by Kitty Thomas
She waited in that position in the other room for what felt like forever. Every time she heard floorboards creak outside the door, she tensed. But each time, nothing. Finally, when she thought she’d faint from the fear, the doorknob turned and he stepped into the room.
“That was twenty minutes, Ronnie. Do you see how much time that is?”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“I’m going to whip you with the belt for making me wait so long. I’ll be lenient and only give you ten. Thank me for that kindness.”
“P-please, I’m sorry, Sir.” She cringed as he circled her, stopping behind her where she couldn’t see him.”
“Begging won’t help you. Take your punishment and learn from it.”
“You’re a motherfucking psycho,” she said.
He jerked her back by her hair. “What was that?”
“You heard me. You are a sick fuck and everybody here knows it. The only reason you feel normal is that the guys who work for you are sick fucks, too. Do you want to ask again who hurt me? You, them, every cretin in the universe who’d even have the fantasy, let alone act on it.”
His eyes flashed. “Don’t get high and mighty with me. You have the same needs I have. Don’t act like mine are vile while yours are enlightened.”
“Trish consented. You took me. I never said I wanted this with you.”
“Your body said it.”
“That doesn’t count.”
He flipped her onto her back, straddling her, inches from penetration, but instead, he pushed a finger inside her.
“So fucking wet. Tell me to stop, Ronnie.”
She looked away, her hips bucking against his wriggling finger.
“Please...”
“Please what, princess? Please stop? Please keep going? Please treat me like the livestock I am?”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you isn’t stop. Fuck you sounds like an invitation to me.” He’d found her g-spot. No matter how much she wanted to stop him, her body craved the way he rubbed that little place inside her. When she didn’t protest, he withdrew his fingers. “Get back in the position I told you to be in.”
She scrambled back onto her knees. “Would it have made a difference if I’d said stop?”
“Guess you’ll never know. That brand on your hip is going to be sore for at least a month. It should be a good, constant reminder of who owns you. Stop and think about that little twinge of pain the next time you want to open your mouth and say something smart.”
She shrieked when the first lash landed on her bottom, sending a lick of fire across her flesh, strangely more painful than the branding. She tensed before each blow, terrified he’d slip and hit the brand, but he didn’t. He was silent as he meted out the punishment, the only sound in the room her sobs. By the time he’d finished with her, she only wished those nerve endings could die like the ones the brand had burned away, But then he rubbed over her welted bottom.
“Get up on your hands and knees,” he snarled in her ear.
Veronica raised up on all fours and then he was inside her, pounding her so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. She was convinced she couldn’t come this way, but the orgasm nearly ripped her open from the inside, tearing a scream from her throat.
She crumpled to the floor, still shaking when he pulled out of her. Luke rolled onto his back and pulled her against him. He was quiet for a long time.
“Are you on birth control?”
Brilliant time to ask.
“My tubes are tied.”
He sat up, startled. “Why?”
“Why not? I don’t want babies.”
“Good.”
She knew he was thinking about Trish.
A few minutes later he got up and left the room. She waited, but when he didn’t return she went to his room. When she opened the door, he stopped her.
“Sleep in your room. My room is for good sluts that know their place.”
“You’re really mean.”
“Give me one week, Ronnie. One week without resistance, doing anything I ask without question or begging or name calling and yelling. One week without fighting me. You might be surprised by how kind I can be, but my favor must be earned.”
Veronica didn’t reply. She just stomped off to her room and slammed the door. Once in bed, she tossed and turned, Luke’s Give me one week, Ronnie, bumping up against Joe’s Give me anything, Ronnie from the day she’d lost her job.
Everything inside her rebelled at the thought of submitting completely to Luke. It would be admitting he’d broken her, or giving him permission to do horrible things to her just because it turned her body on. But what if? Hadn’t he already shown her glimmers of kindness? Wouldn’t it be better if she had more of that, instead of the belt and the brand?
Would he have branded her if she hadn’t said what she’d said about Trish?
Chapter Six
Veronica woke with a pleasant soreness between her legs, and a less pleasant soreness on her hip. The previous day’s emotional and physical roller coaster came crashing back to her like a bad hangover. The last words Luke spoke to her the night before still hung in the air.
She couldn’t stop thinking Please be kind to me. Please help me survive this. Like a mantra over and over in her head, as if he could hear her if she thought it enough. As if he might care.
He couldn’t let her go now, not with plausible deniability. She struggled to find a way to give in to him, to erase her mind and just be her body, which seemed to know instinctively how to please him and submit.
She thought back to the day before, lying in the grass after he’d branded her, the feeling of bliss like everything was right with the world. Everything and everyone was in its place. Everything was as it should be. Life was a rich, interwoven tapestry of which she and Luke were only tiny threads. Nothing was a big enough deal to fight over. When you became everything and everything became you, what was there to dispute? Everything just was. She wanted to go back to that moment and live there.
