by Trent Evans
The straw of the stall (she still couldn’t believe it) poked at her bare legs, itching, bordering on burning. She especially resented Lino for making her strip off her stockings, nice warm woolen ones, and forcing her to kneel in that freezing straw. At least he’d let her keep her skirt and blouse ― she knew she could thank the seasons for that. Were it summer, she’d be ensconced in that stall clothed in nothing but the blindfold, the rope, and her shame.
As if she were some dumb animal, and not a modern woman with a PhD in English Lit. Sure a doctorate in criminal psychology might have helped her suss out earlier the web of cruelty, lust, and fear her husband soon had her enmeshed within, but part of her, that small part she still wasn’t comfortable letting all the way out into the light wouldn’t change it. Not one thing.
You’re insane, Breanna. Truly.
She wasn’t crazy for kneeling, bound, blindfolded alone in a cold, silent stall. Okay, that was a little … out there, but it could be accepted. She had no choice in the matter, therefore, she knelt as she was told. Waiting.
No, what was certifiably batshit nuts was the fact that this had happened before.
She turned her head toward the distant sound of a hinge creaking. It was probably nothing. The fucking barn shifted and snapped and groaned all night long, almost as if it were a living thing.
Then two thumps, followed by the faint murmuring of voices could be heard.
“Well, guess it’s not the building”, Breanna muttered, her heart beating faster now. She tried the cuffs again, but they wouldn’t budge. Lino had bound her wrists together, the heavy leather cuffs themselves attached by a short, stout length of chain affixed to a ring bolt embedded in the floorboards beneath the straw. She couldn’t raise her hands from her lap — defenseless.
Not that it mattered really, considering how effective the tight blindfold was. Only a faint sliver of light could be discerned from the bottom of the blindfold, otherwise her visual world existed in purest black.
But the sounds, Lino had left those to her. To wonder, to anticipate — and to fear.
The sounds, two distinct voices were much louder now, the murmured, low speech punctuated by heavy footfalls on the floorboards, and another set of lighter, more frequent, irregular footsteps.
“Hello?” Breanna knew speech was prohibited unless directly spoken to, but kneeling in her stall, invisible to anyone passing by unless the draped their arms over the top of her lonely enclosure, she had the overwhelming urge to talk to someone, anyone, to stave off the boredom — and the sense that she’d been forgotten.
Stupid girl. You’re going to wish you WERE forgotten in an hour or two.
Was that true though? Sure, when she and Kurt arrived, things had gone almost exactly as they had her first time up here. The silent walk from the truck, Kurt’s hand clasping hers in a firm grip, not saying a word, not even looking at her. Kurt’s quick gesture with his hand, not even making eye contact with her, expecting obedience.
Of course, she had obeyed, kneeling on the hard-packed earth, irritated that her new woolen stockings were likely to be stained. Still, she’d felt the cold seep through the fabric, and was thankful for even that modest protection.
There’d been the quick conversation above her bowed head. Kurt’s list of instructions for the groom, Breanna’s face blushing deeply as her husband’s orders became increasingly strict, even severe. Then a quick touch of his big hand to her cheek, and he was gone, the stocky form of Lino standing over her. She’d looked up at the tanned, weathered face, the eyes almost black. He’d smiled at her, his teeth bright against his copper skin, he pulled her to her feet with deceptive gentleness. That had been quickly dispelled when he’d clasped her neck in the collar. Following the tug of the leash, she followed him silently inside the barn
“Which one did Lino say we needed to use?” The man’s voice held a hint of tension, perhaps nervousness?
“Stall two.” A different, deeper voice said. The accent was something she couldn’t place. Almost like a submerged Australian with a hint of something Germanic. “Ah, here we are. Two”
They must have been right outside her stall. Breanna’s heart pounded, and she tried to hunch over, make herself smaller, but the tight chain affixed to her collar prevented her from leaning forward much at all.
Bastard Lino.
One of her husband’s instructions to the groom was to ensure that Breanna couldn’t hide, specifically that she couldn’t hide her breasts. At first, she’d been relieved, fearing she’d have to kneel there in her own little world, her trembling breasts bare for all the world to see.
This was only slightly better, bound so tightly she could neither rise nor lie down, stuck in her kneeling posture. On display like some animal.
“Where should we put her?” Mr. Nervous asked. A note of eagerness had crept into that voice. Anticipation. “That bench?”
“Bend her over it,” the deeper voice said. “There, like that. Spread your legs, girl.” There was a metallic sound of chains. “Yes … there should be one on the other side too. See?”
“Got it,” Mr. Nervous said, grunting.
There were several thunks from the stall next door, the sound vibrating the floorboards under Breanna’s partially numb knees. She wondered how much longer she’d be left in that position, her lower legs threatening to fall asleep soon.
