PASSION'S MASTER by JLW When Victoria St. Clare came to, she found herself hanging by her bound hands wearing nothing but a thin linen chemise. Blinking against the headache banging behind her eyes, she scanned her surroundings. In the flickering light of a whale oil lantern that hung, swaying in circles, from the same wooden beam she was bound to, she saw nothing but a small wooden chair, a neatly-made bunk and a huge sea chest. Not that there was space for much else. Her closet at home was bigger than the ship's cabin around her. And it WAS a ship's cabin; she knew that from the roll of smooth wooden deck under her feet, heard it in the boom of heavy canvas sails flapping overhead. So she was somewhere at sea, in hands she knew to be thoroughly hostile. Still, the situation was better than she'd expected. She hadn't expected to wake up at all. The look in Rafe's eye had certainly suggested imminent and painful death when he'd turned on her after running her husband through. And having to chase her down when she'd fled for her life certainly hadn't improved his temper. Witness the sharp, brutal punch that had knocked her out when he'd caught her. Sighing, Vicky tilted her head back to inspect her wrists. The rope that bound them just missed cutting off the circulation, but the rough hemp did succeed in biting into her tender flesh. Rafe was definitely not in a charitable mood. She shifted on her bare feet, glad he at least hadn't left her to dangle. Vicky wondered if he would believe she'd arranged his escape. Probably not. Being a bondslave had maddened Rafe; being her personal bondslave had enraged him. It wouldn't matter that she'd forced Gordon to lend Rafe to her solely because she wanted to give him time to heal from that last brutal beating. It wouldn't matter that she'd arranged for Rafe to be left unguarded, knowing he had to escape if he was to survive--her husband had been determined to see him broken and dead. All that WOULD matter to him was the shame of being owned by her, ordered by her. That she'd intended nothing but kindness would never occur to him. Vicky smiled grimly to herself at the bitter irony. If she hadn't blackmailed Gordon into handing him over to her, Rafe would be dead now and she wouldn't be awaiting his vengeance. Damn him. And damn Gordon. Damn his corruption, which had gotten them a titled lord for a bondslave. Damn his brutality, which had given Rafe a lust for revenge that not even Gordon's death could satisfy. And most of all, damn Will Barton, Rafe's own very greedy brother, who'd gotten them all into this mess to begin with. She'd learned the whole story from Gordon himself. When her husband had been in London on business the year before, Will Barton, a friend of his, had approached Gordon about kidnapping Rafe. Will evidently didn't have the stomach to hire his brother's murder, but forging an indenture for him was a different matter. It would have been kinder to Rafe him outright. After an ambush put him in Gordon's unkind hands, months of beating and starvation followed, until Vicky finally discovered the scheme and engineered Rafe's escape. Last night, a year after he left the island, Rafe had returned with a crew of mercenaries, attacked the St. Clare plantation, and killed Gordon in a sword fight. And now Vicky herself was the target of his rage. The cabin's tiny door banged inward on its hinges, and Victoria jumped in her bonds. Rafe ducked into the room, the impact of his personality instantly driving all the air from her lungs. Tall, heavily muscled, tanned as dark as some of the St. Clare slaves, he looked so handsome that Vicky's heartbeat stuttered. Stopping short, he stared at her helpless body for a long moment, his eyes shimmering black in the lamplight as harsh shadows shifted under the hard, precise angles of his face. Finally giving her a feral grin, Rafe sauntered to the single chair and fell into it. Vicky heard it creak as he stretched out his legs and folded his hands across his belly. She was suddenly aware of her own near nakedness. Vicky knew perfectly well she'd had on her favorite violet gown when he'd knocked her out. She was NOT going to ask what had happened to it. Because Rafe had an erection. Not just any erection, either. A massive erection, straining against his thin fawn trousers. "Well, asking him what he's going to do with me would probably be a stupid question," Vicky thought, eyeing it. She refused to consider the fact that, not long ago, being alone with Rafe and his erection would have been a dream come true. "It seems," Rafe rumbled suddenly, "that we've had a reversal of fortunes. When last we met, I was your property. Now you're mine." "Really? I don't