, her muscles tense, but she did not consider protesting. Stiffly she inched her way to his side, trying to maintain enough distance to keep herself out of grabbing range. His eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, closing the distance to snatch her by the wrist, not roughly, but with a firm grip that brooked no argument. He pulled her between him and the saddles that hung over the branches of a withered tree. Their combined weight made the trunk bend precariously to the side.

"Get the grime off 'em," he ordered, shoving a dirty cloth into her hands.

As she set to work, he shifted his body, causing his hips to press against her backside. He wanted to see her react, see that flicker of annoyance in her pretty eyes. He needed to test her ability to play this submissive role in which she thought herself safe and untouchable.

Right on cue, her face twisted into a look of disgust, but with great effort she remained stoic. Focusing only on the task at hand, she wiped away the dirt that had accumulated in the saddles' folds and pockets in the humid conditions near the river. All the while, Beau used his proximity to make the work as unnecessarily difficult as possible.

Nora ground her teeth, wanting nothing more than to lash out, but their agreement kept her in check. He could see the tension in her frame and the way her breathing subtly hitched when he pressed himself a little closer. He felt as if he could hear all the vicious abuses she wanted to hurl his way.

Unable to resist adding insult to injury, he leaned forward. His voice was a low, mocking whisper that tickled the shell of her ear. "Something wrong, darlin'? You seem a little stiff."

In some respects, he liked this little game their deal had brokered, in which he held all the cards, and she was just trying to survive the hand. He adjusted his weight, pressing his chest flush against her back. His hands rested against the struggling tree branch, caging her in. He tilted his head further and let his gaze linger on her lips. Cool blue eyes dropped lower to trace along the curves of her body with a slow, possessive intent.

"I'm fine, Mr. Mercer," she replied, the words ringing out with crisp professionality.

This time, she felt prepared for his antics. When her saddle was free of lingering debris, she ducked under his arm and strutted away to carry on with camp preparations as if nothing notable at all had occurred. Without looking back, she laid out their bedrolls, placing hers as far away from his as possible. Then she began to rummage through their saddlebags to determine what to prepare for dinner. She prioritized fresh produce over dried staples and determined there was enough there to make a decent chili. As she worked, she could feel his eyes boring into her. It took effort to hide the smug smirk that wanted to creep across her face.

To Beau, addressing him as 'Mr. Mercer' felt like blatant return fire in their ongoing war of wills. He pushed himself away from the tree. He prowled back into her personal space, towering over her as she knelt by the cast-iron pot. While he welcomed her charming but futile efforts to combat him, he wouldn't sit idly by as she attempted to shift the balance of power.

"I don't remember giving you permission to ignore me, Nora," he grumbled, reaching down to catch a stray lock of dark hair that had freed itself from her braid. He wound it slowly around his index finger. "You're getting awfully bold with this little silent act."

"Since when is being quiet a crime?" she snapped, her patience on a razor's edge. "I'm not ignoring you. I answer when you call, and I do everything you ask without complaint."

Her fingers twitched, yearning to yank her hair from his grasp. She forced them still, assuming the act would somehow be construed as some inane form of resistance. It seemed as if he was looking for any reason to harass her. She averted her gaze and set herself to stirring the ingredients. It was much easier to maintain her composure when she didn't have to confront him head-on. If he wanted compliance, it would be on her terms.

He chuckled darkly, but the mirth didn't touch his eyes. He gave the lock a sharp, painful tug, forcing her attention back to him. "You sure got a smart mouth for someone who just yesterday promised to be perfectly obedient," he warned in a low rumble like the thunder before a terrible storm. "Set the pot to boil, darlin'. Then come over here. I reckon a back rub would do me good."

Her eyes widened before she could school her expression. She understood his game well enough by now. He would push until he found the exact point where she was wholly unwilling to go. She shuffled her feet, kicking up small clouds of dust as she hesitated. With an exasperated sigh of defeat, she abandoned the cast-iron pot and trudged over to where Beau had indicated. If looks could kill, the man would be nothing more than a smear of crimson across the desert floor.

