by Maren Smith
“How long are we going to be here?” She tore her gaze from the bed and hoped no one had noticed she’d been staring.
“Until we decide otherwise,” Reeve said, shrugging out of his heavy hide coat, complete with a fringe across the back of his shoulders that made them look even broader. Eric wore one just like it and while it did wonders for his shoulders too, it didn’t have the same effect on her that Reeve’s did. They hung their coats on pegs by the door and, shedding her little red cloak, Sandy did the same. She might as well give in to the situation and get comfortable. She was going to be here a while.
“So,” she said, turning back to face them, “who is the woodsman and who’s the big bad wolf?”
Again, Eric laughed. They looked almost identical in brown button-down trousers and white long-sleeved shirts. Very Colonial.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Reeve leered, “we’re all wolves here.”
When he winked, she blushed. She liked them way too much for the job she was determined to do. Her pussy pulsed as she glanced back at the single bed. Just as quickly, she looked away, but the damage was done. Steady thumps of erotic titillation were moving down into her clit, sending trickles of moisture flowing down to gather in her folds.
As Eric moved past her to add her basket to the snacks left on the table, Reeve leaned over the ornate footboard to test the softness of the mattress. “Come here, Sandy.”
Tiny, electrified fingertips jitterbugged their way up her spine. “Why?”
Reeve straightened slowly. “Because I told you to.”
No longer interested in the food, Eric watched her now too. “And now so am I.”
The confines of the one-room cabin became tighter as he and Reeve closed ranks. Her legs didn’t want to move but her feet had a mind of their own. They carried her the few sparse feet that separated her from Reeve and the bed. Mentally, she protested every step of the way, but not one word made it any farther than her trembling lips. Her heart was pounding, her pulse battering at the base of her throat, her wrists, and especially she could feel the thundering beat of it between her legs. She stood before Reeve, squeezing her thighs together in the hopes she could make it stop. It was so hard to remember she really wasn’t like this. Eric and Reeve were professionals. She wasn’t really the BDSM type, but it was their job to make her think she was.
That helped to dampen her ardor a bit, to think the only reason Reeve was standing with her right now was she’d been assigned to him. Oh wow, how deeply she had sunk into the fantasy allure the Castle had spun? She’d all but forgotten this was as much an assignment for them as it was for her. And yet, when Reeve took her chin in his hand and hiked her gaze to his, that none of this was real became the farthest thing from her mind.
“Are you ready to find out what you’re capable of?” he asked
Sandy jumped when the warmth and weight of Eric’s hands settled upon her hips. They both moved in closer. Reeve’s toes were a hair’s breadth from hers. Something bumped her bottom. It was Eric, his hips coming into contact with her in a very sensual and sexual way, while his hands kneaded her waist.
“Before we begin, I want to get one thing clear,” Reeve told her.
Trying to steady her breathing, Sandy nodded. She half expected him to scold her. To run down the rules or mention her application in some way to reaffirm that she’d asked for this. It threw her completely when he raised his voice to state, loudly and clearly, “Onion.”
An instant crackle of hidden speakers snapped through the small room. “Dominant, cease all play and step away from the submissive. Security has been dispatched to the scene. Submissive, what is your name?”
Still looking right at her, Reeve said, “This is Master Reeve. For the sake of my submissive’s peace of mind, I am showing her that the Castle safeword works even in this location.”
The speakers were silent a moment and then the speakers clicked and a different voice—deeper, slightly bemused—said, “Thank you, Master Reeve, for your impromptu test of our remote security system. Security has been recalled. Hopefully, your submissive will require no further reassurances.”
The speakers clicked again and the room fell to silence, broken only by the faint hiss of the flames in the hearth and the shallowness of her own quickened breathing.
Reeve waited, unsmiling, just watching her. “Do you understand what I just told you?”
Nodding, Sandy felt it when she began to tremble. He’d just told her they were going to do things to her now, but that she had the power to stop everything with a single word. She could do it at any time. At any time at all.
She trembled even harder, the realization that she didn’t want to stop anything washing over her. It should have been scary, but it wasn’t. It should have been horrifying, but she felt excited. Her nipples were tightly budded peaks, thrusting out to meet him, only he did not give them a single caress. He didn’t even look at her breasts. Instead, when he released her chin, his hand fell back at his side and, as if on some unspoken cue, both he and Eric stepped away.
She was Little Red Riding Hood, shivering in a room with two self-proclaimed wolves, and in the span of what few inches separated her from them, she’d never felt such a yawning canyon of abandonment.
“Take off your shoes,” Reeve ordered.
Bending, Sandy unlaced both ankle boots, then slipped them off her feet. Her stockings were thigh-highs and attached to the garters that peeked out beneath the frill of her tiny bib of a red skirt. It barely covered her bottom. She was probably a little too old and a little too jubbly to wear such a thing, but neither man said one negative word and, in fact, when she straightened back up again, all she saw was the flash of dark hunger that lit in the depths of Reeve’s eyes.
Muscle bunched in his cheek as his jaw clenched. His voice was huskier, deeper as he said, “Take off your dress.”
“I’ll help with the laces,” Eric offered, his own tone silky soft and honey sweet.
