by Paul Moore
“My late wife was a fine woman,” he said, “but she was never sexually—adventurous.”
She opened her eyes. He would want her to look up at him while she sucked him, to receive his sacred staff with gratitude and pleasure. He would want to see the tears that would spring to her eyes when he prodded the back of her throat.
His cock was already erect, slightly curved, heavily veined, and an angry translucent red. His hand moved to the back of her neck. He was thick, filling her mouth with salty, pungent flesh.
As she struggled to choke him down without gagging, he murmured softly, like a lover in the dark. “Sarah said I could hurt you, just a little, as long as you are in good enough shape to run tomorrow.”
She retched a bit, her throat tightening around his shaft as sudden apprehension constricted it. Her Mother had once told her, only half in jest, that the “quiet ones” were the men to fear. Perhaps Mr. Frisk and Sarah didn’t really know this man, only the mask he wore.
He thrust himself in deep and held her head tight against his crotch until her hands unclasped and her arms began to float involuntarily. She was becoming desperate to push herself away from this choking flesh and breathe at last. It seemed as though he had been waiting for that moment, when instinct would finally overrule her training. It was a way of proving to them both that his cock had the power to control not only her behavior, but even her ability to continue breathing.
He released her and withdrew, trailing a strand of saliva, but only long enough to permit her a few gasps of air, then he was tilting back her head again and spanking her cheeks with it to make her open wide. Her hands fluttered briefly at her sides, until she quieted herself with an effort of will and clasped them behind her again.
Tears blurred her sight as she gazed up at this stranger to whom she had been so casually given. He appeared bored, as though discovering that this act was less enjoyable than he had expected it to be.
Perhaps it was because she was already beyond humiliation. Her night in the pillory, more than anything else, had changed her. She had decided to embrace her decision to stay. If becoming a courtesan was a part of the price she paid, so be it. She would learn her craft, and take what pleasures she could along the way.
His eyes were wandering now, to the shelves behind her. He frowned at unfamiliar objects, and smiled at others he recognized. He was like a boy in a candy store, wanting to sample everything he saw. He clutched a handful of her mane and pulled her roughly away.
“Stand up.”
She rose as gracefully as she could with her hands behind her back and kept her eyes politely forward. In the periphery of her vision, she could see him moving around her. He hadn’t bothered to tuck his cock back into his slacks. It bobbed wetly, pointing him toward the shelves.
“How do you like these?” he asked conversationally.
She glanced down at the nipple clips he was flexing in his hands, gingerly, as though unsure of their bite.
“I don’t Sir…Jerry.”
He smirked at her haste to correct herself. “They’re nipple pinchers, aren’t they? I saw them in a magazine once. Bet they hurt like a bitch.”
“Yes, Jerry.” She bit her lip.
“Keep your hands right where they are,” he said softly.
Was he waiting for her to beg? Did he just want to hurt her experimentally, to see if she would really behave herself? She feared the worst, that he just wanted to observe her reaction to pain.
“Yes, Jerry.” She closed her eyes.
He fumbled a bit. That made it worse for her. The first time, he didn’t get enough skin between the pincers. The pain was excruciating for the brief time it held. Then the clip popped off with a tiny snap and fell to her feet. She suppressed her natural urge to laugh or offer him helpful suggestions. His pride was at stake by now, he would make it worse for her to prove himself.
“Please, Jerry. You don’t need any of these things. We could just...”
“Shut up!” he snarled, rising from the floor with the clip in his hand.
That’s exactly what a wife would have said, you idiot!
He didn’t need to repeat himself. She froze at attention and composed her face to display nothing.
He did better the second time, tweaking a generous bit of her nipple and pulling it out away from her body to feed it into the little vises. She whined, but managed to hold steady, even though he took his time tightening the second clip.
“Good,” he was in control again. “Now you’re a properly dressed cocksucker.” He put his hands on her shoulders.
