“Hold it for thirty seconds, Erica,” Blaine said, his big hand patting her ass. “Do this and all is forgiven.”
Time seemed to stop for her as she crouched in the sand; the loud cracks of the fireworks above them intermingled with the approving sighs and cries of the people nearby. All of it faded into the background as each second ticked slowly, inexorably by, each one an eon to Erica’s screaming clit. She grunted, digging her fingers into the sand, her cheek pressed to the cold Earth. The situation was truly surreal; a grown woman, naked, prostate on her knees, with heavy clamps crushing her nipples and clit, enduring her pain for the pleasure of the two most important people in her world. All this while surrounded by unsuspecting strangers, people, and neighbors out enjoying a holiday evening at the beach.
The delicious irony of her practical slavery on the celebration of Independence Day was not lost on her. But was that really true? She did feel a kind of liberation in her abjection; a letting go of her will, in embracing her submission. Perhaps it wasn’t ironic after all?
Her clit had grown numb by the time they released the clamp. She shoved her own hand in her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to burst forth as the blood flow and feeling returned to the sensitive bundle of nerves. She willed herself not to cry as the pain washed through her in waves. Shockingly, it soon transformed into a heated, pulsing pleasure, her consciousness unmooring, drifting.
Slender fingers eased Erica’s pussy lips apart, penetrating her, curling deep within the clutch of her sex. She sighed as those cruel hands ministered to her, rubbing the life back into her flesh. Thankfully, they avoided touching her clit straight away, the smart of the clamp leaving it too sensitive. But when Sir’s long, thick fingers took her roughly, claiming her pussy as his, Erica couldn’t help but reach back and ease her bud between two of her fingers. The pain of it mingled with, became lost in, the pleasure of her Sir’s fingers driving deeply, the thrumming, angry clit fully reawakened to sensation.
“Sir, I need…”
“Come for us Erica, make it all better,” he said, the pleasure evident in his rich voice. ”Be a good girl, and show us.”
Her orgasm overtook her with frightening swiftness, her fingers rubbing frantically at her inflamed clit as Blaine added a third finger to her overfull pussy. All the pain, the excitement, the uncertainty, and the promise combined into a dark storm of sensation that drowned her as she yelled into the back of her hand, her teeth closing over her own skin. She had no care anymore for who saw her, who heard her. There was only this pleasure, this moment in time, this perfectly pure feeling of… belonging to another.
“Come here Erica,” her Mistress said, her voice soft. Hands guided Erica’s hips as she turned and knelt up to embrace Kathryn. Her Mistress stopped her, pulling up the thin t-shirt and unclipping both clamps from Erica’s tortured nipples. She quickly dropped the t-shirt back over the aching breasts, and Erica buried her face against Kathryn’s torso, the tears coming full on as the pain in her breasts overwhelmed her once more. She wrapped her arms tightly around her Mistress’ hips, wanting her closeness, needing her touch.
“It's okay, it’s okay, sweet girl. You did great,” Kathryn whispered, planting little kisses on the crown of Erica’s head, her hands rubbing circles over her back.
“All is forgiven Erica,” Blaine said, his hand tucking her hair behind her ear, his palm caressing the vulnerable curve of her ear.
She simply hugged her Mistress for several minutes, the cacophony of the fireworks show all around them. When her breathing had settled, she looked up into her Mistress’ eyes, the wetness of her tears cold on her cheeks. Her Mistress smiled down at her, a slim finger tracing Erica’s eyebrow, feeling the contours of her swollen mouth. Erica pressed a kiss to the fingertip, and smiled.
“You know,” Blaine said, with a gentle tweak to Erica’s earlobe. “Richard and Kerri will be coming out for the annual Trust meeting. Do you think we’d have enough time to get her moved out and settled in before then?”
Relief and joy flooded through Erica to see her demanding Mistress’ smile. “Do you — do you mean what I think…?”
Kathryn nodded. “We want you to be ours, Erica. Come live with us. What do you say?”
Erica could scarcely believe it. Something she’d hoped for with all her heart, but had not dared consider a possibility — a home with her Sir and her Mistress. The tears overflowed once more, meandering in hot trails down her face. “Yes, Mistress. Of course, yes!”
Blaine grinned. “I think Kerri will be relieved to have another slave to draw some attention at the meetings. The girls do get rather… tired.”
# # #
Book II
Her Troika
(The Complete Story)
Trent Evans
Prologue
T
he naked, sweating woman lay lashed securely to the bale of hay, her body motionless in the warm fragrant air of the stall. George Trask slipped in, closing the stall door with a quiet snick behind him. He stood behind her, taking in her beauty in the solitude of the afternoon. None of the adjacent stalls were occupied, leaving the pair blessedly alone, and George free to indulge himself with the woman who was nothing more than property in this place.
He removed his leather kid gloves, draping them over the top of the stall wall. Each enclosure was partitioned with walls and doors just barely six feet high, enough to lend a modicum of privacy but low enough that a passing groom or Owner could easily check on the health of the charges ensconced within the simple, utilitarian spaces.
The overhead fixtures concentrated illumination into the center of each stall, the broad, sun-kissed bare buttocks prostrated over the prickly yellow straw looking almost pale under the harsh lighting. Some of the Owners had once complained about dim lighting in the stalls, and George very much approved of the remedy for such complaints. A woman in this place wasn’t allowed to hide anything: she was bared to all on the track, in the display stands, and most of all, in the intimacy of her stall.
He’d watched E on the dirt track earlier, her heavy boots pounding the hard-packed soil, the merciless sun baking the ground. Round and round she’d run, the grooms’ whips licking out to lend motivation whenever she’d flagged. Her generous breasts, unfettered, bounced wildly on her chest, the vulnerable globes no doubt throbbing by the time she’d reached the end of her prescribed distance. The larger busts of some of the women never caused the trainers to waver, and E was no different. Sore tits or not, she’d obey the dictates of her trainers — slacking was never tolerated.