She melted a little when she felt the first slight tug at the back of her corset, but Reeve turned away. Didn’t he want to watch? Why did she feel rejected by that? Her breasts swelled, aching as the laces loosened. When Eric unhooked the front stays, that accidental brush of the corset’s stiff edge as he pulled the material away made her ache even more. She wanted him to look at her so badly.
“You can do the rest yourself,” Eric said, although he unlaced it down the back.
Without Reeve’s eyes on her, though, the erotic appeal had diminished. Now, all she felt was vulnerable. A woman just a little too old for silly fantasies like Little Red Riding Hood, standing in front of two men—two!—about to get naked. She had the most absurd urge to cover up, to fold her arms across her chest and back away, or plead that she needed time to think. Time to think? What was wrong with her?
She started to back away when she heard the wall cabinet open. Over her shoulder, she saw Reeve dig in past the paddles and crops and one enormous horse-cock of a strap-on dildo. He fished out two braided crops, each one crowned with a flat, square slapper at the end. Passing one to Eric, Reeve began to roll up his sleeves.
“You were told to take your clothes off.” That look in his eyes was anything but uninterested as he strolled back to her. “Why are you still dressed?”
Sandy stared, stunned, first at the crop as he slipped his wrist through the strap and found a comfortable, easy grip on the handle, and then at Reeve as he came to stand directly in front of her. She jumped at the first tap of the crop against her right hip.
“Are you having trouble with obedience?” he asked, a sultry trap if ever she’d heard one.
Where was Eric? He’d disappeared behind her somewhere. Shit. She jumped all over again when she felt the warning tap of the second crop, high up on the backs of her thighs where the curve of her bottom sloped into her legs.
“No, I’m just… I’m trying to think,” she stammered, but stopped when Reeve’s crop slid down the outside of her left thigh, only to come drifting up
again on the inside. Sandy’s heart stopped when the braided length came all the way up, pressing in between her folds, applying pressure as he pulled the length of it back and up until at last she felt only the square slapper, flush against her mons.
He tapped her there, twice. “Did I say: take off your dress unless you’re thinking, in which case you don’t have to mind me?”
Behind her, the crop across the backs of her thighs disappeared.
Sandy’s skin began to tingle. Her bottom positively crawled. “No,” she whispered.
“No,” Reeve agreed.
With a whip of air and a whick of impact, Eric’s crop snapped higher than where it had measured, missing her tender thighs to catch her buttocks just under the hem of her too-short skirt. Sandy jumped, but at first, the fearsomeness of it was only sound. Sensation didn’t hit for almost a full second, when all her blood came rushing back to the affected area and the sting hit like an avenging fury.
Her jaw dropped; her eyes widened. Eric hadn’t even struck her particularly hard. At least it hadn’t sounded hard, but the feeling… Savage burning chewed across her bottom. She had nothing with which to relate. No common frame of reference, no past experience to pull from and say, oh, this isn’t as bad as that summer in ‘89 when my uncle caught me snogging his son’s best friend on the back porch at three in the morning; or, actually this might be a bit worse. No, nothing in all her life’s experiences came anywhere close to this.
People did this for fun? People were insane! This wasn’t fun!
So why were her nipples hard as diamonds and her clit swollen and throbbing every bit as fiercely as that fiery line she kept reaching back to rub, except her doms wouldn’t let her. Eric had grabbed one arm, Reeve had seized the other.
“No,” Reeve said, repeatedly, until the order permeated the fog of her shock and he at last brought her attention back into the here and now. “No, you don’t get to rub. Try it again and I will tie your hands, do you understand me?”
Shaken, both exhilarated and scared and… was that excitement she could feel, licking down between her folds like an experienced man’s tongue, tickling where the slapper of his crop had just slithered and tapped at her? That touch had fallen away when he’d grabbed her arm, but now that she was no longer struggling to soothe the sting, it returned.
Her body locked on to the sensation, thrilling and crawling both at once, every nerve zeroing in on the flesh of her pussy where the crop now caressed. A little lower and he’d be directly over her clit. Sandy shivered.
“You don’t get to obey only when you want to,” Reeve told her. “You obey every time, or you accept the consequences. Now, take off your dress.”
If she did, she wouldn’t be naked underneath. Not yet. She was wearing both bra and panties—a skimpy, but lovely matching set that she’d purchased in Wardrobe, because the longer they fussed over her clothes, the more likely it was that someone would find the camera and cellphone she’d wadded up into the babydoll dress the second she’d taken it off. Let them wonder why she’d chosen to buy it after proclaiming so loudly that she wasn’t a Little. She didn’t care so long as the evidence she’d gathered made it back to her room undiscovered.
That single welt of fire pulsing across her bottom, Sandy pulled her dress off over her head. Letting it fall from numb fingers, she stood in front of them, in the warmth of that small cabin. At no point in the whole of her life had she ever felt more vulnerable, more exposed, more naked without truly being naked, or more aroused because of it. They were looking at her. She couldn’t see Eric, but she could see Reeve, and his face was alive with appreciation as he followed the lines and curves of her with his eyes.