recall being bought," Vicky said, working for a cool tone despite the sweat rolling from her bound hands. "I don't either," he said pleasantly. "Like you, I was kidnapped." Black eyes narrowed, taking on a sinister light. "In my case, though, I've taken care of everyone who had a hand in the crime. My brother is in prison, and Gordon St. Clare is wormsbait. Now it's your turn. And I don't mind telling you, I've been looking forward to you most of all." "If you don't mind my asking, what exactly do you have in mind?" Deliberately, Rafe gestured at the bulge in his trousers. "Do you really have to ask?" "Actually, yes. I want to know how long I have before you drop me overboard." "Don't be melodramatic. I have no intention of killing you." Suddenly he was on his feet, stalking toward her as she tried not to flinch. "But I will own you." "Now who's being melodramatic?" He eyed her bound wrists with an air of satisfaction. "Yes, I see your point. But then, I suppose justice always has a dollop of melodrama in it. And I've wanted to hear you call me 'master' since St. Clare tried to beat me into calling you 'mistress.'" Suddenly his broad brown hands lifted, reached for her breasts. She tried to shy back, but his square fingers closed over her, warm and shaming. "I always knew you had lovely breasts," he said. "But my imagination seems to have shortchanged your reality. If I'd guessed the way your nipples tilt upward at that saucy angle, just begging to be bitten, I could never have kept my hands off you." "You..." "You know," he continued, ignoring her appalled expression, "it's really unusual for breasts so large to be so firm. And your cunt...those pretty sherry curls. I love the way one inner lip is longer than the other..." "You stripped me while I was unconscious!" He grinned nastily. "Well, of course. I wanted to inspect my property." "I'm not your property!" she exploded, goaded beyond sense. "And if you think you'll ever own me..." "I will," he said, softly implacable. "Tonight. I'll hear you say it, the word your husband could never make me say. The word he tried to beat out of me." Rafe paused and smiled pleasantly. "'Master.'" Vicky spat in his face. For a moment he stared at her, his dark eyes wide with astonishment as she began to shake in fear at the dimensions of her own gall. Then his hands shot out. She cringed, but Rafe's big fingers just caught the soft linen of her chemise, dug into the fabric, pulled. It tore, the sound jagged as a scream. Then she was naked, the air cold on her breasts, hemp strands gnawing her wrists, her shoulders aching with the position of her lifted arms. She watched his eyes flick over her, voracious with erotic appetite, his massive chest lifting and falling with each hungry breath. "I'm going to fuck you," he said, his voice low, growling. "I'm going to fuck your mouth. I'm going to fuck your cunt. I'm going to fuck your ass. And you will call me 'master' before the sun rises." She trembled as Rafe watched, sweet, white breasts quivering. Her nipples were budded and pink, like furled roses. Staring at them, he felt his balls ache. She was finally his, just the way he'd been dreaming of for months. As helpless as he'd been when she had owned HIM. Waiting for him to do whatever he chose. And he'd choose to do quite a bit. The breasts first, Rafe decided. Those nipples were begging for his mouth, and he didn't want to disappoint them. He dropped to one knee, caught a handful of quivering pale flesh and squeezed it gently so that the nipple pouted out at him. Staring at the sweet rose nubbin, Rafe felt his mouth go dry as his cock throbbed with the most urgent lust he'd ever experienced. Forcing himself to move slowly, he took her nipple into his mouth, closing his eyes as the scent and taste of her exploded in his skull like cognac. How often he'd dreamed of this. During the hours he'd hung in chains, bound like a dog, keeping his sanity only by dreaming of her. Through the beatings, when he'd used the thought of her to defeat the bite of the whip. In those fantasies, she'd been bent and helpless as he plied a crop against her lovely ass just hard enough to wring a breathless plea. Later, hiking through the mosquito-infested jungle during the hours of his escape, he'd imagined Victoria in chains, bound in a variety of erotic poses while he endlessly pleasured himself in her. Through the grace of God, the captain of a ship docking at St. Clare Island that night was a friend from his days at Eton, but even freedom hadn't freed Rafe of his obsession with her. Now, at last, he was on the verge of realizing all those steamy fantasies. By enslaving Victoria. Her maidenhair was soft under his