Chapter Text
“Arthur Morgan, you put me down!” Your shout cuts across the morning birdsong, echoing throughout the campground and startling its inhabitants. It doesn’t take long for Micah to start chuckling, which escalates into a full-blown cackle when he sees Arthur ride up with you tied to the back of his horse. You're rubbing your wrists and ankles raw with how hard you’re thrashing about.
“Dutch?” Arthur’s fed up with your behavior, searching the crowd for his oldest friend and mentor. “Get out here, we got a problem!” Ironic, how Miss Molly O'Shea wasn’t the sole source of the gang’s trouble for once.
Dutch emerged from the crowd, pushing his way forward when he noticed you struggling. “What happened?” His eyes dart from you to Arthur, frowning.
“Seems our girl picked a fight in the saloon this evenin’. If I hadn’t been at the bar, the Sheriff woulda thrown her ass in a cell.” Dutch doesn’t miss Arthur’s brief glance over at you. He has to admire Arthur’s handiwork – you’re trussed up and on display for all to appreciate.
You glance away, your face burning under the heat of Dutch’s gaze.
“She almost got arrested over one barfight?” Dutch sounds surprised, but suspicious as well. “Why Arthur, if that were true, you might not be here with us today.”
He was right. You recalled Arthur's scrape with Tommy when the gang first entered Valentine. The difference between you and him? You wouldn't listen to the townsfolk trying to pull you away.
Dutch takes measured steps toward you, each one resounding like gunfire. He leans in close, holding your chin. "My girl. Tell me what you've done." The weight of Dutch's possessive language settles over your shoulders, effectively melting away your worries. You lower your eyes, staring intently at the dirtied leather of Dutch's boots.
Your explanation isn't rational, and it doesn't inspire any confidence for what you need to say. "I picked her. She was my mark. It was all fine. I got what I wanted outta her. Arthur ran point, only I didn't think I needed his help. I didn't get away quick enough. She starts hollerin' that I'm a dirty thief. Calls me names. I didn't clock that she hired protection. Next thing I know some bastard's got his rifle in my face. I couldn't have that! I grabbed my knife and tackled her 'fore she could get away. Told her buddy if he made a move, I'd kill her. She starts screamin' all kinda hateful, ugly shit..." You trail off, the heat of your earlier adrenaline roiling your blood. "I just wanted her to stop shootin' off at the mouth."
You failed to mention the way you'd noticed Arthur eyeing her appreciatively from across the bar hadn't exactly helped improve your mood either.
You can't see it, but Arthur's staring down at you in disappointment. "So in front of ten 'r twelve witnesses, our girl starts beatin' on this woman. Slapped her around somethin' fierce. Didn't make much sense, the law showin' up so fast. We found out that wasn't her only bodyguard. This woman had herself a whole damn posse waitin' outside, one of them ran straight for the Sheriff at the first sign of trouble. Turns out our Princess here beat a Braithwaite woman half to death for no good reason in the middle of the goddamn saloon." Arthur fills in the details you were too embarrassed to repeat, still somehow managing to downplay the cuts on your hands and dried blood on your knuckles. "I reasoned with the Sheriff, got him down to $25 bounty. Heard the Braithwaite guards were askin' for twice that, on account of their 'client's injuries.'"
Your anger problem was no secret to anyone in the group. You'd never been so irresponsible as to let it jeopardize your future, as well as the future of your chosen family. You're touched that Arthur did his best to intervene and absolve you of the consequences of your foolish mistake.
For a moment, Dutch doesn't say anything. You'd been expecting a blowout, but this was almost worse. The silence stretches uncomfortably as he appears to consider his next steps carefully. You don't know what's worse, Dutch when he's outraged or calculating.
One thing's for sure - Dutch has a plan for you.
He stands and addresses the lingering members of the group first. "Everyone, let this be a lesson! We must be on our best behavior at all times - we're supposed to be keeping a low profile! From now on, I don't want anybody using weapons near or in Valentine. Is that clear?"
Murmured assent flickers through the group. Micah is not pleased - he casts a resentful glare in your direction, although you're unable to see it from your position.