He didn't say a word, simply settling himself into a comfortable position near the fire and gesturing to his shoulders. Again, she paused as she fought her natural instinct to tell him to eat shit before better sense won out. He waited with a predator's patience, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Well? Don't stand there looking like a calf at a gate. Get to it," he demanded in a half-amused, lazy drawl.

With tentative fingers, she reached out and began to knead the tension from his shoulders. He let out a long, satisfied sigh, closing his eyes. His hard, corded muscles scarcely budged under her kneading hands. She let her gaze trail up the strong lines of his neck, lingering on his side profile. The old scar across his cheek reflected the firelight with a pale sheen. It was the only flaw among his sharp, masculine features. She would have found him devastatingly handsome if he were not such a vile man.

"Harder, sweetheart. I can barely feel you. Use those strong ranch hands of yours," he barked over his shoulder.

Nora scowled, but in his command she saw an opportunity for a bit of malicious compliance. With a small smile hidden from view, she funneled all her pent-up rage into her hands and made him feel every bit of it. A surge of glorious triumph bloomed in her chest when he flinched. He had asked for it, she reasoned.

He sucked in a sharp breath when she tunneled her fingers into his shoulders. Despite the pain, he too felt a rush of victory. Her resolution was crumbling. Though her little pretense of submission had been fun, he'd rather have a snarling cat in his lap than a dead fish. He reached up, gripped her wrist with bruising force, and pulled her around until her face was inches from his.

"Still got a bit of a temper, don't you?" he growled.

His eyes fixed on her with a hunger that had nothing to do with dinner. He yanked her down even further, forcing her over him until she was draped across his lap. "I think I've let you get away with far too much. Suppose it's about time I punished you some."

The words made her snap upright and stare over her shoulder at him with wide, confused eyes. "I didn't do anything wrong! I was only doing what you told me," she hurriedly protested. Her heart thudded against his knee with the cadence of a rabbit in mid-flight.

He let out a genuine, rumbling laugh. "The crime isn't in the action, darlin', it's in the intent," he lectured her jeeringly.

Using his left forearm against the small of her back, he pinned her flat against his thighs. He held her there for a moment to let her agonize in anticipation of what might happen next. Finally, he slid his free hand up her riding skirt, his fingers grazing over the soft fabric of her drawers. "You might not have outright breached our terms, but you're going to learn that your acts of rebellion have a price."

Angry tears welled in her eyes, hot and sudden, accompanied by a swell of overwhelming hatred. "You promised you wouldn't," she croaked while his hand wandered underneath her skirts. The rules they set felt like the only thing she could trust, and now even that felt uncertain.

He felt a tremor pass through her body. Her plea was a sound of pure, raw vulnerability that sent a jolt of electricity through him. He didn't stop, his palm running up her inner thigh, making her gasp, and spreading the ghost of a smile across his face.

"I promised not to take your virtue, sweetheart. I didn't promise you wouldn't be touched at all," he crooned, his voice a dark, velvet caress.

She squirmed. In response, he increased the pressure against her back, holding her fast. He wanted her to understand that he now owned every inch of her, even if there were parts he wasn't yet claiming.

"I didn't do anything wrong!" she all but shouted in protest, shaking with unrestrained frustration and fear.

Part of her was primed and ready to fight him off of her. However, the more sensible part held her back. She reminded herself how much worse the night would be if she tried.

He hummed in mocking agreement. Meanwhile, his fingers continued their slow, torturous dance upward. He could feel the heat of her skin radiating from underneath the thin fabric of her undergarments and could sense her visceral struggle to remain still under his touch. The sheer weight of the threat he held over her seemed to be far more effective than his own grip.

"You're still fighting this. Fighting me," he murmured. He lifted his forearm away from her back and instead grasped her hip to hold her steady, while his other hand found the waistband of her drawers. "That's the problem with you... you think this is a negotiation. It's not. This is a lesson."