As she showered and made breakfast, she tried to find that quiet space inside herself that didn’t cling and claw and fight and scream, that just drifted and merged with the clouds. That just ate and breathed and slept and fucked and everything in between any of that was just noise.
At breakfast, she was still trying to find this place when Luke said her name.
“Ronnie, come here.”
She looked up, the flood of fear she’d pushed away coming back in full force. It wasn’t what he said. It was the way he said it. That voice. It was ruthless and unrelenting. Anything said with that voice would bring her the greatest pleasure, the greatest pain, or the greatest humiliation. Most likely all three. She wanted to run from that voice and never look back. The only problem was that while she was running, she was likely to circle back and run toward it again—his inexplicable pull on her was that strong.
She scooted her chair back and went to him. His hand, ran over her bottom through the sundress she’d put on.
“Are you wearing panties?”
The men stopped eating, forks clanging against plates as they fell. They looked at her, waiting. It didn’t appear odd to them that the question was being asked. They just wanted to hear the answer.
“Yes, Sir,” she said, finally killing the stutter. It could still come back. It was early yet.
“That disappoints me. Take them off.”
What was the point? Nothing she did would ever be good enough. She’d never be Trish, even if she followed his orders to the letter every moment for the rest of her life.
Where had that come from? She pushed past the urge to fight him on the panty issue and turned to go inside.
“Take them off here.”
If she begged him, he’d only humiliate her worse. He might punish her. Just give in. Whatever he wants. Just do it. He’d said the first week or so was the hardest. Had it been hard for Trish? Even if he hadn’t taken her against her will? Was it something Veronica would have had to push t
hrough either way?
She wanted him. She wanted to live out every filthy fantasy she’d ever had with him, but she couldn’t get past the fact that she hadn’t come here freely. She almost had. In that park when she’d been so desperate for anything to make her life better and he’d given her one more chance to go with him, what if she’d just gone, with no ropes or terror?
What if she’d taken the work as just a matter of course? What if they’d agreed that room and board was sufficient pay for a few household chores and meal preparation? What if he’d seduced her and she’d fallen under his spell? Would it really be easier to go down the dark and gnarled path he was taking her down?
“Veronica...” His voice had taken on that edge again. It was the way he sounded only a few moments before consequences.
She balanced with one hand against the table and lifted the dress to reach the top of her panties and took them off without thinking it through. She was about to go back to sit down—a wildly optimistic choice—when his hand covered hers, stopping her.
A look passed between him and the guys, and as if they’d done this all before, they stacked the plates at the far end of the table, where the extra chair sat. Trish may have decided on six chairs to keep the table even, but each day, that last empty chair at the end of the table felt like the place for the ghost of his former lover.
Luke grabbed Veronica’s wrist and pulled her closer, so that she was half lying on the table on her stomach. He dress was scrunched around her waist, displaying her lower half to the men. Jake got up from the table and made his way over to her. He was the only one of them who hadn’t yet seen her in some state of undress.
He ran his fingers over the welts the belt had left. “Poor thing,” he said. “What did she do to deserve this?”
“She kept me waiting.”
“Let me borrow her for a little while. I’ll soften her up for you. She just needs someone to be gentle with her. You’re too intimidating. Remember how Trish was at first?”
“No. If you’re soft, you just teach her to manipulate.”
Veronica gritted her teeth, willing herself not to scream at them for talking about her like she was a lamp or chair or not right there, leaned over the table on display.
Jake still stroked gently over the welts, eliciting a small whimper from her. She winced when he pressed a finger inside her ass.
“We don’t have time right now,” Luke said. “There’s too much work to do. Tonight we’ll play with her.”
“All of us?”
“Yes.”
Jake removed his finger, and Veronica let go of the breath she’d been holding. Then he smacked her over the still-painful welts and pulled her dress down.
She spent the rest of the day fretting over what all of them playing with her meant. Just when she was trying to test what would happen if she didn’t fight him, Luke had to go and introduce new things.
Lunch went off without a hitch, the men too wrapped up in the day’s chores to mess with her. She waited on them, and brought them their food, and cleared the table when they went back to work. She checked on the garden and made a note to tell Luke about some holes in some of the bell pepper leaves. She’d fed the chickens and done laundry and cleaned the house.
Around five thirty, Luke came in with a package wrapped in white paper—meat from one of his cattle. “It’s stew meat,” he said, putting it on the bottom shelf of the fridge. “Make shish kabobs for dinner, for all of us on the grill. The skewers are in the top draw on the left side of the stove, and here’s the list of the veggies to pick from the garden for them.” He passed a piece of paper to her. “The only other thing you need for your part is pineapple, and Robert’s gone out to the store to grab one and the other things we need. Don’t look so terrified. We’re just having a little party tonight.”
***
The little party turned out to include party trays, S’mores, a big bonfire, and a lot of alcohol. The more they drank, the more worried she got. The shish kabobs had been a hit, and nothing dirty had happened yet except for the occasional grope, but she could tell they were just getting warmed up. The grill had been brought to the far end of the yard where the bonfire had been started. For S’mores and ambiance, Robert had said after his second beer.
