Deed to Damnation

Wolves of the Wastelands

By the time Ireland's lunch had arrived, hand delivered by a skittish Missy, Henry had scrubbed her face with a warm washcloth and stripped her of the filthy dress. He gave her a simple cotton shift to wear, proclaiming that none of her wardrobe was befitting his woman and that he would remedy that himself soon.
Ireland said nothing as she wolfed down cooked vegetables in a savory broth. She dunked the thick, crusty bread in it, making sure to slather it with a heaping glob of creamy butter before stuffing it into her mouth. She was starving and the food she was given was so much better than what she had when she was locked in the barn. Someone had cleaned the bedroom too. The linens had been changed and her delicate lace and brushed wool blanket had been replaced by a thick down cover. It was bright red and fit a devil like Henry Delarue to a tee.
"I want you to rest, Ireland." He instructed, taking the lunch tray and placing it outside the door. "I've got some business to attend to at River Run but I'll be  back. We're going to spend the evening together."
Ireland's stomach knotted instantaneously. Wasn't today enough? Would he ever grow tired of her?
She felt like a new plaything and Henry was an excited child, toting her everywhere and showing off her and everything he did to her. She only hoped that he would get bored and move on to something or someone else like self indulgent children often do. And even if that left her to an uncertain future, that would be fine with her. What was happening now was the very definition of uncertainty and she decided that a less of a woman would have thrown herself down a well by now.
"So I'll be wearing this, I suppose?" She dared ask, wiping her mouth with a linen napkin and tossing it deliberately on the table.
Henry narrowed his eyes, the golden flecks flashing dangerously.
"You'll wear what I tell you to." He stated flatly. "Maybe I'll decide to have you wearing what I prefer you in. Nothing. But of course that's up to you."
Ireland closed her mouth with an audible snap. He was the type of man that would follow through. She had to tread carefully.
"Yes, Sir." She retorted.
She did her best to sound compliant but there was a tinge of sarcasm in her inflection. It didn't go unnoticed. He closed the distance between them in three long strides until he was looming over her like a thunderhead, dark and ominous.
"I'm sorry!" She snapped, raising her arm up to put him off.
Delarue was quicker though, snaring her chin in his large palm. He squeezed her cheeks until she winced and her lips puffed in an exaggerated pout.
"I'm trying to be nice, Ms. Devereaux. I just want you to know that I forget nothing and I forgive even less." He snarled.
Ireland took him at his word. After what she had just went through, she put nothing past this beast. She nodded agreeably and he released her jaw with a small thrust. Without warning, he pulled her up by the front of her shift and slammed her body into his, forcing a brutal, lip bruising kiss. She remained complacent as his tongue swept her mouth and his calloused hand pawed at her breast boorishly.
He growled against her mouth and it was one of discontent. What was she doing wrong now? It dawned on her that she was lying slack in arms like a dead fish, something she had found out he hated. Reluctantly, she poked her tongue out and let it dance with his for a fleeting moment. He opened his eyes and looked into hers. His were crinkled slightly at the corners as their mouths were molded together. He was smiling, she noticed with slight shock. When they finally separated, he lifted her up and placed her on the soft mattress like a toy doll.
"Rest, Ireland. You're going to need it."

Surprisingly, sleep did come to her but it was restless. Her dreams were filled with images of her father and memories from long ago. When her eyes fluttered open, she found that she had been crying in her sleep. Why had her father risked everything? They were happy and successful, weren't they? The devil had taken that man and turned him into a sinner. She had watched it happen. How was she to know that he would sign her life away if he met his death?
The sound of heavy boots pulled her from her thoughts and she turned onto her side with her back to the impending footfalls.
The door opened and Delarue stood there for a moment. His eyes traveled over her sleeping form, her womanly curves evident in the flimsy shift. She was his. Everything she owned belonged to him, from the lucrative inn all the way to what was hidden between her legs. Except he was coming to realize that the hotel was not very profitable at the moment. It had only been three days since he had acquired it and it no longer looked like it had when they moved in. The only money that was being made came from the whores and it wasn't nearly enough to satisfy him. Luckily, the answer to that problem was laying on that bed.
Ireland felt something soft but slightly heavy land on top of her and still she didn't move. Her eye caught a glimpse of shining material and black lace.
"Get up, Ireland." Henry ordered, shutting the door behind him.