"Yeah?" she countered, her voice uncertain but regaining some confidence. "What are you going to do anyhow? You can't force yourself on me." It was a feeble defense when they both knew he could in fact do exactly that but was merely electing not to.

He snorted a short, dry laugh, devoid of any real humor or warmth. "You think you're a lawyer? You think you're gonna argue your way out of this?" He was done toying with her. It was time she learned who held the reins here.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of her undergarments. He pulled them down just enough to expose the curve of her backside, before flipping her skirts up over her blouse. He felt the violent shudder of her body as the evening air chilled her bare skin, further fueling his resolve.

"You're so worried about that one little thing that you've forgotten there are a thousand other things I can do to you," he assured her.

"What are you-?" She gasped in shock and tried to lift herself away from him. He pushed down, causing her to topple in a breathless heap back onto his lap. Once more, she lay pinned against him, now with her skirts hiked up and her ass exposed. Shame and terror warred within her in equal measure, her cheeks burning scarlet.

A deep, primal satisfaction settled within him as he watched the crushing weight of humiliation pile onto her in the exact way he intended. "You've got a lot of fire in you, and I'll be the first to admit that I somewhat like it," he whispered, leaning to ensure she caught every word. "But fire can be used to warm a house or burn it down. It's a delicate balance. But one I am happy to teach you, darlin'. You will burn for me, but you will do it exactly how I want you to."

"I didn't disobey you," she sniffled pitifully one last time before drawing a sharp breath as a warm hand gripped her bottom.

He felt the soft, yielding flesh beneath his palm. Her small form seemed to go limp against him as the fight drained out of her. He didn't feel a shred of pity. Rather, he reveled in the triumph of finally seeing her begin to bend to his will.

"You're talking too much," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, his breath hot against the nape of her neck. "The only thing you should be doing is being quiet and contemplatin' exactly how little your opinion matters here."

Then, without warning, he spanked her hard. The resulting smack sounded starkly into the open air. "Ah!" she cried out, her body flinching and bucking against the abrupt, stinging sensation, but his unforgiving hands anchored her to him.

He watched the skin flush a deep, vibrant hue, the sight of her complete powerlessness acting like a tonic to his own ego. He didn't stop at one. He delivered a series of rhythmic, smarting swats that echoed in the silence of the desert.

"That's for the attitude," he growled, his voice thick with possessive satisfaction. He liked the way she felt beneath him, small, shaking, and utterly exposed. "Beginning to understand your place yet?"

Nora nodded frantically. "Yes, I'm sorry," she hiccupped, her hot, raw skin prickling in the cool night air. "I won't do it again!" Her voice was uncharacteristically shrill as she sought to placate him by any means necessary.

"That's the most sensible thing you've said yet," he praised.

He soothed her stinging skin with a soft caress of his rough hand. Pain was not the only point to tonight's lesson. She gasped when his fingers dipped lower, to stroke along the length of her most intimate place.

"You're wet," he noted with clear satisfaction.

Her face flushed an even deeper shade of crimson. She managed to sputter a few incoherent words of protest when he hushed her. She fell silent. There was an odd tingle that started deep within her core and spread to the tips of her toes as his fingers continued their slow, torturous work. When he gave extra attention to the particularly sensitive nub Nora had explored only a few times before, she had to stifle a moan.

Beau smirked. "See? It's not all bad," he crooned as he increased the pace to give her more of what her body craved.

Just as the pleasure seemed about to crest into something new and unknowable, he stopped. Despite herself, she squirmed in discontent, seeking his hand. The space between her thighs felt uncomfortably slick.

Seeing her unsatisfied need made him chuckle. "Want more? I guess now you have two good reasons to behave," he chided.

However, he didn't let her up immediately. His own arousal was growing at the sight of this proud woman debased and laid bare against him. He let out a groan as she wriggled in his lap, unintentionally giving him some of the friction he craved. When she felt the noticeable bulge pressing insistently against her abdomen, she stilled.

