DISCLAIMER: Anything could happen so Adults only.

WARNING: Strong stuff, trust me.

FEEDBACK: Is welcome. p.phair@comcast.net or you can visit my web site at http://www.phair1.com

## THE RETREAT

## By

## Phair

##

## Part 11

"You lazy shits! You get to work right now. Madame is so pissed off, it ain't even one bit funny!" Igor's words echoed across the yard.

Bailey turned Taylor's face away from the raving man. She cupped both cheeks in her hands and kissed Taylor. It was hesitant at first. A sweet and slow meeting of lips to start off. Then her tongue found its way passed Taylor's bluing flesh to warm her skin and steal her breath.

"Wow," was all Taylor could manage to utter when Bailey reluctantly withdrew.

"Did you hear me? You listening or what?" Igor towered over them waving his hands to emphasize the words.

"It would be somewhere between 'listening' and 'or what,' Igor," Bailey replied without breaking eye contact with Taylor.

"Are you teasing me? You no account convict trash, I'll show you how to act with descent people," Igor screamed.

He grabbed Bailey by the front of the shirt and pulled her away from Taylor. With a balled fist, he smashed her in the mouth. Taylor sat stunned for the moment. She heard the solid hit of fist to flesh and almost felt the vibration through the brief contact of Bailey's leg against her shoulder.

"That's it," Taylor growled.

As she rose to her feet, Bailey passed her on the way back down. Taylor tackled Igor. She used his height against him by landing hard on his knees. The two tumbled to the ground.

"Don't you ever touch her again," Taylor bit him on the shin.

"BITCH!"

Taylor released her hold when Igor kicked her hard in the back with his free leg. She wiped the blood from her mouth as Igor clutched his wounded limb and howled in pain.

"Next time, just ask us nice!" She punctuated the sentence with a kick of dirt in the man's direction.

Bailey touched her arm and drew her attention back to what really mattered. There was a large purple bruise forming on Bailey's lower jaw. Blood was pooling in the woman's mouth and drooling out the sides.

"Ice," Bailey was barely able to mutter the request around her bleeding and swelling lips.

"Come on," Taylor wrapped her arm around Bailey's shoulders and escorted her safely back to Sagamore Place.

* * *

Madame stormed into the kitchen with the full fury of her girth creating a slight breeze in her wake. She struck an intimidating figure in spite of the elegant, floor length ball gown she wore. However, the occupants of the kitchen were unimpressed with her display. Taylor sat on the table cradling Bailey in her lap and holding an ice filled cloth to the woman's injured mouth. Several previously discarded rags were carelessly tossed on the floor at their feet.

"What…," Madame's tirade was brought to an abrupt halt by Taylor's stone cold voice.

"You should shut up! You're lucky the two of us aren't walking to town to get the cops. Do you realize that freak of a zombie doorman punched Bailey in the mouth?"

"Garce," Madame was smug.

"Well go ahead and yuk it up, lady," Taylor sneered. "Laugh while you still can. You see my good friend, Bailey, is currently the property of the state. DOC sent her here for an opportunity to train at life skills and not to be a punching bag. They take a very dim view of folks who abuse their prisoners. Especially, prisoners as young and pretty as Bailey. Makes for bad press among the voters. Did you know, last year alone, DOC sent fifty work release supervisors to jail for abuse?"

Madame swallowed and sweat started to creep down her forehead, "I never touched the girl."

"Igor did. And, everybody here knows Igor only does what you tell him to do."

"Okay, enough with the games," Madame put her hands on her hips, dropped the French accent, and was ready to make a deal. "What do you two want?"

"It's a wash, I should think. You forget Bailey's previous violent encounters during her stay here and we let this slide," Taylor suggested with a shug.

"My tooth," Bailey gargled from behind the cloth.

"Oh, right! Igor broke her back tooth. You should pay for it to be fixed then add a little something for pain and suffering, untold humiliation…,"

"Spill it!" Madame snapped. "How much?"

