by Evans, Trent
Night Beach
By
Trent Evans
Also by Trent Evans
(Published by Tritium Press)
A Message of Love
A Lady and a Maid
Maintenance Night
Night Beach
Copyright © 2012 Trent Evans
First Edition Oct 11, 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The book contains content that is not suitable for readers aged 17 and under.
For mature readers only.
Cover Design by Michaela Strong (www.sexybookcovers.com)
Thank you for downloading this e-book. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without express written permission from the author, Trent Evans, at [email protected]
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (See http://www.fbi.gov/ipr for more information about intellectual property rights.)
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons-living or dead-or places, events, or locales is purely accidental. The characters are reproductions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Acknowledgments
To my wonderful beta readers: Alice, Anna, Gina and Sheri. I can’t thank you enough for all the help you’ve provided on this one!
Erica was one night away from fulfilling her lifelong dream — to experience true submission. Why does a modern, free woman seek to give away her liberty? To fritter it away in pursuit of that one state of being, that singular experience of being subject to another’s will.
Standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, she felt lost in the immense room, lost within herself. There were people outside, far below on the beach, walking along the car-choked road crowded on both sides with businesses all jockeying for the same tourist dollar. Atop the hill, nestled among Douglas fir and towering Western Hemlock, the sprawling house — her temporary prison — surveyed all.
The late afternoon sun hit the water at just the right angle, the light captured, reflected, transforming the blue green, foam-flecked ocean into the mottled iridescence of flowing, molten metal. Erica had always loved the sea, and though she’d lived most of her life within ninety miles of it, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d actually seen it. Every time, it took her breath away; the enormity of it; that confirmation, at once humbling and freeing, of just how small and insignificant a human being really was.
“Come to the ocean to be … not free,” she whispered. “You should have listened to your Mom.”
A mother’s job is to protect her young, and Erica remembered that night she’d told her mother she’d be taking a break from school. There were the questions, the suspicions, all of it overlaid with the unspoken fear a good mother feels when her young, naive children stray from carefully laid parental plans.
Erica found those plans nothing less than a numbing path to invisibility, the captivity of normal expectations; she sought captivity of quite another sort.
No, mom, it’s not because of a boy. Erica couldn’t really tell her could she? Some things just can’t be processed.
No mom, it’s not because of a boy. It’s because of a boy … and a girl.
When your life has been meticulously planned, managed by your parents all the way up to college, you’re going to be taking some flack when you decide to quit said college — and Erica took a lot of it.
Worse than her worried mother though, had been the stone-cold silence from her father. He wouldn’t even talk to her. It was like something you’d watch in a Lifetime™ movie: daughter delivers Big Reveal; seething Father, brow properly furrowed, stalks off accompanied by mournful piano score. End scene.
Erica didn’t blame him, of course — not one bit. She’d have been livid if she’d been in their shoes. But they didn’t really know, couldn’t really understand. How do you explain the appeal of subjugation, the frisson of lust a girl experiences amidst diabolically cruel humiliation, the soaring, otherworldly high following the searing pain of a caning? Trying to explain that to her loving parents would be about as successful as attempting to teach algebra to a toddler.
So she ran. It had been six months since that night.
The door opened behind her, but she stayed rooted to her spot, gazing out at the freedom just beyond the glass. The elegant maid Ana had said she’d be up soon to deliver Erica’s “meal,” How bread and water were regarded as a meal, Erica would never understand. She’d been warned though. Sir had outlined to her over the phone what accommodations she could expect at the beach house, and part of her at least (that unthinking part south of her waist), really didn’t mind the idea of mealtime as penance. As long as it was by his direction, by their direction, she would obey …and want even more.
Down there, a lazy summer evening unfolded, the crisp, salt-scented wind banishing any trace of the afternoon’s summer heat while atop the hill, Erica, the tall, lonely bird, caught in her gilded cage looked on, at once wistful and grateful. Her keen vision could pick out the red flash of color as someone slid across a sheen of waterlogged sand on a boogie board. Much further out she could see the white smudge of a low-slung cabin cruiser, bobbing as it drew too near to the surf zone.
Then a moment before she felt it, she saw the slight movement, the black color out of the corner of her eye, reflected in the thick double pane of the huge plate glass window. She moved to turn, but a hand pressed to her upper back, pushing her against the cold plane of the window. Nipples stiffened under the thin blouse, her chest against the hard glass. “Stay right there. Hands on the window.”
It was him! Her heart hammered in her chest, her hands shaking. She put her heated palms against the cool glass.
“Higher.”
She ran them along the smooth surface, grateful for something to mask her shakes.
“Mm, so tall,” he murmured, standing close behind her. His cologne wafted over her, along with something else.
Smoke?