She dropped to her knees and tipped her head back to receive him again.
His moment of embarrassment had softened his cock, but he grew quickly again in her mouth.
She hoped that he might finish that way, and be content. Instead, she noticed his curious eyes roaming about the room. His hand lifted her by the mane again, and he plucked the nipple clips off with a casual suddenness that made her yelp.
“Let’s try this,” he said, spinning her about and pushing her toward the trestle.
Distracted by her still stinging nipples, she stumbled a bit as her hips bumped into it. The knee rests were no higher than the seat of a chair, but she had to break her pose and use her hands to lower herself along the center beam.
Jerry didn’t reprimand her for it though. He was rapt with expectation, watching her as she willingly arranged herself to be bound. A shorter girl would have been displayed in less of a crouch than she was, more like a dog on all fours and less like a ball. Her ass felt very prominent.
He wrapped the wide bands over her forearms and snugged them down. She tugged experimentally against the Velcro closures, testing their strength. She wouldn’t be free again until he chose to release her. The way the other bands hugged her calves told her that she wouldn’t be kicking or running either.
He studied the array of implements that were hanging from the wall for a few minutes and lifted down a wooden paddle that had several holes bored through it.
“When I was in high school,” he mused, “our Principal had a paddle like this. Even with our pants up, he really made our asses smoke! I can only imagine what it would feel like on bare skin.”
“Maybe some things are better left to the imagination, Jerry,” Morgan said. She instantly regretted it.
He snapped the paddle across one cheek. There wasn’t much strength behind the blow, just a flick of his wrist. Yet the effect was terrifying. It sounded like a gunshot, and her first sensation was the thump of impact. The sting followed. Morgan yelped.
“Did I ask for your advice?” His voice was dangerously gentle.
“No Sir!” A second blow added emphasis to her words.
He struck again, on the other cheek this time, delivering another bright flare of stinging agony. Morgan clenched her teeth and hissed air between them, holding back a scream.
“What did you call me?” He hit her again.
“Jerry! Jerry! Please stop!”
“That’s better,” he said. “Are you ready to be fucked now?”
“Yes, Jerry! Please fuck me hard!”
She was relieved to see him hang the paddle back on the wall. Her bottom felt like a glowing ball.
Helpless, she quivered under his fingertips as he traced a slow line from the back of her neck down to the crack of her ass and beyond. He dipped a finger into the well of her puss. There was no need for him to prime it. Fear no longer inhibited her response, quite the opposite in fact. Sarah had taught her well, or her body had learned on its own.
“Juicy bitch,” he muttered contemptuously.
He added another finger and worked them into her deep, until she was aware that her face was getting hot and tiny rhythmic whimpers were escaping her pursed lips. He positioned himself between her legs as his hand slithered free and smacked her ass wetly.
“Beg me.”
“Please fuck me, Jerry!”
The words were barely out of her mouth when she felt the blu
nt tip nosing up and down her slit to gather moisture before it began its swift glide in. The thrusting began immediately, hard and angry. When she cried out, he laughed and began alternately smacking her ass with both hands and clutching her hips as he attacked her with rapid jabs that drove ululating pleas from her.
The assault ended abruptly. Morgan dropped her head on the padded beam and gasped like an exhausted swimmer clawing her way to shore.
But he wasn’t finished with her yet, she whined softly as she felt his swollen cock seeking a new arena. Of course, the one sexual adventure his wife would have almost certainly objected to.
“Beg me.”
She bit her lip. Soupcan used her that way often enough to keep her perpetually sore, and Jerry had already shown her how rough he could be. He would be satisfied with nothing less.
“Please!”
Chapter Fourteen
“I know that we can beat them,” said Morgan.
Button leaned back on her elbows and tossed her mane to let the desert wind dry it. “If I were you, I wouldn’t even be thinking about it.”
