Chapter Text
Lappland appreciated that Bison stripped out of his formal business attire quickly and without fanfare, tossing the articles onto the nearby couch.
She appreciated that he found her sexy enough to have an obvious erection. Honestly, given how he refused to simply get started on the business of dicking her down, she had started to wonder if he considered her repulsive.
She even, she admitted to herself, appreciated that he looked good underneath all of the clothes. Tall, broad-shouldered, lean, surprisingly muscled for a merchant, though unsurprisingly unblemished.
In fact, conspicuously 'unblemished'.
Bison caught her scrutinizing him, and smiled. "Ah. If you're curious, my lovely wives prefer me completely hairless from the scalp down, save for my tail. Apologies if you'd have preferred me hairier for this."
She'd not thought about the matter one way or the other. Rather than reflect on it, she shrugged with deliberate indifference. "Let's just get on with this. I don't have forever, you know."
He nodded soberly, opening the bathroom door and gentlemanly inviting her to enter first. "I'm trying to respect that, by doing what I can to make the most with your time."
"Sure, sure," she dismissed, sauntering through in a pretense of casualness.
In reality, her naked back and neck couldn't help but tense and prickle a little. Few rooms topped bathrooms for convenience in terms of slitting someone's throat, butchering their corpse, and washing away all of the blood. Especially when that someone made it easier for you by getting naked first.
Lappland knew this from multiple personal experiences, including more than once with Texas.
But when she turned to look, Texas betrayed not one sign of hostility as she entered the room. The black wolf carried a simple chair, but only with a mind to its weight, rather than its application as a club.
Furthermore Texas' eyes had a sickly cast; like she was unhappily recalling the same sort of memories regarding bathrooms and death. She met Lappland's gaze with a fair bit of self-loathing disgust, and a hint of sympathetic reassurance, before the Columbian set the chair down and sat in it.
Bison missed most of the unspoken interplay, satisfying himself with a glance to confirm they weren't about to attack each other. He strode past them both to begin taking stock of the room's supplies, and to plot his course of action.
He plucked a hand towel from the wall rods, and stepped into the walk-in shower to fiddle with the temperature setting.
Lappland waited, unsure what he wanted her to do, until he waved her to join him. "Stand here."
"Not giving me the option to wash myself?" But she obeyed with a sly smile. "Here I thought you didn't want to touch me until after I cleaned up."
"Undressing you myself would have been for my pleasure," he explained. "Washing you myself is for your pleasure. I love to pamper my women."
To her bemusement, he gently gathered up her long hair and carefully tied it up into a loose bun on top of her head. She tried not to think about how no one had touched like this before, outside of her childhood nannies, or her infrequent visits to barber shops, salons, or spas.
Bison plucked up the shower unit's hand-held hose-head, and turned the water on just long enough to warm up and soak his hand-towel.
He brought the towel and his other hand to her face, hovering an inch away. She saw his eyes waiting for submission rather than permission, and she responded by shutting her own.
He cupped her chin to keep her face steady as he applied the wet towel softly to her forehead. Water ran down her closed eyelids, followed shortly but slowly by the towel's light touch.
He whisked back along one cheek, then the other, and then down her nose from bridge to tip. Her eyes flew open when the towel grasped the tip of her nose and wiggled it. He grinned down at her, while her blank expression hid her thoughts from him.
Would socking him painlessly in the gut count as admitting defeat? Maybe the arm? She'd killed men for less, and with less forethought.
The cheeky brat. Even now, she could kill him before Texas could stop her.
Yes, that would defeat all of her purposes, but did he really not fear her in the slightest?
If he didn't fear her, how could she feel safe— She ejected that thought straight out of her head, and focused all of her attention on Bison's administrations. It helped that he had finished with her jaw and went back up to work on her lower ears.
Her restored self-control came just in time, because after he soaked the hand-towel again, he turned his efforts to her neck. Even so, her hands twitched with the desire to take the towel away and do this herself.
He might not have noticed that, but when he finished with her throat and stepped behind her to scrub the back, he saw tension fill her neck and shoulders.
He stepped back into her line of sight with a somber expression, before he gave her a kind smile. "You're doing great."
She blinked. "What?"
Unnoticed, Texas successfully stifled the ghost of a chuckle behind one hand.
He smiled brighter. "I think you're holding yourself together very well in a strange and frustrating situation. You deserve praise for that."
When had someone last sincerely praised her for anything? Her nannies, her instructors? How long ago had she adopted the persona of a mad woman, leaving everyone in her famiglia terrified to approach her?
Maybe she could kill him just a little? If she just drenched him with the hose-head while using the hose to strangle him just a little, maybe all three of them could still survive Texas' intervention?
Fortunately, the idle thought didn't rise to the level of body language, so Texas remained seated. Lappland's confusion had defused her tension, so Bison returned to the back of her neck.