She rolled over slowly, blinking her eyes as if she hadn't been awake at all and found herself laying on a new dress. Henry's face was stern, a look she had gotten used to. Slowly, she sat up and faced his steely gaze. He contemplated her before speaking.
"Lift that skirt."
A furious blush rose up, heat swarming her face. Don't hesitate, she told herself. He had warned her before and she had tasted his belt for it. Grasping the hem, she raised it up to her thighs and looked to him questioningly. A muscle in his jaw pulsed, exaggerating the deep dimples beneath an overgrowth of salt and pepper whiskers.
"As much as I love those soft thighs, it's not what I'm looking for. It's what's between them that interests me." He drawled. "Raise it."
To his pleasant surprise, she stood at the order and hoisted it above her waist to show him her sex. The little heart he had trimmed was still evident, the tight auburn curls shone like copper in the afternoon sun rays that streamed through the dusty windows. Henry gave a satisfied huff and absently brushed his palm over the hardening knot in his pants. Her little hands were shaking with nerves and she was trying her damndest not to show it. He reached out and stroked her bed worn hair, smoothing it against her cheek.
"You're learning, Ireland." He said. "Now turn around."
Her eyes widened at the request and she froze. She couldn't help but hesitate now. That meant one or two things, neither of which she wanted.
"But why.."
Once again, he didn't allow her to answer. He spun her around by the bodice of the shift and planted her face first against the mattress. She couldn't hold her tongue any longer and stood upright, dropping the hem of the skirt purposely. Turning to him, she pushed a stray lock of out of her eyes and met his. He was glaring at her, that dark light dancing in them. He had already begun unfastening his belt, the buckle jingling forebodingly.
"Have you ever thought of just asking me?" She hissed.
The question was ridiculous and she knew it. And by the puzzled look on his face he thought it was too. He moved in closer, so close that she could smell the tobacco on his breath.
"As your guardian, you get no say. I know what's best for you."
He spoke softly, yet his tone held teasing contempt. He stared down into her face, his gaze unwavering. It forced her to turn away.
"You know what's best for you!" She barked suddenly.
The mouth on her! He raised his hand to slap the audacity out of her but a meek tap on the door interrupted him in mid strike. He grumbled a curse word and went to open the door. It was Missy, holding a garment in her hand. She was fidgeting with the strings nervously.
"I got what ya' asked me for, Mr. Delarue." She peeped, her eyes darting past him to Ireland. "It will do until the one you ordered comes in, I hope."
Henry took it from her and touched her cheek.
"Thank you, Missy." He purred. "You never fail to follow through. It's no wonder your fine ass turns the highest profit. Ireland here could learn a few things from you in more ways than one."
"My pleasure." She responded coyly, smiling and biting her lower lip.
She was flirting with him, Ireland thought with outrage. How could she? He was so vile and yet he treated the young whore almost gently, despite his vulgar assessment of her body and capabilities. This, right before she herself had almost taken a smack to the mouth for daring to speak up. And as far as that little hussy teaching her anything worth knowing? The very idea was ridiculous. The bumpkin probably couldn't even read.
Henry dismissed her and turned his attention back towards the rebellious little bitch in front of him. She may have thought Missy's interruption had deterred him from his intention but it had not. What it had done was make his property's experience even more pleasing for him if that was even possible.
Crossing the room, he didn't move to strike her again. Instead, he began pulling the cotton shift down off her shoulders roughly.
"If you rip this one, I'll have nothing to wear. You've destroyed almost everything I own." She quipped and began helping him remove it.
She certainly was full of surprises, he thought curiously. One minute she was a hifalutin twat and the next a compliant albeit snarky woman he couldn't wait to indulge in. She was turning out to be quite an enigma.
Ireland let the shift drop into a pool of cotton at her feet and this time she didn't try to hide herself at all. It was a mystery to her where all this bravery was coming from but it was bubbling to the surface and honestly it scared her. She was about to find out it was for good reason.
Delarue held up the garment Missy had delivered. It was a corset and worse for wear too. There were pulls in the black silk bodice and the lace around the edges was tattered. There was even some missing. She cringed when she realized it was a whore's corset but before she could protest, he was wrapping it around her and fastening the first few clasps between her breasts. She let him too. 