Their morning run had been a good one. Perhaps Morgan was already testing her own limits. Poor Button had folded with exhaustion at the end, losing her grip on the shafts and dropping to her knees with a moan. Because they were still harnessed to the cart, Morgan had no choice but to go down beside her and wait until she was feeling strong enough to rise again. Morgan knew that they should be walking it off, cooling down gradually to avoid cramps, but she couldn’t say anything with the bit in her mouth. All that she could do was rub her flank against Button’s to express sympathy.
Morgan had only recently learned a new respect for Button. Last night Sarah had stroked Morgan’s face and murmured pillow talk.
“You and Button are so much alike,” Sarah had said. “I don’t just mean physically. Oh, I know that she is always playing the class clown, making us laugh even while she is getting herself into trouble, and you’re more like the quiet girl who sits in the back of the classroom, the one who knows all of the answers but never raises her hand to speak. I’ll bet Button never told you that she was an abused child; that she ran away from home and lived for years on the streets.”
Behind them, Soupcan had waited patiently, sensing that even his whip would be needlessly cruel and probably useless in this situation.
If she had the breath, and permission to speak, Button would have protested the impossibility of ever moving again. She had lost all self confidence and optimism, and often joked that she borrowed hers from Morgan.
So it was this time. Morgan nuzzled Button’s shoulder, feeding her courage with a touch, and after awhile, Button stood up wearily and shook herself, shooting a self conscious grin and a wink toward Morgan. They had learned to communicate many things to each other without speaking. This was Button’s way of telling Morgan that she was sorry for being such a wimp, but she was all right now, and ready to try again.
“Button supported herself with day labor when she could find it,” Sarah had said. “Sometimes she depended on the kindness of strangers. Sometimes she sold her body.”
It had been an hour since Button’s collapse. Now they were fresh from the shower and resting in the shade. They were downwind from the cookhouse, and the aroma of dinner drifted on the breeze. They lay side by side overlooking the arena where they would compete, the oval track and reviewing stand. Above the bleachers were VIP boxes where celebrity fans might enjoy the race anonymously. It seemed impossible to Morgan that such a singular sport would attract enough fans to fill even half of those seats.
“Tell me that you wouldn’t enjoy humiliating those two bitches,” Morgan drawled, looking up at the sky. “Try to do it without laughing.”
Button giggled and plucked a blade of grass from the ground to tickle Morgan’s nose.
“You’re being delusional, girlie. You know Lady G will promise your ass to Dusk if she wins. She will come off of those starting blocks like a rhino in heat.”
“I would be counting on that,” said Morgan. “I want Dusk and Tinka to be in the best shape of their lives. I want them to be well rested and full of confidence. That way it will really mean something when we kick their ass. We can count on Dusk to be running on adrenaline, wasting her energy. Her body type is built for power, not endurance. That’s great when you’re sprinting, but I look for her to fade after the first half mile. So our strategy should be to hang back a bit. We will just pace them until they tire out a bit. Keep one eye on me. When I think that the time is right I’ll nod my head, like this,” she demonstrated. “Then we make our move.”
Button guffawed. “Oh ho! I can just imagine the look on their faces. They would figure they had us beat by a mile, then all of a sudden they would look back and see us pulling on their tails. It would be such a total psych!”
Morgan squeezed Button’s hand. “So you’re with me then?”
“I don’t know how Button found her way to the ranch,” Sarah had said. “The other girls are usually sponsored by some sugar daddy that they can call up and whine to when things get too hard. Button just showed up alone in the middle of the night She was all tuckered out, a skinny, filthy little thing, begging me to take her in and train her. I got her out of the pitiful rags she was wearing that very night. I have kept her naked ever since.”
Button sighed. “Morgan, you know that I love you in my own twisted way, so I want you to listen to me for once in your bull headed life. Lady G wouldn’t even be proposing this race unless she had some kind of an edge. I don’t trust her for a minute. Sure, beating Dusk and Tinka would bring you all kinds of honor and glory, not to mention the whole schadenfreude thing. But you could lose too. Then what would your life be like? After Lady G finishes skinning you alive, Dusk will make you her bitch. Just tell them you don’t want this deal. You can still take a contract to run for Frisk and Sarah, maybe even race against Dusk someday. Just don’t let them bet your future on winning it. Sometimes you have to be grateful for what life gives you and move on.”