Finally, he allowed her to scramble free of his lap. With quick, shaky fingers, she pulled her drawers back into place and straightened her skirts. She did her best to make herself as decent as possible and recover even the tiniest threads of her shredded dignity. He watched her with a detached sort of interest, noting how the fire of her spirit had been dampened by the simple, visceral shock of a little bit of discipline.

"I've got a particular craving for some sweetness before the salt of the dinner," he drawled dangerously, signaling that he was not quite finished with her yet.

He desired release from all the heated tension she had inspired in him over the past few days. With their deal still in effect, he would need to achieve it through different means. He was a man of his word, after all. He leaned back and popped a button on his trousers suggestively, keeping his movements slow and deliberate.

"Get down on your knees, darlin'. Put that smart mouth of yours to work for me. Show me you've learned a little something about obedience tonight."

"I don't..." she sputtered with apparent uncertainty. Her eyes searched urgently around the camp as if to find an excuse hidden somewhere in the shadows. "I don't know what a- I mean, I've never even seen a man's... Look, I'm not arguing, I swear. Just please understand..."

To make matters worse, Beau had demanded she use her mouth, which sounded nothing short of absolute degeneracy to Nora. In truth, she was not entirely clear as to what he meant by it. But the impatient way he was looking at her sent a shiver down her spine. She knew he was not one for idle threats and she was running on borrowed time. Without another word, she sank to her knees, placing herself between his legs.

He let out a laugh that shook his broad shoulders. The sound was unexpectedly free of malice. The fact that she was so sheltered was a stark reminder that he was painting an entire understanding of sex, pleasure, and pain across a blank canvas. It was somewhat endearing.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm more than happy to provide the education," he reassured her.

His hand grasped the back of her neck and guided her forward with a firm yet gentle pressure. He undid the remaining buttons and reached into his trousers to pull himself free, exposing himself to her wide-eyed gaze.

"You don't need to 'know how.' Let me tell you exactly what I want. Start by putting those pretty lips around the tip there. Nice and slow."

She whipped her head up in astonishment. "You want me to... put it in my mouth?" She gasped.

Her eyes flicked back to his member and she recoiled. It was surprisingly large. While she was uncertain what she felt about it, she was certain that it would not fit in her mouth.

"I don't think that'll work..." she mumbled mostly to herself.

His grip tightened, his fingers pressing into soft skin to hold her in place. The reluctance felt too much like the old Nora, the one who thought she had a choice. "I didn't ask for your opinion on the matter, darlin'," he scolded, his voice dropping into that unquestionable tone of command. He pressed her forward, forcing her face mere inches from his heat. "Open that little mouth and take me. I'm about done being patient with you."

She whimpered and opened her mouth. As instructed, she leaned down to accept the tip, his taste salty and distinct on her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut, her lower lip trembling.

He felt the warm wetness envelope him. The sensation sent a powerful wave of desire through him. He didn't bother waiting for her to figure out the next move. He used his grip to guide her, pressing himself further into her mouth until she was forced to open properly.

"That's it," he hummed in satisfaction. "Now wrap those lips around me and suck."

He watched her expression of shock melt into acceptance, her mouth stretching to accommodate him. He groaned, leaning back and savoring the feeling of her innocence being systematically dismantled with each new demand.

He looked down at her, his pale blue eyes half-lidded and full of dark lust. "You're doing fine, sweetheart," he soothed, his hand moving to cup the back of her head, fingers tangling into her hair.

He set a slow, rhythmic pace, pushing a little more with each thrust. He felt her gag as he bucked his hips too eagerly, craving more than she could give. This made him chuckle softly, the sound a dry rasp of amusement. He slowed his pace. "Relax and breathe through your nose."

She did her best, breathing raggedly while he fucked himself into her mouth. She remained pliant and still, letting him use her to satisfy his needs. He let out a guttural groan as the heat of her throat tightened around him each time he drove himself deeper.

"That's it, darlin', good girl... just take it," he rasped, picking up a faster, more demanding pace. He felt the delicious, familiar build of the pleasure coiling deep within him until he finally shuddered.