Breanna heard a soft whimper. A female? She heard it again, louder, but she couldn’t make out any words. Another woman! She wouldn’t be alone here after all. It was cold comfort, kneeling there in the straw, but just knowing she wouldn’t be the only woman there this weekend meant she wouldn’t be the sole focus of attention.
Unlike last time.
She shuddered, squeezing her thighs shut at the treacherous tingling in her pussy at the dark memories of her inaugural visit to this place.
Breanna froze at the sound of something metal banging against the wood wall of her enclosure, the air pressure changing ever so slightly.
“Who do we have here?” The deep voice intoned, obviously looking at Breanna. She swallowed, her throat suddenly parched. She stayed very still, the instinct to freeze strong, as if by freezing she could blend into her surroundings, hide from the predators.
“I’m not sure. Tits look to be almost as big as Simona’s.”
“These are bigger,” Deep Voice said. “Simona’s shorter, makes them look bigger. This lecker here’s a tall one, she is.”
Lecker? Breanna struggled to remember. It was familiar — very familiar. Then she had it.
It was a slang term, something she remembered hearing on a travel show on the radio a few days ago. Lecker meant luscious or wonderful. It was South African. Now she could place that accent!
Way to go, genius. You’re still bound here like a prize turkey. Figuring out someone’s accent doesn’t solve the problem at hand, does it?
“Wonder why they’ve got her clothes still on her?” Mr. Nervous. Chatty motherfucker. Breanna wanted to kick him in the nuts.
“Doesn’t matter,” the South African said, his voice turning away and back into their stall. “We’ll all get a look at what she’s hiding soon enough.”
“Oh? How?” Mr. Nervous’s voice turned away too, and Breanna let out a breath, tension ratcheting down ever so slightly.
The thought of these strange faceless men … touching her, was disturbing — but not nearly as much as she thought it should be.
“How does this even come off?” Nervous man was no longer so nervous, his voice thick. “Does this ever come off, Johan?”
A name! Breanna almost exclaimed it aloud. She committed it to memory, knowing she’d likely have little chance to confirm the information. Tightly blindfolded nearly that entire inaugural weekend, there were several nameless men who’d been privy to rather … intimate knowledge of Breanna’s person. The only things she knew of them were the cruel hands, the gruff, demanding voices, and the relentless pounding of their hard cocks.
South
African chuckled. “It does, when I wish it.”
“How often do you … wish it?”
“You ask lotta questions, man.”
Two steps, and something rustled. Fabric? Clothing?
“Sorry Johan, I’ve just … I’ve never seen a belt like that.”
“It’s okay, Kearney.” A pause. “She gets out every couple weeks or so. If she’s good.”
Breanna caught her breath. Did they mean?
Tell me they do not keep her in one of those …
“Couple of weeks? Jesus…” She couldn’t tell if it was horror or mere curiosity in Kearney’s voice.
There was the sound of a hand clapping someone’s back. “Relax about it, Kearney. It’s what she needs. You want …?”
There was a snap of leather, and the sound of a buckle rattling. “No, I can try.”
“Yeah, man. Pull off all the snaps. They’re tight — yeah, you see how they slide through?”
“Oh, yes I see,” Kearney said, his voice strained. “Let’s — Jesus, damned tight!”
There was a low moan.
“Shh, stay there, Simona.” There was a fondness in Johan’s deep voice. “Be good now.”
Another thunk, and a step. “How does?”
“Reach between her legs, Kearney. There — right, the buckle.”
“Got it,” Kearney grunted. “This is a bitch.”
“She’s well—looked after,” Johan said. “You should think about one of your own. Nothing like it.”
There was a dismissive snort. “Too much work. I like borrowing yours.”
“Selfish bastard,” Johan muttered.
Breanna inhaled sharply, suddenly remembering she needed to breathe. She felt sorry for the girl, but it was impossible not to listen. They were ten feet away!
“Unh, unnnh!” The soft voice was strained, lost. Gagged?
“There, slow. Slow, Kearney.” Another clink of a buckle. “Here give it to me.”
“She’s soaked … “
Breanna could hear the girl breathing like a bellows. Was that arousal she could smell on the air too? She wasn’t sure if it was hers (her pussy clenched at each tortured moan from the stall next door) or the girl’s.
“No — that smaller strap too,” Johan said. “You’re not done.”
“Here?”
“Unsnaps from the main belt, and just pull it back through … now, you’ve got it.”
“Unnh! UNNNH!” There was a harsh slap, the sound echoing in the stall.
“Keep quiet, Simona. Let him learn.”
“Christ, Johan … it’s fucking huge.”
The South African’s deep laughter rumbled. “Impressive, ya? She needs it though. Keeps her in line like nothing else, man. Ready?”
“Guess so. Will this hurt her?”
“Of course — but not as much as it did going in. Don’t be a girl, Kearney. Get on with it.”
“UNNNH AH AHHHH!” Feet stamped the boards, hard.
“Slow and steady, Kearney. That’s right.” There was the sound of a hand patting bare flesh. “Relax and push out, girl.”