"Let's try to get some rest, folks. Reflect on your own behavior, and how you can make strides toward improvement. Arthur, hitch your horse and release our hostage." Dutch pats Arthur's shoulder out of habit. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Dutch whispering something into Arthur's ear.
You strain your ears in an attempt to listen, yelping as you're abruptly lifted over Arthur's shoulder once more. "Where y'want this one?"
"Bring her to my tent." There is an undercurrent of intent in Dutch's voice, and suddenly you're shivering from more than just the evening breeze.
You're unceremoniously dropped onto Dutch's bed. "Let the others know we are not to be disturbed, will you, son?" Dutch hardly needed to give the order - whatever they may overhear, everyone knew to keep their distance when Dutch was doling out discipline. Arthur nods in acknowledgement, closing the flap of Dutch's tent and leaving the two of you as alone as it's possible to be in a camp with seventeen other people.
You feel the moment Dutch's attention shifts completely to you, his voice like a silky caress.
"Sit up."
You rise quickly, scrambling aside to give him some room out of habit. You're at a loss for words. What could you say? You fucked up, and you knew it was wrong even as it was happening. You could have walked away, kept a cooler head - but you didn't. The anger had gotten the better of you this time.
The bed shifts with Dutch's weight as he makes himself comfortable next to you. "If you know what's good for you and for the future of this family, you'll do as you're told. Tonight, and always. Understand?"
Heat pools low in your belly. You nod, not trusting yourself to look him in the eyes just yet.
"I need you to say, 'Yes, Sir.'"
You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a nervous energy. You get so turned on when Dutch starts talking like this, it's almost frightening. "Yes, Sir." Your voice is low and full of humility.
Dutch sits forward, both of his feet flat on the floor. "Good. Bend over my lap and lift up your dress."
Your eyes widen even as you move automatically, picking up your skirts with both hands. You bend over Dutch's lap as delicately as possible.
"Higher," Dutch mutters, bumping your hands out of the way and tugging impatiently at your skirts, lifting them over your head. He pulls your bloomers down to your knees, humming as he admires your derriere.
You shiver with the sudden chill, and Dutch brushes his palm over your soft pale cheek. “Be still. I need to concentrate.”
For a moment he doesn’t say anything, but you can hear the rustling on the bed. When he touches you again, the hiss of leather over your skin makes your nerves sing with pleasure. He'd put on a pair of leather riding gloves, and you have to wonder if he'd borrowed them from Arthur. Was that what they were whispering about?
Dutch lets out a chuckle as he caresses your plump and supple flesh, cataloguing your reaction to the change in sensation. He grabs your ass hard enough to make you squeal. He shushes you, the sound traveling down your spine and settling much further down.
“I want you to count for me.” Dutch’s hand settles in the tender area where your ass connects to your thigh. This isn’t the first time you’ve been spanked – but you’d never been asked such a thing before. Still, you know how to play this game.
“Yessir.” You murmur, hiding your face in your elbow, even as you wriggle on his lap. You bite your lower lip, your hip coming in contact with the ridge of Dutch’s erection.
He slaps your tender upper thigh, heat blossoming under his hand as the sting crackled along your nerve endings. You let out a low moan, your fists clenching in the fabric of your skirts.
“Stubborn brat.” He wraps a hand in your hair and pulls hard, sending pins flying as he growls low in your ear. “You will stay still and take your punishment like a good girl. Try and tease me like that again, and you’ll only make things worse for yourself. If I don’t hear you counting, you’ll be in even more trouble. Have I made myself clear?”
He aims his hand a little higher on the next swing, toward the curve of your ass. Your shudder involuntarily, heat simmering between your legs. “Two. Yes, Sir.”
It is a true test of strength for you to remain still, especially when Dutch starts thinking out loud.
“You may hang around with bad men, but I know you’re not all bad, sweetheart.” Dutch’s next slap curls your toes. “Three! I’m not, Sir, I swear.” You’re wringing your hands and rumpling your skirt. At this point you just hope you don't do anything stupid or unsexy.
“It’s this temper of yours. You can’t seem to keep it in check.” He adds two quick slaps to each cheek, the leather gloves reinforcing the sting. “Ah! Four, five!” You add desperately, your thighs clenching together.
