by Penny Lam
Chapter Ten
It was well into night, past grooming and dinner, before Brie returned. Maple pretended to sleep while she listened to Brie being groomed. She wished she could cover her ears. The soft sounds of J.B.’s hands running soap over the brunette’s body were sharp in the silence, creating a mental visual Maple couldn’t free herself of.
She wanted it to feel like betrayal. She wanted to hate him for it, for his obvious affection toward such a horrible woman. For anyone, really, who wasn’t her. But even as Brie began to let out soft, muffled moans (it earned her a hard spank, but really, what was that but foreplay for J.B.?) Maple couldn’t find it in herself to hate him.
Morbid as it was, she could imagine if she were in J.B.’s place. If everything that people said about Rachel was true, she was a woman impossible to forget. She’d been carved from the world too soon, taken in a way that felt cruel and avoidable.
J.B. had made Maple painfully aware of how much he missed Rachel. How much he’d valued her and cherished her. He was still crazed over his lost wife, going so far as to punish the horse that killed her. Keeping a room filled with her things. Now he had a woman in his stable who was startlingly similar to Rachel. He didn’t know her personality-- how could he? A woman he could see, hear, smell, and…
and touch.
The soft, muted swing of Brie’s stall door whispered through the air. Maple could feel them, hovering together, just on the other side of her. The seconds were anguish, ticking slowly by. There was some soft shuffling and then the gentle click of J.B’s boots as he left.
Her chest burned with grief.
The hay beneath her cheek was damp with tears. Maple hoped her crying was silent enough to not provoke Brie.
That hope was wasted. Minutes after the lock on the door had slid into place, Brie made her way into Maple’s stall and lay on her pallet, body pressed close. The touch of her skin scalded Maple and she cringed away. She knew better than to fight Brie at this point.
“Reece is fantastic, don’t you think?” Maple felt a jab in her side as Brie poked her.
“I wouldn't know,” Maple replied unhappily.
“Oh,” Brie teased, “I don't think that's true. He had a lot to say about you.”
Thank goodness for the dark shadows in Maple’s stall; it meant Brie couldn’t see the furious stains of color she knew were on her cheeks. Reece was a traitor. Maple wasn’t surprised he’d spoken with Brie, but she hated that they’d talked about her. She bit her tongue, refusing to fall prey to Brie’s goading. She wouldn’t ask what he’d said.
Besides, it had been weeks and weeks, and not once had Maple broken the vow of silence. So much had been taken from her, but this-- this was one thing she held onto.
Brie was undaunted. “You should see the naughty painting he's making of me.” She rolled onto her side, fingers toying with Maple’s hair. This intimate touch was nauseating. “We are in a studio. Did you know J.B. has a studio in his house? He must be a painter, too. How very sexy. Gotta love the dark artistic types. Anyway, Reece has me in this amazing get up with my mouth open, like it's eager for a big cock.”
Maple thought her big mouth was ready for something, but it wasn't a cock. She was thinking more along the lines of a fist.
“I don't know if you could tell, but I think J.B. is coming around to me. He watched Reece paint me for quite some time today. And you should see the way he touches me. Sneaking in little caresses.” The brunette sighed and began to stand. “I’m going to win. Just thought you'd like to know.”
She sauntered back to her stall, leaving Maple trembling in the sweltering heat.
Brie's painting took almost a week. Each night when she returned, she made sure to come and tell Maple all about how J.B. watched her be painted, or how Reece complimented her nonstop. According to her, he practically couldn't keep his hands off of her when J.B. wasn’t around.
“Maybe I’ll have both of them,” Brie cooed. She frowned. “Though J.B. keeps calling me Rachel.” Meeting Maple’s gaze, she brightened. “Fine, though. I’ll play the dead wife while I’m rolling in his billions of dollars, and you’re some horrible man’s broodmare.”
Maple stewed and seethed. Brie was under her skin. It made it impossible to eat, in addition to not sleeping, and by the end of the week the water in the grooming stall always ran pink with the blood from her punishments.
At one point J.B. hit her so hard, so often, that her entire back was a flaming field of welts. That night he’d checked her pussy and, finding it dry, frowned. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
Her frustration was exaggerated more when the subsequent paintings of the other girls only took Reece a few days each. That meant he had dragged it out with Brie, lending weight to all of her bragging.
Brie had warned her that people like Maple didn’t get happy endings. Wasn’t that something Maple had once believed herself? But then J.B. had opened to her. It had clouded her, given her hope and purpose. Now she spent her time wondering if she’d been right all along, and Brie just knew the inside scoop.
“Maple, you're up,” J.B. barked outside of her stall. Quickly, he dressed her in her tack. It was so familiar now that the bit eased and settled into the back of her mouth, her jaw no longer aching from it. She closed her eyes as he buckled the harness in place. It was tight, claustrophobic, and she was grateful.
Her emotions and anxiety were too much. Her mind was brutally exhausted. The cage of the leather around her head helped her feel secure. Sane. It staved off the insanity she thought might be worming its way into her mind.