“You stay right where you are, Erica. I’m taking a shower. Need to get this fucking cigarette smell off of me.” He pressed the solid length of his body to her back, the bulge at his crotch against her buttocks. “If I come back to find you’ve moved one inch, I’ll be giving that cute ass of yours a beating earlier than I’d planned.”
His lips nuzzled her earlobe, his stubble rough against her skin. Then he was gone, leaving her trembling against the glass, held as fast as if he’d bound her in truth. She wondered what one of those summer tourists would see if they but turned to look up the wooded hill? Could they spot the slim woman spreading herself against the window as if she were being frisked? The sudden mental image of Sir’s big hands roughly manhandling her vulnerable flesh sent her clit humming. She knew the locals would smile knowingly, moving on with the remainder of their day.
Blaine Forster meant as much to the town as ten thousand tourists did, and the long-time residents knew it. So what if the rumors of what went on at his stunning vacation home occasionally drew raised eyebrows and clucking tongues? Those who knew him knew what he represented, understood when it was wise to make an issue, and when it was prudent to simply move on with life.
“I’ll just leave your lunch for you here.” Erica nearly jumped out of her shoes. The maid. How had she missed the woman’s entry?
Erica heard a tray laid down on the wood of the bar. She smiled. Only someone as loaded as Blaine would feel the need to have a goddamn bar in his bedroom. “Ah, thank you. I—”
“No need to explain, Eri
ca.” The satisfaction in the woman’s soft voice made Erica want to crawl under the bed as her face burned. She heard the door close behind her, grateful that the maid had not shown up later — though she had no real idea what was coming later.
Fighting the absurdly strong urge to turn to look at her meager repast, she kept herself plastered to the glass like a perp thrown against a convenient wall by a cop to search and cuff.
She assumed the cuffs would be coming a little later.
The sun had lowered considerably, its waning, filtered light shining directly into the room. Erica wondered at the shadow her body must have cast on the wall behind her. Alas, she didn’t dare turn to look at it. Yes, the idea of Blaine whipping her ass didn’t exactly sound all bad, but she hadn’t yet summoned up enough courage to defy one of his orders outright. Besides, she knew she wasn’t a brat; she found it a richer, far more exciting experience to obey him … in everything.
So there she stood, watching the daytime world slowly give way to that of the night. She grew up in Portland, OR, and she remembered the remarkable transformation that occurred in downtown on the weekends. Where during the daylight hours there were the business suits, the tasteful, stylish skirts, the occasional garishly dressed hippie bucking the conformity of the business day, those gave way to the night — and an entirely different city seemingly grew right out of the ground. There were the street kids, the slumming, BMW-driving teenagers, the punks, wannabe gangbangers, the hookers — she had even seen a man walking across Ankeny wearing nothing but a pair of assless chaps.
That concept of two beings in one had stayed with her, for it was something she felt particularly keenly. She’d given up trying to relate to friends swooning over the romantic dinner their boyfriends had taken them on, when her idea of “romance” was to be bent naked over the back of her couch and spanked. She’d ceased arguing with friends who’d used sex as a tool, leverage to be used against boyfriends that she generally found rather nice (though there were one or two douche bags as well, truth be told).
The very idea of withholding sex seemed …alien to her. Erica couldn’t really get enough of it, as long as it was kinky — preferably depraved. She liked giving pleasure, and her drive, her urge to serve had always unnerved her. Her mother tutted at Erica when she deferred to others, strived, often at her expense, to make others feel better. She loved taking care of people — and that drive naturally extended into her sexuality.
The blue white of arc-sodium streetlights randomly flickered on below. A single, poor police car, strobes and blues flashing, crawled along the nearly gridlocked coastal road. It surprised her to see only one cop on the night of the Fourth of July, but then again, the night had barely begun. People from the valley would be flooding in, and the cops would have more pressing matters to attend to than directing traffic. Up in her world though, none of that mattered, really, for her concern was only for him — and for her. It was a big night; Sir had told her that he and Kathryn had been discussing things, their arrangement. He had hinted that it might be time to take things to the next level. They would need to test her though, to see if she was capable of meeting all of their … needs.
Erica just hoped she didn’t fuck it all up.
“You’re a good girl.”
Erica had been leaning against the window, her shoulders burning, and she straightened at his voice.
Glass clinked together somewhere behind her as a mass of humanity gathered down below her, preparing to celebrate.
“Do you remember our first meeting, Erica?” She felt him moving close behind her. Her arms trembled with the fatigue of holding them up for so long.
“Of course.”
A finger tapped her shoulder. “Don’t ‘of course’ me, girl.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
“I’ll let it slide, but only because my fearsome wife hasn’t arrived yet.”
“She’s coming … here?” Erica gulped, thinking “fearsome” to be a particularly apt description for her strict Mistress.