The contemptuous stare off was excruciating to her though, each of them leveling a hard gaze at each other as he dressed the front of her. Once the bodice was adjusted, he whirled her around again, steadying her by a fistful of hair and when he let go, he went to work on the bindings, pulling the lacing in harsh, deliberate jerks.
The corset might have looked cheap to her at first but she realized that it had once been a very fine and expensive undergarment as the whale boning started to squeeze her in without any give. One particular tug made her gasp but he didn't stop until she was fully constricted and her figure was the shape of an hourglass. She remembered how the ladies in New York would wear them underneath their fine day dresses and summer parasols. She had envied them as a young girl, but now...
By the time he was done, she felt dizzy. He grasped her by the shoulders and gave her a jolting shake, his eyes moving over her. God damn, if she didn't look like a one of the showgirls he'd seen in some of the big cities. Maybe even better. The corset enhanced  her generous curves, the tight boning pushing her ample breasts up, giving her a deep cleavage that spilled from the tightly pinned bodice. Her womanly  hips and ass seemed even rounder and more plump beneath the cinched waist and lacy trim.
"Now. Turn around." He growled. "I told you before I left that I never forget. Your smart mouth gets you in trouble as well as your never ending hesitation. Every time I think you're catching on to what's expected of you, you go off and run that mouth."
He went to spin her again but she fought to stay facing him.
"I'm sorry." She cried, clasping her hands together. " I swear I'll try and do better. I..I can see you brought me a dress."
She grabbed the garment from the bed before he could answer and held it in front of her enthusiastically, hoping to distract him. This time it was Henry who hesitated. He observed her expression of excitement and the small smile on her full lips. She was up to something. He sucked on his bottom lip, deciding on how he should approach this new tactic. After all, she was still the same woman who had leveled a shotgun at him only two and a half days ago and the mayor had warned him ahead of time too.
"I'll try to please you. I'll wear my hair down and I'll make sure to keep my um...my um...woman parts to your liking. Whatever you want." She coaxed. "It was my father's wishes that someone take care of me and that's you."
Henry was staring her down. He could see the wheels turning in that pretty little head. It was obvious no one had ever told Ireland Devereaux what to do in her entire life. No one but that fool of a father of hers, that is. There was no doubt this wily little fox was trying to trick him.
"So I should take care of you too." She finished, hugging the dress to her body.
"I'm glad to see you're finally coming to your senses, Ireland." He answered, moving past her and sitting on the bed. "But your father did you an injustice and I'm not just talking about signing your life away."
Quick as a snake striking, he grabbed her by the slender wrist and pulled her down over his lap and held her there by the nape of her neck. Instantly, she began struggling against his iron grip and when he wrapped his legs around hers, she was basically immobile. If she could have seen his face, she would have seen the first genuine smile on him. Her thrashing torso caused her soft, round bottom to jiggle provocatively and her voluptuous breasts were crushed against his strong thighs. He was sure if she stopped struggling she would have felt his arousal pressing firmly into belly.
"It's obvious to me that he didn't even teach you the fundamental basics of the dangers in life." He told her gruffly. "Like that there are wolves out there. Big bad wolves that don't appreciate headstrong, conniving women like you."
Ireland heard the course swish of his belt through the loops of his pants and began trying to slither out of his grip but when the first strike came down, her body went rigid from shock. She shrieked at the tremendous sting and threw her hands over her exposed ass. Henry seized her arm, pinning it behind her back and brought the strap down again before she could catch her breath.
"What's the matter, Ms. Devereaux?" He taunted. "Your parents never disciplined you? They should have because you're a bad liar. Almost as bad as your father's face when he sat across from me at the poker table."
Hearing those hurtful words threw Ireland into a rage. She began bucking like a wild bronco on his lap, ignoring the painful pressure as his grip tightened on her wrist and still his belt came down relentlessly.
"When you stop fighting me, I'll stop reprimanding you." He growled.
He was amazed at the strength of her body and how much she was willing to take. She kept up her fruitless writhing until she was panting and a light sheen of perspiration slicked her skin. Not only was she panting and groaning under the worst and only true spanking she had in her life but Delarue was beginning to get winded himself. She could feel his labored breathing against her pinned body. She couldn't take anymore and finally stilled but he kept it up, making sure the fight was truly out of her before tossing the belt on the floor.