Without her dress, Eric’s crop found her bottom easily. She felt the warning tap and the glide as he measured the length across the center of both cheeks, just above the throbbing line he’d already created. Her panties were high-cut lace, little better than a thong. Her hands flinched, but she aborted the attempt to reach back before her hands could make it.
“How many ménages have you participated in?” Reeve asked, tapping her mons with the slapper of his crop and then letting the implement fall away. Rather than relief, she ached at the loss of its touch.
“I haven’t,” she confessed.
Tipping his head, Reeve looked past her to Eric. As if on some unspoken agreement, they switched places. Reeve disappeared behind her, Eric and his faintly perplexed, faintly disapproving frown circled around to stand in front of her.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, almost conversationally. “But on your paperwork, did you or did you not specify that group scenarios were okay?”
Sandy blinked at him. “I thought that meant being in groups, you know… when you do things.”
“Like we’re doing right now?” Eric countered.
Sandy hesitated, unsure exactly what she ought to say. The application had gone on forever. It had been page after page of terms, most of which she’d had to look up before she could answer them. She’d done her best to tell the truth, knowing that anything less would have been a recipe for disaster, especially in this place. When it came to ménages, she had to admit, even sitting across from her boss while she’d answered these questions, she had felt more than just a little thrill in her naughty bits at the thought of being in a situation with more than one man. But in her wildest dreams, she never once thought she’d actually end up doing it. To be honest, she didn’t know what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. It hadn’t been two men, both with crops in their hands, and it hadn’t been her, half naked while they were fully dressed, bound by nothing but their will while they took turns interrogating her.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she hedged.
Behind her, Reeve lashed a stinging reprimand across her ass, laying a second line directly above the welt Eric had already given her. She shot up onto her toes, sucking air and clapping her hands to her own thighs to keep from reaching back.
Not to be outdone, Eric caught the nipple of her left breast between his fingers, clamping down in a grip that kept her dancing on her toes to alleviate the pressure. “You said you were interested in ménage,” he reminded her.
She barely remembered her application, but they’d memorized it? “I am,” she quickly answered. “Honest, I am. I… just haven’t acted on it before, and the reality… it’s… hitting a little different than I thought it would.”
Catching the hair at the back of her scalp, Reeve won absolute control over her in a single fist. She couldn’t break free; she didn’t want to try. When he pulled her back, she fell back against him, exactly as he wanted her to.
“What exactly did you think we were going to do with that information?” Reeve demanded, sounding so calm as his breath scalded her ear. “Did it never occur to you that you might be assigned multiple partners?”
“I said no to gangbangs,” she protested. “I said no to swinging. Honestly, I didn’t even think I would be assigned anyone at all, or if I was, that it would only be for a little while. I didn’t know I was going to be spanked half to death and… shuttled off to Little Land, and made into target practice for the Mean Girls group or… or…” She floundered, at a loss for how to describe the rest of what had happened since her arrival. It all felt so whirlwind, but worse, even looking back on it, it didn’t all feel bad. She hadn’t liked being a Little, but she wasn’t scarred by the experience. This didn’t feel scarringly awful, either, although she was certain now that she really didn’t like being spanked. The throbbing afterward felt a little erotic, especially once the heat took over and the pulsations took over her punished flesh. That part wasn’t bad at all, but the actual impact itself… Yeah, she wasn’t a fan.
“There was one bed in our assigned hotel room back at the Castle proper,” Eric told her, his tone waffling between surprise and stern parental lecturing. “Did you notice that?”
The scalding heat of Sandy’s answering blush burned right up through her chest an
d into her face. “Yes.”
She yelped, arching up onto her toes yet again, prancing and dancing there as Reeve’s body, his hand still locked in her hair, vanished from behind her. His crop lanced another line of fire across her ass. Eric’s fingers twisted her nipple and kept her dancing for a long time afterward.
“Yes, what?” Reeve growled, slipping in behind her again. His breath and lips burned the shell of her ear. The bulge of his cock prodded the welts he’d laid into her. Just the feel of it there made her own internal hunger explode.
The roughness of his trousers amplified the hurt, but her clit pulsed all the harder and her heart beat fast. Her legs were trembling, fighting not to weaken with the same stubborn perseverance she felt as she fought not to wilt. She was a journalist. Journalists were supposed to trust their instincts. The same instincts that had ultimately brought her here in search of the story of a lifetime. So why were those same instincts now demanding she drop to her knees between them, lift her chin, open her mouth, beg to be filled and used?
Did she care if Eric fucked her? Sometimes, but only in those moments when she couldn’t stop herself from rationalizing it. At times like now, she didn’t care if Eric was in the room, out of the room, if he stood by and watched, or caught his cock in his own hand and spewed hot cum across her face, belly or her breasts. She didn’t care, not so long as it was Reeve who stripped her panties to the side, taking what was starting to feel like her virginity all over again in a single hard thrust because, yes, she’d had lovers. Hell, she’d been married for years, but also divorced and, yes, she’d been celibate in the interim. So nothing she’d ever done was going to compare to the force and the fury of Reeve when he grabbed her shoulders, heaving her back on his cock as he slammed into her from behind.
