Being the Maid Ch. 06

"Bloody hell you feel good," he said, surging against her and shoving deeper. His hands and upper body kept her pinned in place as he assaulted her sex like a battering ram, invading her keep. "Wrap your legs around me."

Bridget shuddered as she obeyed, hating how good it felt to have his hard steel penetrating her, thrusting deep inside of her. His body rocked against hers, rubbing over her swollen pearl and causing her to spasm around him, pleasuring them further. Despite her fear, her own arousal and body's responses were beginning to surge as he rutted with her, his buttocks clenching against her ankles as he rose and fell above her, the slick length of his shaft filling her and receding over and over again. The knife in his hand kept her anxiety high even as she began to push back against him, hips rising to meet him.

Closing her eyes, she could almost forget the weapon, could concentrate on the pleasure her body was feeling against its will. It was almost possible to pretend that she was with a man who cared for her, who was holding her hands down above her head without rope or a threat. She moaned softly as she began to writhe beneath Patrick, molten liquid swirling in her belly as her legs tightened, pulling him into her.

His movement changed and she opened her eyes as his hands slid down to her elbows, keeping her arms in place, as he lowered his head to her breasts and sucked a nipple into her mouth. She let out a cry of pure pleasure as he suckled on the sensitive bud, teeth nipping at it gently, his hips moving more slowly now as his attention to her breasts hindered him somewhat. Switching breasts, he mouthed her other nipple, his hips doing a slow bump and grind that seemed to draw the pleasure out of her, enhancing the need that was already burning between her legs. With small cries of enjoyment, she pushed back against him, forgetting about the knife in his hand as she tried to work herself to climax on his stiff rod. The overwhelming urge spurred her onward, swamping her other emotions.

Patrick moved his mouth again, sucking a mouthful of creamy breast flesh between his lips. The sensation of his hard sucking on her tender skin was so intensely pleasurable it was almost painful. Bridget arched her back as she moaned and humped, her breast pressing upwards to relieve some of the pressure the suction of his mouth had created. In response, Patrick just sucked harder, and she yelped as the sharp sensation bit at her.

Then his mouth moved away and he stretched out over her again, his rhythm changing to a more thorough pounding, taking her hard and deep. Relentlessly he drove his turgid flesh into her softness, stretching her over and over again. The spot on her breast throbbed where he had left a deep red bruise. Bridget gave herself over to the gathering ecstasy, feeling almost giddy as her fear completely ebbed under the surges of erotic need and the tension inside of her came to a peak. Her turbulent emotional state only seemed to add to the intensity of her climax as it sizzled and burst, flaring and sparking from her loins through her body as she cried out.

The rubbing thrusts of Patrick's cock splitting open her convulsing tunnel drew out her pleasure, the burning ecstasy of her orgasm throbbing through her sex. He bellowed his triumph as he began to spill into her body, thrusting his way through his release, his thick rod rigidly hard as he split her shocked folds and filled her with cream. Each pumping jet of fluid eased the next hard thrust. Bridget had never felt anything like it, his continual shoves into her body even as he pulsed and released, and she writhed beneath him as his assault on her sensitive folds became almost painful with the overload of stimulation.

Finally he collapsed on top of her, sunk fully into her flesh to the hilt as he gave one last throb. Bridget's body was wracked with small tremors as aftershocks of her climax rippled through her. With Patrick's hard body weighing her down she was short of breath, but she didn't care. She almost wished that he would crush her out of existence. Part of her felt that she might as well get what enjoyment she could from her predicament, but another part of her felt a deep sense of shame at having ultimately enjoyed a man who was so vile. Even Samuel hadn't roused this degree of conflict within her. Patrick had strapped the Princess cruelly and then threatened Bridget's most intimate parts with a knife, and yet she'd still found pleasure in his arms.

Now that it was over she felt almost sad, as well. The vision of Garrett with the Princess Eleanor rose in her mind again and she realized that she'd allowed Patrick's tactics to distract her from her conflicted emotions about Garrett.

The overwhelming need to escape rose up in her again. These men were changing her and not for the better.