Music played on a battery-operated boom box nearby. Bales of hay had been pulled around the fire to sit on, and before the alcohol had flowed too freely, Jake and Luke had brought out a large wooden cross that looked more like a giant X the way it sat, except that it was leaned back a little, not straight up and down. They’d secured it into the ground with stakes. A large pile of rope sat beside it, which gave her flashbacks to the night Luke had taken her. She shook the thoughts out of her head.
Will sat beside her, his hand rubbing her thigh underneath her dress, exciting her in spite of everything. He wasn’t bad looking. Nobody here was as rancher-of-the-month hot as Luke, but nobody was a troll, either. “You look scared, honey.”
“Of course I’m scared.” She was about to be the centerpiece in some kind of orgy. Veronica didn’t think straight men routinely liked to get naked in front of each other. It must be why they were packing away so many beers. “I don’t like this with alcohol. Luke is already scary enough. I don’t need him drunk.”
“He can hold his drink. Don’t worry. He’s not a mean drunk. If anything, as nervous as he makes you, you’ll like him this way.”
Speaking of the devil, Luke swooped in, then. He pulled Veronica to her feet and swung her around to the music. “I’m tying you up, sweetheart.” His tone was light, but still somehow scary.
She didn’t quite believe Will’s description of drunk-Luke as less intimidating. The only one who wasn’t drunk was Will. He must be the designated driver—or the one designated to pull the others off her if they got out of hand. Physically, he was strong; they all were. They had to be for that kind of work, but was he strong enough to protect her if she needed it? And would he?
“Why isn’t Will drinking?” she asked, needing to confirm her hope.
“Safety. If you need to be cut out of the ropes for some reason, do you want to trust I haven’t had too much to drink to do it without slicing you open?”
At least Luke could hold his drink enough to have that rationale.
“Why aren’t you drinking?” he asked. “I need you loose and relaxed.”
“I don’t drink. Not since my freshman year of college.” It had taken exactly one year to realize why drunk was only fun the night before.
Wheels were turning in his head, but Veronica had no idea which wheels. Was he going to hold her down and force her to drink out of a funnel? He could make her drink if he wanted her drunk.
“Put your arms over your head like this.” He raised his arms to demonstrate, which made him look ridiculous. Yeah, he was a bit silly drunk.
She rolled her eyes but did it, and he pulled her dress over her head. There was a bite in the air that caused her nipples to harden, but the bonfire so close kept the worst of the chill away.
Luke’s mouth closed over one of her breasts, sucking on it while Robert watched with a leer on his face.
“We should milk her,” he said.
Veronica’s eyes widened and she hoped the men were all too drunk to remember any of this in the morning. She looked for Luke’s reaction. It was a raised eyebrow.
“She’s not pregnant,” Luke said.
“It doesn’t matter. I saw it on a website. All we have to do is give her hormone shots, and keep trying til we get there. She’s already branded, we may as well milk her, too—keep the theme alive.”
“You are a freak,” Luke said as if he had room to talk with his playroom and video cameras, but the look in his eyes said he thought the idea was just the right level of degrading to be hot. “Have you even tasted breast milk? As an adult?”
“I have,” Will said. “When Frieda was pregnant. I got curious.”
“And?”
“It’s sweet. Not bad. It depen
ds on what you feed her, though. It can taste sour if she eats too much onion and garlic.”
“No onions and garlic, then,” Luke said as if he were actually considering it.
Will turned red in the firelight.
Luke noticed. “What aren’t you telling us?”
Will ducked his head. “After the baby was weaned, I made her keep producing milk for me for a couple of years until she finally got fed up with it.”
“What do you think, princess?” He cupped her mound, his fingers slipping inside her. “Survey says, yes. The idea makes our little slut hot.”
She flushed and turned away.
“What do you think, Jake?” Luke asked.
“I think it’s disgusting. I’m not drinking it.”
“More for us, then.”
“You know what they call them?” Will asked, too into the idea to let it drop now. “Milk maids.”
“Hot,” Robert said.
“I still think it’s nasty,” Jake said.
“And we said you didn’t have to participate,” Luke said. “Help me tie her up.”
Jake put down his beer and followed them to the big wooden X. The two men positioned her on her back, leaning to press against the wood.
“Careful with her brand,” Luke said.
“It’s not even touching the beam, she’s fine.”
Veronica’s face flamed as they spread her legs wide to tie them down, exposing her more than she’d ever been exposed for any of them. Even in just firelight it was humiliating. Robert and Will watched from a few paces back. Jake helped tie her up, but once she was secured, he stepped back and let Luke go to work.
“This is going to look like a crack-addicted spider’s web, with me doing this drunk,” Luke said.
“Doing what?” Veronica asked, her curiosity overcoming her fear and embarrassment for a moment.