"F…five…," Taylor started.

"Six," Bailey added.

"Yep, that's right. Six grand will do the trick."

"Fine. Any chance either of you will be cleaning rooms today or is manual labor too abusive to ask of you?" Madame snorted.

"We'll start in Giuseppe's room," Taylor gave a big smile, "right after Bailey finishes up with the ice pack."

"Twenty on and twenty off," Bailey's voice was muffled behind the ice filled cloth.

"Fine," Madame swept from the kitchen and managed to keep her giggle to herself until she was on the stairs leading to her room.

* * *

"DOC sent work release supervisors to jail?" Bailey asked as she polished the desk near the gun rack.

"I don't know," Taylor was gathering the dirty laundry. "I made it up. Call it creative talking."

"Mom use to call it lying."

"True, but your Mom also let you go to prison for something your stepfather did," Taylor grunted while bundling the linens. "We shouldn't use her as the yardstick of all things moral."

Needing to keep their conversation going Bailey asked, "Did you see that one of the guns is missing?"

Taylor stopped her work. She took a moment to survey the gun rack. Sure enough, one of the double barrel guns was gone.

"Looks like Giuseppe decided to do a bit of hunting after all," Taylor dropped to one knee to look for any escaping socks under the bed.

"Probably," Bailey moved the manuscript entitled HUNTED from one side of the desk to the other in order to finish polishing the surface. "Guess that's what he's working on at the moment."

"Uh, huh," Taylor was reaching under the bed and couldn't hear Bailey too well.

"Hey Taylor, do you really think," Bailey's voice softened with each word even though she was being braver than at any other moment in her life, "you know, that I'm, you know, what you said?"

"What I said?" Taylor was scanning the floor for any other stray laundry, "What did I say?"

"You know, when you said, uhm, when you told Madame, that, well, I'm…pretty."

Taylor stopped working. Her heart ached with the question asked. Bailey really didn't know the truth about herself.

"No, I don't think you're pretty," Taylor confessed.

Bailey kept her back to Taylor. Disappointment was evident in the way her head dipped forward and shoulders slumped.

"I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met. And, I can't believe that you even gave me a second look," Taylor crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Bailey.

"Liar," Bailey sniffed and wiped away several tears.

"Never about that. Bailey, you are lovely," Taylor breathed in the woman's ear and felt a tremble run through the blond.

Bailey settled back against Taylor's chest as Taylor untucked her shirt. Warm fingers worked their way up to Bailey's breasts. Bailey reveled in the strength of Taylor's caresses against her sensitive nipples.

Taylor whispered, "I want you, right now."

Bailey felt Taylor's left hand snake its way back down to her belly button. Gentle finger tips explored the soft skin long enough to raise goose bumps.

The voice in her ear grew deeper, more urgent, "Gonna get that pierced when you get out."

"You think so, huh," Bailey shivered in anticipation as Taylor's fingers traveled under the waist band of her jeans.

Taylor chuckled when she felt how ready Bailey was for her, "Oh ya, I'm gonna get you pierced. Everybody will know your mine." Bailey gasped as much at Taylor's words as from her touch, "My bottom bitch, your mine."

Bailey lost all focus. Her only thought was of the fingers tormenting her with their wickedly slow pace. Her body moved on its own trying to rush Taylor's hand.

"Ya gotta take me first. Can't own me without taking me," Bailey muttered.

"As long as you understand, you're mine now," Taylor lifted Bailey off her feet with the force of the thrust. "Say it, say it when you come."

"Your's," Bailey gasped at her release, "your bitch, your bottom bitch."

The two stood shaking in the aftermath of their climax. Their bodies supporting each other as their senses reeled in pleasure. They were alone with each other in a perfect universe of their own creation.

"Good girls," spoke the voice from the doorway. The fake French accent shattered their moment of perfection.

"SHIT!" Was the only response the pair could verbalize.

Somewhere, beyond the walls of Sagamore Place, a shotgun fired.

TBC

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