Pulling off of her with a sigh of satisfaction, Patrick got to his feet, pulling his breeches back up. Rather diffidently he untied her arms; the rope had left red marks around her wrists.

"Here," he said, tossing her his shirt. "Put this on." Then he strode out of the tent, leaving her alone. Standing up on shaking limbs, Bridget pulled the shirt over her head. Patrick was much taller than her and the shirt covered her down to mid-thigh, but it left her feeling rather unprotected. Not as if her bodice and skirts truly afforded her much protection.

Deciding that her best course of action for now was to act cowed by the Princess' punishment - not that acting cowed was a far stretch - and continue putting the men off guard with her. While they might be more alert in general towards the women for a bit, Bridget's might be able to convince them that she was even more docile now. It couldn't hurt while she tried to find other options as well.

Rolling up the sleeves on the shirt, which hung far down over her hands, she hurried out of the tent, feeling very strange with her legs exposed by the shirt. To her surprise Garrett was seated by the fire, whittling something, although Samuel, Blaine and the Princess were nowhere to be seen, although the noises coming from the other tent indicated that the activities within it were continuing. How long had he been out here? How much of her interlude with Patrick had he heard?

For some reason she blushed deeply as she scurried over to the fire, feeling his eyes on her bare legs as she began to slice some vegetables for dinner. Patrick stood watching both of them for a moment. She felt as though there was some silent conversation going on between the two men, although she had no idea what it could be about. Had Patrick had her dress in his shirt to show that he had not harmed her? It was even more embarrassing as his seed began to leak out of her and down her legs. Dampening a cloth, she pressed it between her legs to clean herself, keeping her eyes averted from the two men.

After several long silent minutes Patrick went into the tent with the Princess and his men. Garrett muttered something under his breath and then came over to where she was preparing their food. Bridget considered trying to stab him and run, but there was no way she could do it silently. And she wasn't entirely sure that she could bring herself to stab him either. Damn him.

To her surprise he reached out and took the knife from her and put it down before taking her hands in his and bringing her wrists up to inspect. There was still plenty of daylight for him to see the red marks, which were a little sore but didn't truly hurt.

"Anything else?" he asked, his voice harsh.

Bridget jerked, trying to pull her hands away but his grip tightened. "What do you care?" she riposted, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "Worried that he'll damage the goods and you three won't be able to play?"

She looked him directly in the eye, not sure why she was pushing him or what she wanted him to say, but she hadn't been able to hold it back.

For a long moment Garrett's dark eyes stared back stormily at her, looking almost black.

"Of course," he said in an even voice, devoid of any emotion. "Now strip."

Fighting back tears at his sudden indifference to her, reminding her forcibly of Blaine's treatment of her, Bridget pulled the shirt up and off. Bowing her head, she stared at the ground with her hands fisted at her sides, so that she didn't have to look at him and he wouldn't see the anger and gleam of tears in her eyes. She had only herself to blame, of course, what else had she expected him to say?

The growling noise he made deep in his throat startled her into looking at him, but all of his attention was on her breasts. She looked down and realized that he was staring at the mark Patrick had left on her creamy skin. It was so dark red it was almost purple, standing out clear and stark on her pale skin like a brand. Garrett circled around her quickly, inspecting her, and she watched him warily from the corner of his eye. There was a violence to his movements that hadn't been there before.

Suddenly he was pulling her hard against him and her head snapped back to stare up at him in surprise and his mouth came down hard on hers. It was a brutally demanding kiss, his tongue pushing into her mouth before she could even think of closing it against him. He pulled at her, as if he could meld their bodies together, and she moaned into his mouth, shocked by the sudden rush of desire that his touch and lips caused. The taste of him in her mouth was like a powerful aphrodisiac, her bare skin tingling everywhere he touched her as his hands swept over her back and buttocks, reaching down to grip the fleshy mounds and pull her lower body into his erection, grinding it into her. She found herself pushing back against him, her hands curling into his shirt and pulling herself up and into the kiss, before she realized what she was doing.