“What kind of competitor would I be if I started out refusing races? I would have no credibility at all after that.”
Button groaned. “This is just too schoolyard for me.”
“But you wouldn’t have anything to lose,” Morgan reminded her.
“I could lose you,” said Button sadly.
Morgan remembered what Sarah told her the night before.
“Button is the only girl I ever really owned.”
They were silent for a time, looking up at the sky and thinking.
Sarah and I are the only real family Button has, thought Morgan.
“There is a patch of soft ground in that valley to the East,” said Morgan. “Maybe I can sweet talk Soupcan into letting us make our run out that way tomorrow.”
“You’re not thinking what I think your thinking,” Button said.
Morgan ignored her. She knew that Button would whine and insist that Morgan’s dream was impossible, even while she was striving to make it come true.
“Tomorrow we train in the sand.”
Lady G arrived at the race astride a giant, riding piggyback.
Her mount’s huge frame was thick with hard muscle. He was dressed in a black leather saddle rigging adorned with brass fittings. A thick ring dangled from his nostrils, another gleamed on the crown of his huge cock. Two more rings pierced his nipples. Blinders masked his eyes, and a thick bit filled his mouth. The saddle buckled around his waist had an upward tilt, and the straps that crossed his shoulders and chest bore some of the burden, so he carried lady G as lightly as a knapsack. Her booted feet were in the stirrups that hung from his waist belt. His ass bore the marks of her crop. His thighs had been scored by her spurs.
Her truck and trailer had rolled onto the grounds fashionably late. The stands were already packed with restless fans, and the cheer that greeted her arrival was partly inspired by relief that the wait was finally over. Two attendants had lowered the trailer gate and led o
ut Dusk and Tinka.
The two ponygirls were only partially harnessed. The bits and bridles had been left off so that their faces could be admired by the crowd. Tinka preened and blew kisses. Dusk glowered and flexed.
The attendants rolled the cart into position and quickly attached the pony girls while they stood at attention. The driver took his seat and waved to the crowd before cracking his whip to drive his team toward the starting line.
Only then did Lady G make her grand entrance, emerging from the trailer at full canter. Her mount was powerful and well conditioned to his burden, striding smoothly, even prancing a bit to show off.
“All hat and no cattle,” muttered Sarah.
She had been speaking only to herself as she stood leaning against the low chain link fence that enclosed the track. Morgan and Button heard her though, and grinned at each other around their bits.
Sarah removed her silk neckerchief and crooked a finger to beckon Morgan closer. There was enough slack in her rigging to allow Morgan to lean toward the fence, and she bowed to her Mistress, expecting some final words of advice and encouragement. Instead, Sarah tied the scarf around Morgan’s arm.
“Milady’s favor,” said Sarah affectionately. She turned away before Morgan could even nod acknowledgment and headed up the risers toward Mr. Frisk’s private box.
The night before the race, Sarah had summoned Morgan to her room. There had been no suggestion in her manner that this might be their last night together. During those hopeless days when Morgan had visited her brother Robby in the hospital, they had spoken only of his plans for a healthy future, and not the real possibility that his illness might be eventually fatal.
So it was during her evening with Sarah. She had accepted Morgan’s signed contract without comment, though a tight smile had betrayed her mixed feelings. She had been sweet to Morgan, and her love making had been gentle, without her usual rough foreplay. Later they had cuddled on the big bed and talked about the joy Morgan found in running. Morgan compared it to the feelings she had when Sarah’s erotic torments took her outside of herself, into a world without thought, a place of pure sensation and obliviousness. She felt the same surrender when she ran.