Taking her reins, he led her from the stable.
The sunlight struck so bright that she was blinded for the first few feet of walking, stumbling in the heat-cracked dirt.
Almost immediately her sweat dripped, running in tiny beads between her breasts and ass cheeks. The blazing sun baked it on, making her feel a bit like she was a glazed pastry.
The walk to his house seemed longer than she remembered, but that might just have been because she couldn’t stop looking around in wonder. When she’d worked for J.B., the arid landscape around the house and stables had become so normal she barely saw it. Now, having been hidden in his stable for so long, it looked new and gorgeous. Each spike of grass and tiny tumbleweed excited her. She loved the low, ochre grass of the pastures for the horses and steer.
Narrowing her eyes against the brightness, she tried to see her horse friends in the other stable. She could smell it as they marched by, the rich horse and manure odor calling to her like home. Absentmindedly, it occurred to her that J.B. might have hired a replacement for her. This thought was particularly horrifying. Someone new, unknown, might be in the space she most thought of as hers. Changing things. What if they didn’t understand all the quirks of each horse? What if they were complacent with J.B.’s frustratingly stubborn desire to slowly kill Bane by deprivation?
Maple was so wrapped up in this worry that she missed J.B. opening to door to the house. The blast of air conditioning was as startling as a bucket of ice water. Her nipples instantly withdrew into tiny buds, painful on her breasts. It was like they were trying to crawl back inside of her body, and it was awful.
J.B. never slowed his clip, leading her quickly through the house. There was no time to loiter in the old and familiar.
Maple had never been unhealthy or unfit. Working on a ranch for most of her life with her family had meant she was always healthy and lean, with the exception of hips that refused to fall prey to any amount of diet or exercise. This had become more apparent when she’d been working with the horses in J.B.’s stables. Her arms and back had grown strong, her legs powerful.
Endurance, though, hadn’t been a part of that. Now, as she moved in a canter to keep pace with J.B., she felt warmly pleased that it wasn’t as difficult as it should have been. His morning training in pulling and running was paying off.
She mostly kept her eyes on her feet. Her toes reveled in the cool, clean, smooth feel of th
e marble tile beneath them. It was refreshing and almost a luxury after spending so long on concrete.
Maple had always been in awe of the niceness of J.B.'s house. The stable, while luxurious for what it was, was still a fucking stable. Being inside the home again brought out something human in her she’d not been in touch with for quite some time. It was marvelous.
Feeling that humanity helped her to understand why J.B. trained the way he did. It was an immersive, and never-ending lesson to force the subspace needed for 24-7 ponies. It was as if she became a pony by osmosis, the tack and the stall and the large open wooden closure slowly infusing her with her new identity.
Inside the house was a shock to the system. Luxuries she’d taken for granted were suddenly wondrous and delightful. Air conditioning. Clean floors. Space. Oh God, the space.
They made their way to J.B.'s studio. Reece had taken over inside. All of J.B.'s canvases were shoved up against the walls and covered in sheets.
Reece had created a scene of sorts, complete with cart, mannequins, and more traditional looking bondage leather hanging from the sides, waiting, it seemed, for her.
Also waiting for her, arms crossed and frowning, was the man himself. Reece's dark eyes danced in delight as J.B. brought her in, belying his tough body language.
“How do you want her positioned?” J.B. asked, stiffening beside her.
Reece’s frown shifted into a cat-gets-the-cream grin. “Oh no, J.B.,” he teased while wagging a finger. “You don’t get in on this one. This one’s special.” Maple marveled again at how Reece managed to get away with speaking to J.B. the way he did. No one else dared to flaunt themselves so ridiculously in front of the deeply serious cowboy.
As flamboyant as Reece’s mannerisms and speech could be, his balls must be enormous, because nothing seemed to scare him. If anything, there was a madness beneath the way he peacocked around, and it made him daring and alluring.
“Like hell I don’t,” J.B. growled. “My stock, my money, my choice.”
“No. You’re going to have to trust me.”
“I don't trust you with her-- ever,” J.B. countered. “You’ve had too much interest in her already.” Maple remembered Reece’s rough aggression toward her the first night they’d met. He may act flippant, but he was as deviant as any of them were.
Reece brushed him off. “I suppose you could paint her, then. My way or the highway, I believe they say.”
Maple sucked in a breath between her teeth. This was like watching two bulls locking horns. In her mind, Reece was dressed as Spanish bull, all red and flash, clashing against J.B.’s battered war-bull.
In the end, J.B. relented silently, stalking from the studio and slamming the door shut behind him.
Reece turned his dark, eager gaze to her. “So, my lovely stable girl. Your turn.” He sauntered over to her. “I suppose that nickname means something different now, you naughty thing.”
He wanted to play.
Maple stamped once, coyly.
“This is going to be terribly fun,” he whispered, moving behind her, his fingers trailing the top of her back and sweeping her hair up and over one shoulder.