fingers, soft as the secret flesh it tried to hide. Damp velvet lips opened like an oyster for his touch, uncovering the pearl of her pleasure. Stroking it in gentle circles of his fingers, Rafe suckled each of her breasts in turn, nibbling and licking until he was rewarded with a breathless moan. He looked up to see her head lolling back as she hung in her bonds, weakened by the pleasure he was inflicting. Smiling to himself, he moved his hand to sink a finger into her interior, finding it slick and hot with growing passion. He inserted another finger and began to pump as he abandoned her breasts to kiss his way down her belly. Helplessly, Victoria moaned again, dizzied from the airless heights of pleasure. She'd expected a simple rape, a cruel thrust of thickness into her dry core, not so very different from the nights her husband had come to her. Instead, Rafe's was a strange revenge, all fire and delight. "Women must line up," she thought muzzily, "to be his victims." And now he was doing something she'd never experienced in all the years of her marriage. His sinuous tongue had found its way to her core, snaking between her dewing lips, flicking, thrusting, while his broad fingers filled her. Helplessly, she pushed her hips into her tormentor's face. Her thighs trembled spasmodically. A searing, lovely tension filled her, and she strained toward him, toward something unimaginable she instinctively knew he could give her. His fingers sank deep as his tongue swirled around her pearl, and ecstasy began to swell in her belly... And he stopped. "Victoria," he said, his voice hoarse. "Do you want me?" "Oh, God! Yes, oh, please..." She barely recognized the whimper as her own voice. "Then say my name." "Raaaafe!" "Lord Rafe." "Lord Rafe!" Why was he torturing her? "Master Rafe." The words ate through her passion like acid as she understood. The sweet pleasure was a trap. "You bastard." He pulled away from her. "That attitude won't get either of us what we want." Victoria stared at him bitterly, unable to believe she'd come so close, only to be denied. She wasn't even comforted by the knowledge that it hadn't been easy for him; his face was drawn, reminding her of the times she'd seen him after a beating. Suddenly, violently, he began to undress, jerking at his fine stock, sending the pearl buttons of his shirt flying as he ripped it open. She sucked in a breath at the sight of his massive dark chest, muscle- knit and covered in soft thick hair. Impatient, he reached for the fly of his breeches to free his erection, huge and purpled with blood and lust. As she watched with growing hope, he kicked off his shoes, then shed his breeches and small clothes. Rafe reached out and grabbed her thighs in both hard hands, then picked her up off the floor with no effort at all. In one brutal movement, he spread her legs and impaled her on his massive cock. Victoria gasped as he entered her, stabbing into her hungry tissues, sating and tormenting all at once. And then the agonizing delight started again. Rafe's muscular body worked against hers, chest hair deliciously teasing her nipples, his big, rough hands kneading her ass as he filled her over and over again. For the first time in her life, Victoria knew the pleasure a man's organ could give a woman, and it amazed her. Lust swelled along her nerves until she ground against him, riding his thickness, straining for the ecstacy that once more danced just beyond her fingers. Rafe ground his teeth, dying to let himself go completely, to shoot his burning sperm into her until he pumped her full of it. She felt so hot and deliciously slick, and he burned for the release he'd waited for through two years of slavery and patient revenge. Yet he knew he had to master himself if he wanted to master her. And he DID want to master her. So, though it was the most agonizing thing he'd ever done, he stopped. "Say it." This time she didn't need an explanation. Instead she said a word he hadn't even known she knew and tried to force herself against him. He made himself tighten his grip, stopping the pleasure. "Say it." "Go to hell!" she cried. Rafe jerked out of her, ignoring her scream of frustration just as he stifled his own. Striding to his breeches, he found the sheathe he'd abandoned in the heap of fabric. Drawing the knife with a slither of steel, he turned toward her. Victoria cowered, but he reached for her anyway, letting her fear provide some small balm for his own frustration. With a quick pass of steel, he cut her bonds. In no shape to stand after being bound so long, Vicky collapsed against him. Rafe picked her up and carried her to the bunk, then turned toward the sea chest at the foot of the bed. When Victoria