Then he stroked down one shoulder, then the other. Lower, to each of her shoulder blades, then straight down between them. Soaked the towel again.
He picked up her left arm, and scrubbed top-to-bottom, from shoulder to fingertips. She caught him hesitating at numerous points, like he wanted to show extra attention to her hands. But he ultimately remained committed to his gentle but nearly sexless appointed task. Soaked the towel again.
Then her right arm. Soaked the towel again.
Carefully, so as to avoid tickling, he wiped down her hairy armpits, and her ribs and sides. Then the small of her back. Soaked the towel again.
She wondered if he was an 'ass' man or a 'breasts' man. But honestly, he probably moved back up to her chest just to stand up straighter again. The tall idiot had to bend down so much, after all.
Even so, he had to make an obvious and admirable effort to not stare at her breasts, and remembered to start wiping above them, at her collar bone.
When he did descend to her breasts, he started from the outsides, top around to bottom to top, before moving inward. He could have been a nurse, with such a clinical touch.
She tried to give him a condescending smirk, but didn't realize he could see a faint blush on her cheeks. He soaked the towel again.
Then he went down on one knee.
Her smirk vanished, and his own grin left her no doubt what he meant by the gesture. As he brought his towel to her ribs, her thighs tightened as she remembered how soon he would reach her vagina.
She fought to remain still as he scrubbed lightly across her belly, though his touch remained delicately unticklish. Her fists and teeth unconsciously clenched.
She stared wide-eyed down at him. He looked up at her, from where he'd bent over to be eye-level with her muff. His nose flared as he audibly breathed in her scent.
But he turned his eyes back to his work, and wiped so professionally that she felt nothing but frustration. He didn't so much as knick her clitoral hood or inner labia, or even play with her hairy mons or outer labia.
She growled playfully, "I can't tell if you want to fuck me or not. You're working me like a professional, but your stiff dick is wagging around like a sausage—Ah!"
She gasped as his hand touched her just above her tail, and all clenched tension fled her legs. Shocked, she bent over him, catching herself on his shoulders. He looked up at her in concern, and she just stared back blankly.
Seeing that, for the moment, she remained stable, he wiped the towel down and around one of her ass cheeks, then switched his hands up. Rather than risk another collapse, his free hand avoided her tail and rested on her hip. She almost appreciated how pleasantly he scrubbed her other cheek.
The shower stool he'd not used for himself, he now dragged closer and guided her to sit upon.
Once seated, she deliberately opened her legs wide, and stared at him expectantly.
But he just smiled, soaked his towel again, and went to work on one thigh.
"Are you sure you don't want to skip ahead?" she asked, using the fingers of one hand to spread the hairy gates of her pussy.
He looked into her pink core appreciatively. "Very nice. But you're still too dry." And he soaked the towel again.
"Was that a pun?" she demanded incredulously.
Bison refrained from quipping that it was more of a 'Dad Joke'. That concept hadn't flown with Texas, and he suspected it would fare worse with Lappland.
Lappland cocked her head to the side. Fine; if he wanted her to get 'wet', she could hurry this along. Before he could start on her other thigh, she brought her other hand down to her spread folds.
He seized her wrist, giving her a sympathetic expression. "Please be patient. It's not time for that yet."
Texas nearly choked to remain silent.
Lappland might have heard her anyway, if not for her laser-focus on his hand around her wrist. She envisioned all of the ways she could break his arm. She contented herself with closing her legs in petty defiance.
Vexingly, that just made it easier for Bison to go to work on her knees and calves, and finally finish with her feet. If anything, her tension made her more ticklish despite his efforts.
As he stood back up, a part of her dared to hope he was satisfied. But instead, he grabbed a bar of soap and lathered up his hands.
"Stand up, please."
Resigning herself, she obeyed.
He brought his sudsy hands to her face, waiting for her to close her eyes before he touched her.
She figured she'd need to stay that way for a while longer, but shortly after he finished smearing her face and behind her lower ears, she heard the hose run. His hand cupped her chin again, and his warm, wet towel softly wiped her eyelids and face clean. He did not tweak her nose, this time.
She opened her eyes to find him looking into them with a smile.
Only then did he tap her briefly on the nose.
She laughed. She didn't even try to stop herself, because she wanted to laugh as much at herself as at this situation.
Okay, maybe she should just relax and enjoy some pampering? She'd paid more dearly for this than any previous spa appointment, and so far the service wasn't so bad.
Sure, the pain would come later when they finally got down to business. Pain always came in the end, especially at the hands of men when the masks came off. But as slow as this man moved, she'd have more than enough time to prepare for that after he finished with this.
Bison, for his part, only saw her laugh and finally relax a little. He cheered up, and gladly began lathering up his hands with the bar of soap, before setting it aside.