Dutch grabs your tender inner thigh with the leather glove, forcing your legs apart. “Stay! I require your legs open just like this. It's best that you don’t struggle.” Dutch growled low as though he were talking to the camp's dog, but tonight you were the stubborn bitch refusing to fall in line. With a familiar lurch of humiliation that sets lust simmering throughout your body, you realize you’re completely exposed. Your heightened arousal permeates the air in his tent.
Dutch inhales deeply, savoring your distinct scent. “Mmm.” He strokes between your legs with his gloved hands, parting your glistening folds with two fingers for his inspection. “Naughty girl. You shouldn’t be enjoyin' your punishment so much.” He pauses, considering for a moment. “Maybe I’ve been too soft on you.”
He delivers two strong slaps to each cheek. Your ass jiggles in a way he can appreciate, your cheeks reddening like two delicious apples.
“Six, s-seven…” You’re panting, straining to remember which numbers come next. You’re losing your good sense, feeling a kind of darkness threatening to overwhelm you. Dutch’s hand on your backside seems to be the only thing settling your racing thoughts.
“You know what? My hand’s gettin’ tired.” As Dutch speaks, he aims for your upper thighs. Two more, which you’re quick to count out loud. He drops one last smack, heat crackling down your spine.
“Why don’t you join us, Arthur?”
Your eyes flew open. He sounded so conversational you’d half-expected him to be joking until Arthur emerged; strolling the floorboards of Dutch’s tent and settling across from the pair of you.
“Welcome, son.” You don’t have to look up to know Dutch is grinning devilishly.
“How’s our girl?” Arthur sounds just as cavalier as their leader. Bastard.
“If she ain’t the sorriest ass in Valentine, then by mornin’ she’ll surely be the sorest.” Dutch glides a hand up your lower back, gripping your hair hard enough to expose your throat. “Ain’t that right, darlin’?”
You’re panting, eyelids fluttering as your eyes rolling back in your head. “Yes, Sir!”
Dutch catches your subtle eye movement, humming low in his chest. “Ah, that’s it. You can always tell by her eyes. She can put up a fuss all she likes, but deep down…she’s beggin’ for more. Her body leaves nothin' to the imagination.” He keeps a moderate hold on your hair and reaches for your ass again, spanking each cheek quickly.
“Eleven, twelve…” Your breath trembles on the last number, and humiliation clenches your stomach. After a moment’s hesitation, you realize Arthur has chosen not to comment on Dutch’s observation.
Slowly, Dutch glances between you and Arthur. You can guess how the wheels are turning in his head. “Unless…” Dutch pauses, narrowing his eyes, “You’ve already seen for yourself.” His tone is accusatory.
You freeze. Dutch hasn’t stopped touching you – in fact, it feels like he’s trying to drive you crazy. His hand stroking up and down your thighs, over the curve of your ass, brushing along your lower back. He's playing with you like he might idly pet his horse's mane. You croon softly, biting your lower lip.
Dutch is right. You and Arthur had tried so hard to be discreet, but you’ve both given yourselves away with your silence.
“Am I right? Has Arthur had you for himself, my love?” Dutch dips his fingers lower, teasing between your legs. You dig your nails into his leg as you cry out, your hips bucking desperately.
You let out a pitiful whimper. All the blood had rushed to your head from being posed so long in this humiliating position. Dutch takes your continued silence as an opportunity to slide his gloved fingers inside your wet slit.
“Yes! Ahh, yessir!” Your eyelids fluttered, the whites visible beneath your lashes.
“So he has…” Dutch grunts, trailing off as he pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly. He finds way you’re soaking the leather positively captivating. Arthur clears his throat, adjusting himself in his jeans. “And you’d love it if he'd have you again right now, wouldn’t you? Slut.”
You’re trembling, working your hips onto his fingers. It's tough for you to find words now, but of course he's correct. Dutch pins you in place against his knee with one hand, ceasing your movements. “Would you enjoy that as well, son?” He addresses Arthur, his lecherous growl doing nothing to ease the insistent ache of your arousal.
Arthur clears his throat in tacit agreement, because the next thing you know Dutch is barking out orders like you’re back in the saddle, about to rob the Cornwall train.