Hot seed flooded her mouth, salty and unexpected. As soon as he released her, she fell onto her hands and spat the viscous fluid onto the dirt. Her mind felt broken by this most recent violation. Even worse was the confusing lingering pleasure that moistened her drawers. In hollow defeat, she stared at the ground through tear-filled eyes as she tried to piece together the meaning of it all.

Beau watched her collapse, the adrenaline of his release fading into a surprisingly uncomfortable silence. For the first time, the sight of someone shaking at his feet did not spark any sort of thrill. He saw the way she curled into herself, a wounded animal with nowhere to go, and it contrasted strikingly with her fierce inner spark that he had methodically trampled. He exhaled heavily through his nose, his expression softening.

He brushed a stray curl away from her wet cheeks, his touch hesitant and gentle. "Hush now, Nora. Just hush," he murmured, his voice losing its jagged edge and becoming something almost soft.

She flinched away from the featherlight touch. Without warning, all the pent-up emotion accumulated since her kidnapping poured out of her. She sobbed bitter, angry tears. With visible effort she attempted to control her outburst but found herself incapable.

He frowned as he watched the unbreakable woman he so enjoyed provoking being replaced with a hollow, shaking void. He reached down to haul her up from the dirt, setting her back on her feet. His brows furrowed in frustration at his own softness.

"Clean yourself up, sweetheart," he ordered, though his voice was quieter than she had ever heard before. He reached into his duster pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, pressing it into her palm. "Then we'll eat. We're done. You're done."

She took the cloth with trembling fingers, her breath still coming in ragged, hitching gasps, but the tempo was beginning to slow. Using the cloth, she wiped the remnants of him from her lips, his taste still lingering on her tongue. She could not force herself to look at him, keeping her eyes fixed on her boots. She felt smaller than she ever had in her life. She was stripped of her dignity, yet as she shifted her gaze to the campfire, she felt a cold, hard knot of resolve tighten like a noose around her heart. One way or another, she was more determined than ever to escape this beast.

He watched her with a silent, calculating intensity, as he pondered the full cost of this most recent victory. Somewhere within him, there was a strange desire to pull her close and hold her small frame against his chest until she calmed. As soon as it arose, he banished the feeling. In his world, tenderness had never solved a damn thing. Abruptly, he turned away and set out to finish preparing their dinner himself.

"Sit," he commanded, his tone hardening once more. He gestured to a space near him, but far enough away that she wouldn't feel threatened.

His voice sounded far away. Without a word of protest, she moved to obey, her stomach churning. She was not hungry, but she knew better than to argue now. The warmth of the nearby fire tickled her trembling fingers. She squeezed them between her thighs to hide their shaking. When the meal was ready, he scooped out a sizable portion into a bowl and handed it to her.

"Eat. We still got a long way to go," he said, keeping his tone clipped and measured.

She accepted the bowl. Though when she took a reluctant bite, the salt hit her tongue and reminded her too much of him. It took physical effort to keep the mouthful down. All the while, he watched her. Every now and again she would hazard a peek, trying to read his guarded expression. He had never been this attentive to her needs and it made her suspicious.

After dinner, she all but crawled to her bedroll, hoping he would not stop her from retiring early. When he said nothing, she slipped between the layered blankets and curled onto her side, facing away from him. In this private space, she let the tears flow freely.

He watched the shaking heap of her from across the campfire. Something uncomfortable stirred in him. He told himself it was just irritation and left it at that. The night deepened into a chilly velvet. The stars pierced through the darkness with their cold white light. For hours, the only sounds were the occasional snort of the horses and the crackle of dying embers.

Throughout the night, Nora drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, plagued by the fragmented voices and muddled faces of her father, her mother, and the ranch hands she had once called friends. They stared at her, their expressions eerily empty. Behind her was the approaching musical chime of spurs. She felt the familiar weight of Beau's large hand settle onto her shoulder. The figures became a swirling chaotic mist of color and sound until all that was left was the suffocating sensation of Beau's quiet presence at her back.