Lappland smiled and cooperatively raised her arms to him, hands first. He accepted the gesture, taking one of her wrists and lathering suds from her hands to her shoulder.
As he reached again for the bar of soap, she laid the hand he had released on his shoulder. He thought little of it, and took her other wrist to repeat the process.
But then she laid that other hand on his other shoulder, and stepped close to embrace him, pressing her thigh between his legs and right up against his erect cock.
He startled, and looked down at her in surprise. She smiled up smugly, as she slid her soapy hands across his shoulders and chest, and rubbed her thigh up and down. Her smile revealed more teeth as he closed his eyes, fighting to contain himself.
After all, Lappland found teasing others very relaxing.
"Stop that," he hissed.
She pulled away, laughing. "Sure, sure."
She watched the anger blaze in his eyes, and smiled in pleasant surprise. After his prior resistance, she hadn't expected that to be the thing that got the prince to drop the act and show his true self.
Without a thumb ring, it wouldn't hurt as much when he slapped her to the floor, and maybe he'd finally get to business and fuck her where she fell.
So she put up no defense as he grabbed her wrists and yanked them over her head. Or when he transferred both of them to one hand, and stepped forward, hooking his freed hand under one of her thighs.
However, she didn't understand why he sat down on the stool and draped her over his knees, until she felt a stinging smack across her ass. She yelped more out of confusion than pain.
"Bad girl," Bison intoned, none of his earlier anger in his voice. He spanked her once again. "This is the second time you forgot. When I give you an order, you answer 'Yes, Sir'."
She said nothing. She didn't move. She stared at the shower's tiled wall.
He pressed his hand flat against her swelling ass-cheek, not as another strike but as a warning. "You say?"
She fumbled a bit with her tongue. "Yes, Sir."
"Very good."
She heard a knob turn, and the hose turned on. A moment later, a freshly-soaked but soothingly-cold towel graced her abused flesh. He held it there for a time.
Then he picked her up and set her down, sitting on his legs, not touching his penis. He leaned her back against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her in a hug.
And Lappland, trying not to think about her father, helpless to stop thinking about her father, didn't know how to process any of it.
Her father had never spanked her. Struck her to the floor in punishment, or in sparring, often. He'd tried whipping or caning her a few times, after she'd turned rebellious. But he'd never spanked her.
Her father had hugged her a few times, or patted her head, before she'd turned rebellious. But each time, she could more clearly recognize the gesture as performative and obligatory.
He'd certainly never offered her any sort of treatment or affectionate comfort, let alone immediately after corporal punishment. He'd always, always required her to pick herself back up when he was done.
Now she felt numb, and disconnected from her body. But she remained aware that just outside of her disassociation, the arms holding her felt stable, gentle, and warm.
Unconsciously, before she fully reconnected with her body, she began squirming slightly. Bison took that as his cue to stand up with her, set her back on her feet, and wait to see if she could remain on her own feet before he released her.
He watched her for any further reaction, but she stayed facing the wall, still and silent.
He sighed, hoping he hadn't ruined everything, and reached again for the soap bar. He briefly reapplied a lather to her arms, picking up each without any resistance. At least when he released them, they didn't fall like cut-string puppet limbs; Lappland lowered them herself at a self-controlled speed.
He moved on to lather her shoulder-blades. By the time he reached her mid-back, Lappland showed more small signs of animation; like she was standing still because she wanted to, and not because she wanted nothing.
After he knelt down and began lathering her butt, her tail suddenly moved once, very deliberately, to softly smack him across the face.
He didn't know if she intended that to insult him, but he smiled, taking it as a sign that she was recovering her spirit. Perhaps she had even meant it as a playful taunt, of the sort he happily accepted from his wives.
Testing the boundaries, he placed his hands inside Lappland's thighs and wordlessly bade her to widen her stance. She complied readily, and just as silently. She then reacted not at all, as he lathered her one leg at a time, front to back, from thigh to foot.
Finished with that, he stood back up, looming over her. He waited.
Eventually, Lappland turned around herself. She looked up at him, head cocked to the side, face blank, eyes inquisitive.
He turned away, lathered up his hands again, and presented them to her.
With no change in expression, continuing to stare into his eyes, she presented her throat and chest to him. Almost like a challenge, or a dare.
As clinically as before, he ran his hands gently across her throat, then her clavicles. He soaped up again for her left breast, then again for her right breast, then again for her ribs.
Once again, he took a knee, and looked up into her blank face, before he put his sudsy hands to her stomach. He wanted to caress the place above her womb, but he loathed to tickle her.
Finally, he worked soap into all the hair around her vagina, and stood back up.
Still, her face didn't change. But she seemed less tense than before.
Bison turned the temperature knob again, pointed the hose head at the wall, and waited for the water to heat back up. Then he soaked the hand-towel again, and with it and the hose, he went to work rinsing her off.