Dutch grabs the back of your neck, pulling your head up long enough to give you direction. “On your knees. Hold out your hands.”
You kneel, lifting your hands with open palms. Dutch turns to Arthur. “Tie her hands together.” Arthur grabs a hank of rope from his hip, pulling your hands together and winding it around your wrists. Through it all, your lover never manages to give anything away in his expression.
“Good. Sit down, son. Get your cock out.” Dutch chooses to stand, although there’s no mistaking the outline of his erection through his trousers. To your surprise, Arthur obliges Dutch rather quickly. Your eyes eagerly follow the zipper on his jeans sliding down. You lick your lips as you watch Arthur take himself in hand, sliding up and down his length for some temporary respite.
Dutch turns to you, gripping your shoulders and pulling you to your feet. “Once again.” He indicates your dress.
You lower your eyes as you pick up your skirts, struggling with your hands tied in front of you. Eventually it's easier to bunch up the fabric and pull it to one side. Dutch grabs your shoulders, moving you where he wants - his very own living doll. You realize you have to take a step back, and you're between Arthur's legs.
“Bend your knees.”
You’re panting again, realizing Dutch’s intentions. He’s got you backed into a corner. Your hands are tied, quite literally. Slowly, you bend your knees. The ridge of Arthur’s cock nudges your hip.
“I think you know what happens now.” Dutch grasps both of your hands, offering himself as leverage. You meet his steady gaze and nod once.
Gripping his hands, you lean back and awkwardly attempt to align yourself in the correct position. Dutch glances over your shoulder, and perhaps it’s enough for Arthur to adjust himself. The head of Arthur's cock parts your folds at an angle, creating some interesting friction.
There’s no need for anyone to make sure you’re wet enough for what happens next. Dutch's hands had made sure of that.
Dutch grips your upper arms. He pushes down on your shoulders and you feel Arthur’s cock sink deeper, until the plump head nudges at your crest with a crisp bite of pain. Your internal muscles quiver and contract until Arthur hums low in his chest. Arthur’s calloused hand lingers on the small of your back, his thumb idly stroking the column of your spine.
“Hands at your side for now, son. Sit back…and enjoy the ride.” Dutch gently admonishes Arthur for his brazen overture, and Arthur’s never gone against an order from his commander. He withdraws his touch. Knowing Arthur the way you did, you assumed he put his hand behind his head and smirked, that smug bastard.
Taking your humiliation to a new level of down in the dirt, Dutch manipulated your body’s movements up and down Arthur’s glorious cock. With little effort, Dutch had transformed you and Arthur into toys performing for his pleasure.
You wish you felt steadier on your feet, but you know that’s not your choice. Surrendering your control to Dutch was part and parcel of belonging to his gang. He demanded obedience. You’d fully embraced the quiet darkness rapidly opening up inside you, enjoying the feeling of letting yourself go completely. You trusted Dutch and Arthur to meet you on the other side of this temporary high.
“Go on and touch her now, Arthur. She’s been a good girl. Make her feel real good.” Dutch purred, grunting with effort as he eagerly played with his toys.
It’s difficult to touch you through your dress but Arthur leans forward and slides his hand up your skirts, finding your clit and drawing small rapid circles with two fingers. Your hips buck immediately. You don’t know who’s more responsive to Arthur's touch - you or his horse.
Dutch lets out a satisfied sigh. "That's it." He kisses you roughly, his tongue invading your mouth. You suck the tip of his tongue until he groans quietly. He leans in close, murmuring sweetly against your lips and brushing his fingers over the stubble on Arthur’s neck. When Dutch has to move his hands you keep the rhythm he set for you instinctively, faltering only because of your sore leg muscles. He praises you, whispering how you're doing so well. Your fair cheeks flush pink, ecstatic from the praise.
Dutch is affectionate with Arthur as well, exchanging a few rough and hasty kisses over your shoulder. The amount of stubble scraping over your cheek sends tingles throughout your body. Dutch leans into your ear, using the moment to run his fingers through Arthur’s hair at the same time. His teeth find your earlobe, pulling it sharply. You shudder, your inner muscles clenching around Arthur’s cock.