saw him rise from the chest with yet another length of rope in his hand, she tried to get up and run. Unfortunately, her numb hands and trembling legs wouldn't allow for either flight or fight. In seconds, he had her bound again, this time wrists to ankles so she was drawn into a ball. Then he shoved her up onto her knees, shoulders to the mattress and ass in the air. She wondered if he was going to beat her. "Now," Rafe said, panting, standing back to gaze at the white lush curves of her lifted rump, "I'm going to show you a trick your husband showed me." Without taking his eyes off her, he moved back to the open sea chest, rummaging through it to come up with a riding crop and a small glass jar. "It was after St. Clare had whipped me--the fourth or fifth time, perhaps, I hadn't been there long," he continued, rising to walk toward her. "He brought a female slave in while I hung there bleeding, ordered her to her hands and knees and sodomized her while I watched." Fighting the sick feeling rising in her belly, Victoria said, "Gordon always was a disgusting bastard." "True enough," Rafe agreed pleasantly. "He boasted he'd had every female ass on the island. Except for yours. Which was when I decided that one day I'd be the one to bugger you." "Is that threat supposed to break me?" she said breathlessly as he sat down behind her. "Do you expect me to call you master to save myself?" "You can if you like," Rafe said casually, unscrewing the jar and dipping his fingers into it. Vicky smelled a whiff of perfume, guessed it was some sort of ointment. "But it won't do you any good. I've been planning this for a long time." Then she felt his hands on her ass, spreading her. A single thick finger traced her perineum, teased her rear entrance with a feathering touch. Began to press. "Do you remember Clea?" he asked. The finger was slowly forcing its way into her, the pressure frighteningly painful. "For some reason, she loved taking a man's cock in the garden gate. Unfortunately for her, though, Gordon never cared for anyone's pleasure but his own." Victoria gasped, feeling the suddenly massive finger begin to move in and out, even as his other hand sought out her pearl and began to pleasure it with skillful strokes. The invasion was painful, alien, yet she felt a strange bubble of heat begin to rise. "So one day, when we were working together, she invited me to take her," Rafe went on, still stroking her. "I had the pleasure of spreading Clea's pretty brown cheeks several times after that, but I always shut my eyes and pretended it was you." "What are you doing?" Victoria demanded, wishing her voice didn't sound so breathless as his finger slid in and out. "Greasing your ass," he explained coolly. "You have no lubrication here, and I want a slick ride when I take you." "It hurts." A second finger joined the first, forcing its way past her anus. "Only if you fight. If you relax, you can find pleasure in what I do to you." Victoria felt the bed give under his weight as he moved to kneel behind her. She cringed. "You can't stop me from doing this," Rafe said, suddenly bending over her until his breath puffed warmly into her ear. "I'm going to fuck your ass whether you fight me or not. If you yield, you'll find yourself liking it. If not, it'll hurt like hell. And if you think your pain will stop me, think again." Something thick and hard began to dig at her. At the same time, she felt his fingers caressing her cunt as his other hand caught her breast. Breathing deeply, eyes widening, she forced herself to concentrate on the pleasure. His cock felt so much larger than it had before, massive and hot as it slowly drove into her. It hurt, but his fingers circled her clit, stoking so gently, so sweetly, that she felt pleasure began to rise through the tide of pain. Then he began to withdraw, pulling out as slowly as he entered. Vicky was surprised at the strange delight it caused. He reversed his stroke, pushing into her as he squeezed and rolled her nipple. Her breath caught. This is Rafe taking me, she thought. Rafe, whom she'd watched with secret heat when he'd bathed in the stream near the plantation, peering at him from the bushes like a spying child. Rafe, whom she'd dreamed of, longed to take as a lover. Rafe. Who now hungered to own her. Somehow, as his cock stroked her asshole in a searing combination of pain and pleasure, the idea of being his slave held a certain heat. Tonight he'd taken her in ways she'd never dreamed of, and Vicky had loved it all, even this last alien delight. To move such a man to obsession, to drive him into such acts of possession... He was thrusting steadily now, yet slowly, forcing her to feel every inch of his