“Mm hmm,” Blaine said sipping from his drink, and leaning his back against the window, letting her see him. His close-cropped hair, white t-shirt and muscular arms made him look more like a mixed martial arts fighter than an executive, but she knew he purposely eschewed the look of a “suit.” The fact that he owned this house and close to a dozen other properties in this town alone confirmed he was every bit as successful in business as she had no doubt he’d be in a fighting ring.
He cocked his head. “Why the face? I thought you’d be happy.”
“I—I just didn’t know, Sir.”
His eyes glinted, and he smiled over the rim of his glass. Though he looked like he could tear phone books in half with his hands, his eyes gave the whole game away. It was what struck her that first night, and it still struck her now. Despite the fact that he was her Sir, commanded her obedience, those eyes of his held such warmth, such kindness. She’d not realized how much her life needed those two things until the night she’d agreed to let her friend Cam set her up to meet a friend. Cam knew what kind of man Erica was after, and when she’d first laid eyes on those deep browns, saw the playfulness, the caring, she thought maybe Cam had known more than she’d let on.
“You’ll have to get used to that.” He winked at her. “I don’t know where she is half the time, either.”
Erica smiled. “Yes, Sir.”
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Kathryn — quite the opposite, really. Nevertheless, she was a lot to take in, a trial to be sure — and Erica wanted to be ready for her. She was attracted to the cold beauty of her Mistress, like a supplicant to a cruel Goddess. She craved kneeling at her feet, wringing whatever kindness she could from the smallest of gestures from the aloof woman. Those kindnesses gave Erica pure joy — perhaps because such things from her Mistress were so very rare.
Truth was sometimes hard for Erica to come to grips with, and in this case, she knew she craved more than those fleeting kindnesses from her Mistress. No, she needed the other part of her, needed that darkness, that willingness to revel in Erica’s pain, her humiliation. It was only with Kathryn, did Erica realize fully what she was, what she’d been all along but hadn’t the words to describe it.
Blaine’s hand reached out, molding itself around her ribcage, stroking the fabric of her blouse. His touch sent ticklish electricity through her skin. “You do remember that night don’t you?”
“Every second, Sir.”
“Then you know what I want you to do, don’t you?”
She shot a glance at Blaine. “Now?”
Lips tight and jaw firm, he nodded slowly, light dancing in his eyes.
She unbuttoned the blouse quickly, keeping her eyes on the task, not trusting her trembling fingers to complete the job without direct supervision.
His hand patted her ass, and he walked away. She turned toward him, slipping the last button and pulling the blouse from her slacks.
“No, turn back around.”
“Blaine—”
He glared at her, his jaw clenched.
“Sorry. It’s just that … they’ll see.”
“And what if they do, Erica?”
She inhaled, her breath shaky. “I don’t … know.”
“That’s something else you’d better get used to, girl. If you really want to do this, be mine, this body is going to be on display. A lot.”
He was at her back once more, his lips touching her cheek, kissing the smooth flesh at the join of shoulder and neck. “Yes, I think you’ll have some adjusting to do won’t you?
“Yes, Sir.” Her hands clutched both sides of the blouse. She was grateful for something to hold on to her fingers trembled so much.
His arm reached around her, the warm hand sliding up her belly. Fingers worked at her bra, releasing the front clasp in moments, the lace falling away to let cool air caress her breasts. “How will you react when we make you walk down a city street in a skin tight shirt but no bra? Your hard nipples on display f
or all to see?”
Clutching them both in his big hands, he squeezed her breasts firmly. “I think we’ll make you wear some nice tall heels too. Get those hips rolling and these tits bouncing.”
She dropped her eyes as her deep blush traveled down her neck, the flushing evident even on the slopes of the breasts still clutched in his big hands.
“I love your reactions,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “You can’t hide anything from me, you know.”
“Yes, Sir.” She didn’t want to hide anything from him — ever. She only hoped it would be enough, her submission the key that would unlock his heart to her.
He spun her around, forcing her chest against the window. His hands pulled the blouse and loose bra out to the sides and she gasped as her breasts made contact with the cold glass.
“Don’t you dare move,” he growled. He clawed at her slacks, yanking them down along with the black thong.
“Sir, wait I—”
“Shh, just be a good girl. Obey me.”
Breathing labored, heart racing, she closed her eyes against the embarrassment of it. She felt as if every eye down below was trained upon her now, watching the girl with her naked boobs squashed against the window.
Urging her to lift each foot in turn, he slipped off her heels. His hands massaged the grooves the straps left in her flesh, then pulled her slacks completely off. Naked from the waist down, she fought the insanely powerful urge to bring her hands down to cover her pussy. They could see all of it!
“Spread your legs.”
His hard hand stung her ass, and she tried to ignore the embarrassing jiggle of her flesh. “Wider.”
She moved her feet shoulder width apart, trying to ignore the image of what she must look like; the dark patch of pubic hair drawing the eye like a beacon to the sex nestled between pale thighs.