The bit must have galled the corners of her mouth, George knew, but it was better to get the creatures acclimated to such use as soon as possible. Being firm with them from the very beginning was the most merciful thing to do when training these women. To coddle them out of the gates was to mislead them as to the real rigors of the life their Owners had sentenced them to. For at this place there was only the running, the lash, and obedience. Everything else was meaningless.
George removed his light coat, hanging it from a hook next to numerous whips, crops and canes. The implements hung along the top of one wall, a silent menace none of the inmates in this place ever failed to notice. He ran his fingers through the lengths of leather, playing with the stiff leather flapper at the end of a well-made crop. Perhaps another time.
Rolling up the sleeves of his starched white shirt, his gaze took in the rounded curves of the female rump. It still bore faint lines from the whips of the grooms, but he was pleased to see they’d not needed to mark her over much. He preferred an unblemished bottom to work upon in case he decided she needed further correction.
His hand stroked over the urgent erection tenting the front of his pants, the throbbing between his legs more insistent by the second. He’d deprived himself of his slave for nearly a week, wanting her to acclimate as best she could to the rhythm of training without the distraction of her Owner. But finally it had been too much, and he’d made his way to the intake facility in Washington, eager to be reunited with his precious Elaina. Though her real name would never be uttered by any of the trainers or the grooms – the diminution of “E” her only allowable designation within the confines of the facility – in the privacy of the stall things were different. With only her lord and Master as witness, her name could once more be uttered, if only to remind her that she still had one, that it too existed only at the whim of her Owner.
His hands smoothed over the softness of her hip, acquainting itself with her lush flesh once more. The straw rustled as she stirred, her bottom moving against the bale. Her hands, bound wrist to wrist extended straight ahead lengthwise along the bale her body straddled, the cuffs imprisoning her wrists tied off to an eyebolt in the back wall.
His palms eased across the roughness of whip-scorched skin of her buttocks, pausing to squeeze their weight before stroking down the taut thighs spread to either side. The bound woman moaned through the stout black shield gag, his thumbs yawning open the crevice of the buttocks, the harsh light illuminating the moist cleft, the sweat-sodden valley surrounding the bottom hole.
“Shh, that’s a girl. Be still now, Elaina. It’s just me, having a look now.” The plug had stretched the anus slightly, the pink whorl still glistening with a light sheen of lubricant. Nothing she couldn’t handle easily though. He leant over her pressing his lips to the curve of a buttock. “How I’ve missed you.”
George inhaled the scent of her exertions, remembering the sidelong glance the head groom Lino had given him when he’d instructed that her sweating, trembling body not be sluiced down with the cool water most of the women were greeted with at the conclusion of a hard, exhausting run.
No, to George, who adored every inch, every
atom
of his slave’s body, such a thing would be to reduce the value of her exertions, and to him, any Owner who couldn’t partake of his slave’s talents in her body’s natural state, who couldn’t enjoy the healthy clean scent of her labors, wasn’t worthy of
being
an Owner. He loved all of her, and took great lengths to show it.
His hand palmed the swollen, sodden folds of the pussy displayed between the splayed thighs, and she sighed as he stroked the heat of her for a moment.
“You ran well today. So well.” He leaned close allowing her to feel the hard erection through the fabric of his pants, reaching under her, raising her up enough to free her breasts from under her body. “It’s time for a reward. Such a good girl, you’ve been.”
Stroking her breasts, he brushed a sheaf of straw from a turgid nipple, his palms luxuriating in the texture the rough straw had lent to the soft skin of her breasts. Working himself loose, he pressed the heavy head of his cock against the moist lips.
“I don’t know how I’ll be able to stand this,” he whispered into her ear, his body laid over hers, his thick cock sinking into the liquid bliss of her cunt. “An entire month without you is much too long.”
As he took up her hips in a strong grip, sounding the full depth of her pussy, her moans rising in urgency, he resolved to enjoy every last second he could steal with her in the waning afternoon.
Chapter One
T
he fog was so impenetrable Derek wondered if he’d even survive the drive up. Off the freeway, and snaking up godforsaken roads into the hills above Goldendale WA, he thought back on the e-mail. His friend Kurt had told Derek when, where, and finally:
‘Ask for a week off, for now. You’ll need it. Bring nothing but yourself — and a healthy appetite.’
Cryptic as fuck, which was standard operating procedure for Kurt. Derek had always wondered what Kurt got up to that one weekend a month. Without fail, the man disappeared — literally — for those two days. National Guard? Survivalist retreat? Civil War reenactments? Derek wanted to know, yet no matter how he questioned Kurt, all he got was a brick wall.
So when Derek got the call on a Sunday evening — a Sunday evening of one of Kurt’s Top Secret Weekends, no less — he thought he’d
finally
get some answers. He just hoped he wouldn’t find out his good friend was a serial killer.
Instead, it was yet more mystery. But Derek was damned if he’d pass up a chance to learn more. It wasn’t as if he’d be sacrificing anything in his social life, which was on life support. What the hell could it hurt?
The road, riddled with so many potholes his truck felt like a fucking bounce house, ended at a heavy steel gate, the kind you often saw rusting away on lonely logging roads. Only this was no logging road. He glanced at his phone again, the glare of the screen filling the cab with its ghostly white light. Assuming the map application wasn’t screwing him, this was the place. He hit Kurt’s speed dial, holding the phone to his head as he wiped the condensation from the driver’s side window.
“This is Kurt.”
“Hey, I’m here I think.” Derek leaned forward, trying to make out anything through the opaqueness of the fog. “Yellow gate? Chained up?”