Whimpering she pushed at him, but he just clasped her tighter, his kiss gentling as if he realized he was being too rough with her. He tasted spicy and masculine, the hard press of his body against hers made her want to moan as tendrils of need unfurled, like a flower peeling back its petals and turning into the sun. The sweeping seduction of his lips and clever tongue coaxed her, his hands rubbing soothing patterns on her bottom, and she shuddered against him as her nipples hardened of their own accord, the wetness between her legs growing.

"Garrett."

Patrick's voice broke through the moment and Bridget pushed again. This time Garrett let her go. Standing outside of the tent, watching them, was Patrick. His voice had sounded hard but the expression on his face was one almost of amusement. The two men glared at each other as Bridget snatched Patrick's shirt back up and put it on, not caring that it was a little dirty.

"If you need some relief, the Princess is available to you this evening," Patrick said blandly as Bridget bent back to her task.

"I'm sure I'll use her services later," drawled Garrett, sounding and looking almost as relaxed as Patrick. the two men stared at each other for another moment and then Garrett ambled over to the side camp, Patrick walking just as nonchalantly to the same place. Whatever they had to say to her, they didn't want Bridget to hear.

She was caught somewhere between mortification and anger. Fury at Garrett dominated, not just for that earth-shattering kiss, but also for talking of using the Princess' 'services' almost immediately after! Her rage at Garrett was subsumed by her anger at herself as she realized that she was acting out of some kind of strange jealousy. Again, her expectations had snuck up on her and in her head she had built Garrett up into something that he wasn't. Just because the man kissed her and occasionally acted like he cared didn't mean that he did, and even IF he did he was still part of this wretched situation! Perhaps if she had a choice she might choose a man like Garrett. But it all boiled down to the stark fact that she did not have a choice and Garrett couldn't care less what female lay in his bed.

But what had motivated that kiss? It almost seemed as though he'd been jealous over the mark on her breast.

That thought just made her feel slightly hopeful, which only made her angrier at herself. She bent her head to her task, knowing that dinner was going to be important. Going by her knowledge of men, which was growing daily, she felt quite sure that Patrick was going to take her again before bed.

*******

Dinner was a more awkward event than usual. Patrick and Garrett sat on opposite sides of the fire, glowering at each other. Whatever they'd discussed it didn't seem to have gone well. The Princess had finally been allowed out of the tent, just long enough to eat some food before she stumbled back to rest, looking completely exhausted. She'd seemed rather subdued, the first time Bridget had ever seen her in such a state. Going by the comments that the men were making, mostly Samuel and Blaine although with a few interjections from Patrick, they had been keeping her quite... busy.

Despite the fact that he had to have been satiated by his time with the Princess, Samuel kept leering at Bridget's legs, making her feel even more bare. As the evening darkened, her form was beginning to show through the light fabric of the shirt whenever the fire was behind her. Blaine, as usual, remained fairly indifferent, although he did occasionally eye her legs appreciatively. They all seemed to enjoy looking at her, even though she was nominally covered and they had all seen her bare before. It was as if just barely hiding her attributes made her all the more desirable.

Unsurprisingly it was not a feeling she relished. It only made her feel more vulnerable and afraid to have all four men's eyes following her. Especially after she'd seen the way in which three men could use a woman at one time.

"Come little maid," Patrick said as he stood up, his eyes glittering brightly in the campfire. The orange glow highlighted Garrett's face as well, making it looked eerily shadowed. She turned her head away, not wanting to look at him and see anything more that might confuse her. "I find I'm still... hungry."

Patrick walked beside her, his hand sliding down her back and cupping her buttocks as they walked away, to Samuel's loud jokes. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Garrett heading into the tent where the Princess was. Fiercely she told herself that she should have expected no less.

Once in the tent Patrick tugged his shirt off of her and tossed it aside. There was no bulge in his breeches. Considering his penchant for fear and pain, Bridget found herself trembling again. She had hoped that she was beyond her capacity to feel any anxiety, but wondering what Patrick might do to her to arouse himself had her feeling slightly panicked again. Already her experiences with him had been far beyond anything she had ever imagined might arouse a man.