With a satisfied smirk, he placed his palm on the gentle swell of her full bottom. The normally fair skin was scorched and an angry red color. He had covered both of her ass cheeks completely so there were no telltale stripes and they were hot to the touch. Lighting into her had been easy even though it might have been a bit excessive for the infraction but she was placating him with lies. Take care of him? She was going to take care of him alright and the pitiful little sobs she was sniffling wasn't going to change a thing.
She was crying alright and she hated herself for it. It was not the pain although it had been truly atrocious. It felt as if she had sat on a hot skillet. He may have stopped the humiliating assault, treating her as if she was a child, but the furious burning remained. The tears were from outrage and feeling small and helpless against his brute strength.
Why did the good Lord have to make men so much more powerful? Maybe because they were more animal than anything else, she thought bitterly. Only a horrible creature would treat his woman this way. She gasped at her thought. She had said HIS woman. No! Never in a thousand years!
"So now you understand." He drawled.
He had leaned over her and was talking quietly in her ear.
"I do plan on taking care of you just like your dead daddy should have. You're not a woman living in New York. This is Solstice and it belongs to me. What I just did to you was probably a long time coming and it was gentle by my standards. Now stand up."
Ireland literally sprang from his lap once he untangled his legs from hers and she turned her back, wiping the tears from her eyes. She heard him pick up the dress and then he was behind her, rubbing her aching bottom gently.
"As red as an Arizona sunset." He murmured and gave it a squeeze that made her suck in her breath. "Turn around and look at me, Ireland."
Slowly, she turned to face him, eyes red and burning. His face remained unreadable as always, his mouth as tight as a razor beneath his mustache. Bunching up the dress, he pulled it over her head and helped her adjust it to her fit her better. The bustles grazed her damaged bottom and she winced at the reminder. Before long, the garment was fitted properly and Henry stood back to admire her.
"Damn, it's a perfect fit, princess." He purred.
Ireland stared down at the fine dress he had bestowed upon her but she wasn't about to admit how much she admired it. Undoubtedly, it was either from New York or imported from Paris because it was not your typical prairie dress that was appropriate for the wilds of this part of the country. The sweetheart neckline dipped brazenly down the shining copper colored bodice that was trimmed in delicate black lace. Little faux onyx pearls ran down the entire front of the gown that billowed out softly and whispered as she moved.
"You fill it out better than the last one." He commented slyly.
Great, first a used corset and now a fancy, second hand dress, she thought disgustedly.
"Who on earth would wear this out here?" She asked boldly, not caring that her bottom was still burning like a prairie fire.
"A madame I used to know." He answered. "Bitch is dead now."
The shocking statement made Ireland visibly recoil. Henry noticed and gave a lazy half smile.
"Don't worry, Ireland. I didn't kill her in it. She was naked as the day she was born when I did."
"You...you killed her?" She gasped.
"The slut was stealing from me, skimming off of the top of my cut despite the generous salary I provided her. Dressed her in finery too. She did know how to run them girls though." He told her flatly.
Henry's nonchalant admission made Ireland's blood run cold. He saw her go pale and tilted her chin up in his palm.
"But you ain't got nothing to worry about." He said. "You're way too valuable. You'd fetch a pretty penny if I decided to add you to my stable. You wouldn't even have to worry about stealing cause it'll be handed right to me. Besides, you're here to take care of me. Isn't that what you told me?"
Henry had shoved her words down her throat like a bitter pill. She had said exactly that and it was a lie that she paid for it out of her hide.
"I'm sending Missy up here to fix that wild mane you call hair. She knows exactly how I like it and then we've got business to discuss before this inn starts getting busy." He informed her. "There's a high stakes card game tonight and I'm going to need you there to take care of me like you promised."
Henry moved towards the door, giving her a once over before turning to go.
"Do you have the dead woman's shoes too?" She inquired coldly.
He glanced over his shoulder briefly. He knew that she was still hurting after what he had done but her tongue was still as sharp as a blade.
"Nothing under that dress but a corset." He drawled. "Not even shoes. I like knowing I can access my property as I see fit."
He left to fetch Missy and Ireland was suddenly sick with nerves. She had never been allowed downstairs during those late night games when her father was alive. Had he been protecting her from something else besides the knowledge that he had squandered their lives away? She was about to find out. Henry had warned her about big, bad wolves and right now she felt as if she was about to be thrown into the den.

Hope you guys are enjoying this so far. I have so many ideas for these two! Comments and votes loved and appreciated!
XO