Arthur groans, swearing under his breath and staggering the rhythm of his fingers on your clit. “Do it again…please.” Arthur murmurs to Dutch, and in this moment you couldn’t be more grateful to be tangled between these fine gentlemen. It feels right to be of service to their pleasure. Raw submissive satisfaction sinks beneath your skin, settling deep in your bones.
With a wicked laugh Dutch obliges Arthur, his tongue rakes over your earlobe in the way that makes your cunt squeeze deliciously around the thick cock inside you. Arthur grunts, panting harshly in your ear, his movements growing erratic.
“You’re close.” Dutch observes. It’s not a question, although you can’t be sure if it’s directed at you or Arthur. The persistent ache deep in your cunt pulsates maddeningly, but you know better than to try to cum without permission.
He reaches past you, grabbing a fistful of Arthur’s jacket. The scrape of Arthur’s stubble on your cheek makes you shiver. Dutch glances between the two of you as he pulls Arthur close, seemingly reaching a decision. “Show me your hand.”
Arthur lifts the hand he’d buried between your legs, his fingers shining with your wetness. Dutch grips his wrist, meeting your eyes as he methodically licks Arthur’s fingers clean. You shudder, letting out a lingering wail. The fire they’ve stoked from within feels like it could set you ablaze at any moment.
“Come when you’re ready. Make sure you give it to her good. Don’t waste a drop.” The strain in Dutch’s voice gives you an incredible thrill. You're drooling, suddenly lost in the memory of how it feels to have Dutch in your mouth. The weight of his cock and the slow, steady drip of his seed on your tongue.
Arthur’s hands drop to your hips as he somehow manages to stand, still buried inside your body. Finally he takes control the way you’ve been craving, snapping his hips forward in deep, punishing thrusts. Dutch pulls you into his arms, throwing your bound hands over his shoulders and thrusting your ass out for Arthur to enjoy at the same time. He indulges in your lips from this angle, taking your mouth in a hungry kiss.
It doesn’t take much. Soon Arthur’s grunting in time with his movements and grabbing at your disheveled hair. The deep sounds emanating from his chest are enough to make your toes curl. “That’s it, son…” Dutch murmurs, his eyes shining with lust and affection.
That’s enough to tip Arthur right over the edge. He grips your hips hard enough to leave marks, a broken groan leaving his lips. At last - there’s a tiny fracture in Arthur’s legendary restraint. You never want to forget the way Arthur’s thick cock pulsating inside you feels. Your swollen cunt marked by his thick spend.
Dutch grunts, adjusting himself in his trousers. “On your knees, whore. Now.”
Your lift your hands from around Dutch's shoulder's, your thighs screaming in protest as you attempt to stand on your own. The feel of Arthur's softening cock slipping out makes you gasp. You lower yourself to the ground, your aching knees granted moderate reprieve by the small white-tailed deer rug on the floor of Dutch’s tent.
“All the way.” You feel the heel of Dutch’s boot right between your shoulders, forcing you to your hands and knees. “My boots are in need of your diligent service.” A twinge of lust echoes deep in your belly. You toss your hair back and away from your face, leaning down to the tip of Dutch’s left boot and sticking out your tongue.
The only notable taste is the wax Dutch reserves for maintaining the leather and the faintest layer of dirt from his travels. His boots are already clean. He won’t be satisfied until he sees your face shining in them.
“Get over here, boy.” Dutch growls to Arthur, his hands hurriedly working open his trousers. You wouldn’t dare look away from your task, but you can imagine Dutch pulling himself out. The fluid beading at the head of his erection. Arthur dropping to his knees, taking that beautiful cock in his mouth. Knowing the sight of you licking his boots was enough to fray the tether of his control is deliciously satisfying.
Dutch lets out a hiss as he slides past Arthur's lips, one hand on the back of his neck to help set the frenzied pace.
With your ass in the air still smarting from your earlier spanking and Arthur's come dripping down your thighs, you set about shining Dutch’s boots with your tongue as he fucked Arthur’s mouth. While Arthur was given the privilege of swallowing his come, you knew the night was still young.
The wheels in your head began to turn as you contemplated the perfect plan to get your gentlemen to really wear you out. You were determined to see this beautiful twisted thing between the three of you through to the end - even if it took all night long.