She finally closed her eyes, welcoming the heat after spending so long wet, naked, and barefoot on stone tiles.
He started at her throat with the towel, using the hose to keep it constantly soaked and rinsed. He worked his way down her chest and stomach, before finally using the hose alone to wash her pubes clear.
He placed her hand on his shoulder, and worked his way down her arm. Then he placed her other arm on his other shoulder.
She raised an eyebrow at him. He raised an eyebrow at her. She grinned and raised her leg. He grinned and held the hose over her head, his finger on the trigger.
They laughed.
He went down on one knee again, and this time she stuck her tongue out at him. He grinned, and quickly finished up her legs.
She turned around herself before he stood back up, allowing him to wash off her back and butt.
She wasn't expecting him to wrap that up by lifting her tail. But what really surprised her was getting sprayed where the sun doesn't shine, and the towel wiping her ass. She yelped, and speared him in the gut with her elbow.
He laughed through his wheezing, and let the towel drop to the floor. He blasted it with the shower hose.
"Really?" she demanded. "You want to wipe my ass too? You have some interesting fetishes."
"You don't normally wash your ass?" he asked casually, breath still a little strained.
She contemplated and discarded a few rejoinders and jests, before shrugging. "Anyway, are we finally done?"
"Nope!" he said, straightening up with a smirk. "Now I do your hair. Turn around."
She groaned. "How about I tear my hair out? I'm on the edge."
Jovially, he said, "I absolutely forbid you to damage your lovely hair."
She sighed. She absent-mindedly let a heartbeat pass, and then deliberately let a second heartbeat pass. Then she calmly looked up to meet his expectant stare, and said, "Yes, Sir."
"Good girl!"
So she turned around. She remained still, even though he stepped out of shower and walked away for some reason. She muttered a curse to herself as she heard him turn on the facet for the nearby bathtub.
He returned, and unbound the loose bun he'd made of her hair earlier, allowing the great mass to spill down her back again. She didn't like how it stuck to her wet back, but that soon wouldn't matter.
She let him tilt her head back a little, so he could more easily avoid getting water down her face. She had a lot of hair to soak, after all.
Again, she closed her eyes and embraced the water's suffusing warmth. She allowed herself to appreciate the strong but gentle way he worked his fingers across her scalp, and ran his hand through her lengthy strands.
It only got better when he turned off the hose and grabbed the shampoo. After emptying a mighty fraction of the bottle onto her head, he used both of his large hands to knead it thoroughly into her crown and slather it downwards.
She couldn't deny that he seemed to enjoy himself; his hands moved with a cheerful energy, and she caught him humming a few times.
The warm water pleasantly returned for the rinse, but she groaned as he reached for a second bottle; conditioner.
At least it smelled good. Not quite her first choice, but if her new 'owner' told the truth, he'd humor her with something different in the future.
Eventually, Bison mused to himself, "Damn, I'm going to need a clasp for this."
At which point Lappland heard a small object arc through the air, and the sound of a hand catching it.
"Thanks, babe."
Lappland asked herself, with some concern, whether Texas had thought to bring a hair pin into the room, or if she had slipped away and returned without Lappland noticing.
Bison fought to gather up her slippery hair, to pile and pin it atop her head. He then hosed off his hands for an unimpeded grip, and scooped Lappland up into his arms. She didn't care for that, but didn't protest.
She admitted that he at least timed things well enough that the bath was nearly full by the time he brought her to it. He leisurely got down on one knee and easily lowered her into the water that was just shy of Too Warm. She sank into it with a grateful sigh, careless of how some of the water spilled over the edge. Not her problem.
Bison hastened to turn off the facet, then double-checked to make sure she looked comfortable. "Okay, good. Just relax there for a bit. The conditioner should be done by the time I finish."
So saying, he stepped back into the shower to cleanse himself.
Which left Lappland almost alone in the room with Texas, still watching from the chair she might not have left the whole time.
"Enjoying yourself yet?" the black wolf asked.
The white wolf lazily flipped her off. "Having fun watching your man pamper another woman? Ah, I forgot, you must get cuckholded on the regular. Couldn't get him to marry you without offering more than one cunt? Had to sell him a girly idol's pussy, too."
Texas hummed pleasantly. "That girly idol's pussy was mine first, it's still mine, and I love to watch him stretch and pound it. Plus, I find this rich coming from you. The woman so obsessed with me that she couldn't tolerate getting any dick that hadn't gone inside me first."
Lappland laughed, with sincere joy. "Oh, I'd say I'd missed this, but even when you fostered with my famiglia you never wanted to play the game like this. The worst part about dealing with you always was that you never had any fun. I guess being married suits you."
"It's easier to have fun when the mob is dead."
Lappland's smile became a little more somber and triumphant. "È vero."