Authors: Carolyn Faulkner
Captured by the Count
©2012 by Blushing Books® and
Copyright © 2012 by Blushing Books® and
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Captured by the Count
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
This book is intended for
. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
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ssy! NOOOO! YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME
struggled futilely against the well-muscled m
en who were each holding an arm.
There was no way she would ever be able to break free of them; they outweighed her by three hundred pounds or so, each of them.
But as she watched the last familiar face in this abominable place walk towards the door she couldn’t help but continue to try to extricate herself, wiggling and gyrating and twisting, knowing full well that all of her contortions were just giving her slavering audience a show
because of her nakedness
, but completely unable to stop herself. If Sissy walked out that door, she knew any chance of getting home again would walk out with her.
And that was a fate so horrible that
Cassandra Juliet Winthrop
begin to conceive of it. Had it only been a day or so ago that she was being whirled around a ball room in Paris as she single-handedly conquered
the city and had suitors climbing over each other
for – not even a dance
- but just the
smallest of her attentions?
It was all her father’s fault! He should never have
allowed her to go on what had started out to be, at least, a Grand Tour of the Continent with just her lady’s
for protection. Granted, they had been thoroughly enjoying the hospitality of friends of the family along the way, never actually having to stay alone in a ho
thankfully. But, considering her current positio
n, she realized
that the security at the Costello’s grand
on the outskirts of Paris to be considerably lacking.
The evening had started out all right. She had been very fashionably about two hours late, of course, partially due to Sissy’s incompetence with her hair. If there was one feature Cassie was vain about – or, rather, more vain than usual – it was her glorious,
glowing crown of thick, curly,
When she was a little girl, it had seemed to have a life of its own, and she – dirty little tomboy that she was – paid as little attention to it as she could
, often catching it in a rag at her neck just to keep it out of the way of the day’s adventures
. It was always a rat’
s nest, and whenever she saw Sissy, who was several years older than
her charge but still
for her position
for the brush, Cassie would flat out bolt
. And she could always out distance
and out fox poor Sissy, simply by running
hell bent for leather
down the long
, tree lined
to the edge of the plantation
the road, where the slaves were not allowed to go without permission.
At first Sissy would have to tromp all the way back and get her mother’s – or worse, her father’s – permission
to go after their wild child . . . at least until the elder Winthrops gave Sissy blanket permission to chase Cassie anywhere she needed to short of the county boarder. And George Winthrop wouldn’t have been in the least surprised to
see Sissy back wi
thin a week for permi
ssion to expand her purview
boarder, knowing his daughter.
Cassie was, as her tutors
often described her
to her beleaguered parents
, headstrong, willful and stubborn
- just as her father had been
and still was. The most accurate adjective that legion of tutors she’d run through
left out was
judicious use of either
eerie silence, the child always knew how to get her own way from either the slaves she was surrounded by or her gullible
, over indulgent
Eventually, though, she grew up and began to consider the boys on the plantations around them as more than the teasing annoyances they had always been to her.
As soon as she put the slightest bit of effort into it and asked to go to Atlanta with her mother to buy dresses
, she became the belle of every one of the scads of
s she attended, skirts swirling, unbound curls –
almost always accented in some way by the pink roses she favored – moving
as if it had a life of its own
which only served to accent
her with unconscious sensuality.
Nearly all of the suitors in atte
ndance flocked to her, practically coming to blows over the
chance to dance with her, or, when she was resting, gathering in a large, adoring crowd at her feet.
She had been proposed to no fewer than twenty times by the end of her first season, all of which she had turned down, much to the disappointment of both her family and the families of all of her competitors, who felt the
lack of at
tention whenever she was in attendance. The f
amilies with eligible daughters always
issued her an invitation – which, considering her family’
s wealth and position in the area
could not be avoided –
did so with severe
reluctance, knowing that, even at their own
ball, their daughters didn’t have a chance
of garnering many male’s interest
And Cassie had basked in every bit of it she could soak up. Her dance card was always full, and she never wanted for punch or a plate of food to nibble on.
Every young man in the place – and some of t
he single older ones, too – was a slave
to her every command, and that was just the way she liked it.
She thoroughly intend
ed to marry someone who would continue
to indulge her well beyond the extent to which her father had.
summer masked ball
, however, had not
been a smooth road, and the biggest problem of the evening was with how Sissy seemed determined to
tear every hair from her scalp while tr
ying to incorporate the white roses – with big bright diamonds sunken into their centers -
she wanted into her hair. She was going as a white diamond,
with a suitably encrusted mask, dripping them
from her neck and ears, and in
a dress she’d found in Paris that she’d had accented with a fortune in them.
The third time she found herself nearly bleeding from Sissy’s clumsy attempts, Cassie stood and turned around, slapping an unsuspecting Sissy across the face with the full force of her strength. “Do it right, or I will
buy someone who c
an and you will be sent home, where I’ll make sure Father puts you in a place that’s more suited to your talents,” she threatened icily, sitting back down on the tapestried vanity chair.
Sissy knew exactly wh
at her mistress meant by t
hat. The Winthrop’s
plantation was a gorgeous spread, and the family was well respected by high society, but only because everyone chose not to consider what exactly it was that George Winthrop did in order to
acquire all of that money.
The fact was that h
e wasn’t just a slave trader, but a breeder. Behind the enormously grand, columned mansion were rows and rows of
shacks – no better than hovels –
each with a single female occupant. He kept a stable – almost literally – of young bucks to service them
, and got double duty from them as field hands, which kept them in optimal shape, tired them out so they were much less likely to cause mischief
when they weren’t working
and gave them an outlet for their baser desires – all of w
him quite nicely, as the products such unions were
sold at a tidy profit.
He had gained quite a reputation for himself amongst the landowners across the South as someon
e who could provide bucks
with strong backs and great stamina, which were near priceless commodities for those who owned countless acres of cotton – or other crops – that needed picking.