cock as his fingers drew pleasure from her nipples and her clit. The enthrallment of it caught her, and she whimpered. She felt a sudden desire to move under his thrusts, to seek an even harder penetration of his massive cock. Feeling him begin his downward thrust, Vicky lifted her hips to better experience the deliciously burning length. When Victoria began to grind backward onto his cock, Rafe was astonished. He'd fantasized that she'd love it, but he hadn't really expected her to. Yet now his former owner was whimpering in pleasure as he fucked her virgin asshole, and it was the hottest experience of his life. He began to ride her harder, fierce with hunger, listening to her sweet moans as her rectum surrendered to his thrusting cock. The orgasm he'd delayed so long built in his balls with each luscious stroke. Suddenly he saw her back stiffen as she gasped out his name. Recognizing that she was about to come, Rafe jerked himself out of her ass. And demanded, voice hoarse, "Who am I?" "Rafe, please!" "WHO AM I?" "MASTER RAFE!" she screamed back. Rafe plunged his cock brutally back into his slave's tight, submissive asshole. He came on the third stroke, dimly aware of Victoria screaming out her own pleasure. Much later, he left her briefly, coming back with a washbasin and a wet cloth. Still bound hand and foot, Victoria marveled at the tender way he cleaned her sticky body. Then, as Rafe was washing his own, he looked up at her. "Who am I?" She froze, suddenly remembering what she'd yielded to him in the heat of lust. Staring into his dark eyes, Victoria discovered she couldn't bring herself to say those words again. "Rafe. You're Lord Rafe." Rafe's eyes narrowed, and for a moment she shivered at the rage that crossed his face. Before she could move, he got up, pulled her back onto her knees and reached down beside the bunk. When he straightened, there was a riding crop in his hand. "Rafe, no!" The crop began to snap against her bare rump, once, twice, then faster, again and again. Yet though Rafe pulled back his arm and made the whip whistle through each stroke, he pulled it at the last second. There was scarcely any sting at all. Victoria stared at him over her shoulder, bewildered. He had to know she could easily withstand such punishment. Yet if he really wanted to beat the words out of her, she knew perfectly well he could do it. What did he intend? As she watched him, Vicky saw Rafe's face begin to darken as he stared at her twitching rump. His sated cock, swinging limply, began to slowly grow, arousing delicious memories of all the things he'd done to her tonight. "I'd find more pleasure as Rafe Barton's slave than as anyone else's wife," Victoria thought suddenly. And not just because of his erotic skill, either. The fact was, she loved him. Had loved him since the days she'd watched him endure the worst Gordon could throw at him, unconquerable, retaining his nobility through beatings and starvation. She loved him enough to stay with him any way he'd have her, as wife, mistress or slave. "Master Rafe." Rafe froze in mid stroke, his gaze flying to meet her. He smiled. And gave her three hard cuts across the ass. Victoria yelped. Tossing the crop into the corner, Rafe advanced on her to snap the ropes that bound her as easily as if they were thin twine. Then he hauled her off the bed and dropped her on her knees in front of his swaying cock. "Beating your ass has given your master a hard on," Rafe told her. "Suck it." Victoria obeyed without hesitation, taking the broad, purple head into her mouth and tonguing it lovingly. Cream begin to trickle between her inner lips. "We're going to be married," Rafe said, thrusting into her clinging mouth, "as soon as we reach England." Astonished, she tried to pull her head back in order to look at him, but he tightened his grip on her hair. "I've been in love with you a long time, Victoria," Rafe told her, then smiled. "Almost as long as I've wanted to own you. And when one of the houseslaves told me what you'd done to make sure I could escape, I realized you had to care something about me." He began to hunch strongly against her face, forcing her to take still more of his shaft. "But let's get one thing straight. You'll be the mistress of my household and the mother of my children, but in the bedroom, you'll still be my slave." Tightening his grip, Rafe pulled her eagerly sucking mouth away from his cock. "Victoria, will you marry me?" She smiled up at him lovingly. "Yes, Master Rafe." He pulled her mouth back to his cock, and she began to lick and suck him so fiercely that his knees almost buckled. Gulping her master's come a moment later, Victoria grinned around her mouthful of cock.