"On your hands and knees," he ordered, pointing at his bedroll. Bridget knelt and leaned forward, placing her hands on the cushion of the bedroll and awaiting her fate. Patrick stepped around her, observing this position from every angle, from her swaying breasts to her upturned rump and her vulnerable sex. She lowered her head, tension in every line of her body as he dropped to his knees beside her, his hand smoothing down her back and over her bottom. "You have a very pretty ass, little maid. But it'd be prettier if it were pink."

And then he slapped her. Bridget yelped, more in surprise than true pain. Although the slap had stung, it was its unexpectedness that caused her exclamation. Patrick just laughed and then spanked her again. His hand began to pepper her bottom with stinging slaps, just enough to make her squirm. Reaching under her body with his free hand, he began to cup and play with her breasts, tugging on her hanging nipples with enough force to elicit some moans for her. As he pulled on her nipples she arched her back to follow the tug, which pushed her ass up further as his hand came down.

The combination of him pulling her nipples and slapping her buttocks to a rosy hue was more arousing than she would have warranted. Her fear receded as none of his hits were particularly hard, although her bottom was becoming sore from the repeated impacts even if they weren't brutal. She dared to glance at his face and saw an expression of enjoyment, although not the same kind of lust as when he'd been toying with her and his knife. Perhaps Garrett's protection ran further than she had thought. Not that she was going to feel grateful for it right now. She refused.

When her entire bottom was pinked and sore, her unprotected sex feeling rather swollen beneath her rosy cheeks, Patrick released her nipple and stood, walking back over to the saddle bags. When he returned he reached for her right hand and spread a liberal amount of oil from the bottle he'd brought out over her fingers. Bridget stared up at him, wondering what the oil was for.

The wicked grin on his face was not encouraging.

"Time to oil up your arsehole little made, unless you want me to stuff my cock in there dry," he said, nodding at her oily fingers to indicate that she was going to be taking care of the preparations herself. Bridget was horrified, but the idea of him shoving his rod into her bumhole without any kind of help was much worse than using her own fingers to do the deed.

Hesitantly, her face flaming redder than her beaten bottom in humiliation, Bridget reached around her body and put one finger to her bumhole. It felt crinkly and dry beneath her touch, and incredibly lewdly wrong. Patrick's lascivious gaze on her hand and its target only made her feel worse.

"Please," she said, begging. "Can't you do it?"

"Of course I could, but I don't want to. I want to watch you do it. So it's you or nothing."

The pleased expression on his face said that he enjoyed her begging and her humiliation as much as he had enjoyed her fear earlier. Somehow Bridget thought that fear and pleas were not fare that he received from the Princess with any kind of regularity.

Taking a deep breath, Bridget looked away from him so that she wouldn't have to see his face as he watched her and she began to push her finger into her tight rear entry. She could hear the rustling movement as Patrick slid to a better position to watch her finger parting her rosy cheeks, rudely pushing into her posterior. Eased by the oil, she could still feel the tight ring of muscle squeezing her digit as she pushed past it into the hot recesses of her bum. One knuckle.... Two... and then her finger slid in all the way to the knuckles on her hand.

"That's it," Patrick said, his voice much more lustful than it had been before. "Now pump it back and forth. I want to watch you frig your arse."

Her humiliation knew no bounds. Having any kind of audience for lewd behavior was terrible. No wonder the Princess hadn't wanted to be watched earlier. Bridget could only be thankful that her audience only had one member. Dragging her finger back out of her backside almost all the way, Bridget pushed it back in as she let out her breath. The movement burned slightly even with the oil, even with her slim fingers. Since Garrett had not penetrated her this way the night before her hole had closed up to its original proportions, before the men had started using it for their base pleasures.

Patrick watched her work her finger back and forth for a few minutes, all of her weight resting on her other arm, her head hanging down in shame at her actions. "Add another finger. Oil up that tight little hole so I can fuck it."

She shivered at the blatant desire in his voice, the knowledge that he was enjoying her debasement. But she added another finger, stretching her hole further as she twisted them back and forth, pushing in and out of her own arsehole, now slickly oiled and stretching a little more easily.