She smiled at him, and knew that he was going to try and trick her into speaking. Maple didn't have much to hold on to. Even now her mind sought to play on repeat the sounds of Brie moaning in the grooming area or the gentle touch of J.B.’s hand on the brunette’s hip. Waiting for her in the stable was an enemy out to hurt her.
She was tired, and she was dirty, and Reece was an unexpected breath of fresh air. But he wouldn’t be able to trick her.
“Now, let's see, how shall we pose you?” He continued around her, greedily taking in every naked inch. Maple heart fluttered, but she refused to let him intimidate her. What was it like for J.B., knowing that his friends, his other employees had all seen her naked? Maple blushed, realizing she hadn’t given it much thought.
He led her over to the cart and mannequins. She was very familiar with the style of his paintings, having looked them over in detail her first night at the ranch. They were dark, torturous, and exotic. The women in his paintings were often twisted, rising in the agony-pleasure. He liked them submissive and wanton, with dark figures looming menacingly in the background.
Those first viewings had been uncomfortable, the familiarity of the women in his art itching under her skin. She could easily have been the star in each painting, with Tony the faceless slave driver in the background.
While this was his job now, to paint her, Maple found herself shying away from being dressed in the black patent bondage items. It felt too much like moving backward, like trying to force herself back into a skin she’d been bent on shedding.
But Reece began to shove the mannequins and cart away, and tossed the bondage gear completely aside. Maple’s stomach unknotted some, her heart inquisitive.
Reece busied himself with clearing the space. “It’s painfully obvious, Maple, that this is some bizarre attempt to win J.B.”
Rolling her eyes, she stamped once. Yes.
He rolled his own eyes, mimicking her in good and forgiving humor. “That’s dumb. You already had him. Now you’re simply making him crazy.”
Yeah, right. That’s why he was all over Brie.
Stop that.
She did, squelching the voice of doubt quickly. The urge to explain to Reece was sitting like a rock on her diaphragm, demanding out. Reece waited for an answer or reply, and when none came, he shrugged and moved on.
“He’s made it abundantly clear that I am supposed to make you look as valuable as possible, so he won’t regret selling you to a high bidder.”
Maple blanched, her mouth falling open a little. Reece nodded sympathetically. “He intends to sell you, Lovely. In his mind, I don’t think he knows how to allow for another option.”
She was in serious danger of being sick. If she’d managed to eat breakfast that morning, it would be on the studio floor. Sensing her distress, Reece came to the rescue. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him. We’ll make you valuable, enticing, but just for him. Trust me.”
The same advice he’d given to J.B. Trust him. Like some demented, perverted matchmaker.
A small tear escaped and dropped from her chin to her chest. Reece brushed the trail from her cheek. “You're up against terrible odds, Maple. I won't lie to you about that, but I'm in your corner.”
She sniffed and nodded, stamping once and nestling his hand.
“You are quite the pony,” he added affectionately, before swatting her ass and seamlessly reverting back into smarmy, arrogant jerk she knew.
It took him a little over half an hour to pose her the way he wanted. Maple was enraptured by the process. When he adjusted her, it was like he disappeared into himself. His eyes pierced every inch of her, but she felt as if all he saw were lines and shadows instead of breasts and hips.
The end product was perfection. Even she felt it.
It was painfully simple. Free from all tack but a bit, he left her hair loose. Reese combed it through, and her tail, until they fell in shining waves. She was standing with her back to the viewer, foot raised in a lazy stamp. Maple was to look coyishly over her shoulder, her gaze meeting the viewer’s. No props. No gimmicks.
He shot a polaroid of it and showed it to her. It would allow them to re-create her pose with ease each day as he painted her. Maple loved it, not recognizing herself in the photograph.
While it looked relaxed, sexy and inviting, she found it was painful to try and maintain as a model. Her neck was cramped, her knees screamed at her, her thighs trembled, and there was a vicious ache blooming in her lower back and hips.
It was worth it. Reece talked to her as he painted. Despite not being able to talk back (though he tried often to get her to reply), having a conversation, one-sided as it was, was a joy.
The day passed too quickly. Reece hadn’t even gotten out his paints-- he’d spent the entire time sketching her outline on the canvas. By the time J.B. walked in, Reec
e had covered the canvas and she’d dropped the pose. The concerned and curious look in J.B.’s eyes almost made her giggle.
Almost.
As they left to return to the stable, dread crept back in. J.B. was walking slower, too, which frustrated her. What was he thinking? Was he thinking about her? Or Brie? Did he worry about Maple’s feelings at all?
Was he truly going to sell her?
Chapter Eleven
They’d had such a difficult time communicating before. Now, where body language and looks were all they had, it felt impossible. Maple was becoming so weighed down by her worries that she barely noticed when he’d taken her to the grooming area.
She probably didn’t truly need to be groomed. He’d been rushing hers, too, lately. Rough lather, quick rinse off. The way he’d always groomed the other pony girls. The ones he didn’t intend to keep.