The pitch of the girl’s whimpering descended from frantic to exhausted, her breathing labored. Breanna couldn’t help but wince in sympathy.
“Look at that … ”
“Quite a gape, yes?” The pride was clear in Johan’s voice. “Took us a long while to get up to that size. But she manages regularly now.”
“How? That thing barely fits.”
“I didn’t say she manages easily, Kearney. She manages though because I make her. She gave up any choice in the matter long ago.”
A sliding sound, and leather striking wood. “Here, use this first,” Johan said. “I’ll help you.”
Breanna jerked at the first blow, the flogger startlingly loud in the enclosure. The girl grunted in surprise, rather than pain.
“Harder, man. It sounds worse than it is.”
“You sure?”
“Haven’t you flogged an ass before, Kearney?”
“Well, sure. I mean … ”
Johan’s laughter rolled through the otherwise quiet space. “Oh, you’ve been thrown in the deep end here, yah?”
Breanna listened in tense silence as the flogging continued, each blow harder than the last, the deep voice of the South African exhorting his inexperienced companion to hit her harder, sweep upward, catch the thighs. Soon, the girl was keening steadily behind her gag, the flogger coming down on her with a harsh SHLACK, over and over.
“There that’s enough now.” Johan’s voice strained. “Have a feel, then we need to …”
“Burning!” There was wonder in Kearney’s voice.
“Great coloring too, yes? Nothing like a hard flogging to bring it out. You left some good marks on her thighs too. Really laid into her.”
“Ah shit, Johan. I’m sorry—”
“Nonsense. She’s tough.” There was wet slap, and a mewling sound. “Look at that cunt. Tells you all you need to know about whether or not she liked her little whipping.”
Breanna thought she could actually hear zippers lowering, then definitely could hear the crinkling sound of condoms being unwrapped. “No, use her cunt. You can have her ass another time when it’s not so sore. She still has to have that thing put back in when you’re done She’s not out of the woods quite yet, mate.”
The girl sighed, chains rattling against wood. “Christ, she’s hot!” Kearney hissed.
Then rhythmic slaps of flesh on flesh soon filled the quiet building the girl’s moaning quavering as her body shook under the assault.
“That’s right. Don’t hold it back now. Give it to her hard. She doesn’t know any other way.
Breanna’s pussy clenched in anticipation of what she hoped would come. But if her last visit was anything to go by, she knew if might be a very long weekend indeed for her lonely, bereft pussy.
The sounds of flesh smacking flesh grew louder. A sharp slap and a growled oath had the girl mewling again.
“Get deep, man. Her cervix is sensitive, don’t forget it.”
“Unnh Ahh! Ahh!”
Kearney groaned, chains rattling and feet stomping the floor.
“Be careful, man. Come out slowly. She’s really close.”
A ragged sigh, followed by another harsh slap, making her whine.
Breanna wanted to see, yet she wanted to do anything but. To witness the poor woman’s defilement, nothing more than a receptacle for the mens’ animal lusts. She felt sympathy, and at the same time … envy. Her cunt was being pounded, her ass smacked. Attention, even of the degrading, cruel sort was preferable to her lonely stall. The sounds from the other side of the partition: South African man telling Kearney to pull out the next largest size from the case, only further inflamed Breanna’s lust. Her clit throbbed, seeming to swell larger with each heartbeat. Her nipples tented the fine silk of her blouse, the throb of her clit seemingly directly linked to the impossibly hard tips of her swollen breasts.
“Now, you’re going to need her help for this.” Johan said. “Yes, just undo the cuffs, the chains will keep them there.”
“This is … there’s no way, Johan. It won’t fit.”
Johan’s low laugh rumbled. “She’ll take it. We’ve done bigger before. Grab that lube, there.”
Breanna could hear the wet sounds of lubrication being applied.
“Not too much, man,” Johan’s voice gentled, redirecting. “We want you to feel this, don’t we girl? A little slickness now to get it started, but nothing should be easy for you should it? Exactly the way you need it.”
A defeated murmur sounded from the girl, followed by another light slap. “Okay, let’s get moving, Kearney.”
“Jesus, Johan this is going to tear her.”
“Nonsense. Trust me.”
There was another rattle of chains, the girl’s rapid breathing clearly audible.
“Here, try this.” Johan’s voice lowered, stern. “You know you’re to help him. What is this now? There,
better, but you’re too slow to obey—”
“Johan, no it’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. She’s been trained better than this.” Two loud slaps. “Get them back there, slut! Wide! Wider than that.”
“That’s more than I need. You’re sure this won’t hurt her?”
“Who said anything about it not hurting? I won’t tear her — if you’re careful — but it’s going to hurt her all right. That’s the point, Kearney. She needs this, the pain — she responds to it. Just wait, you’ll see.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, and a skirring of chains.
“She’s tightening,” Kearney said, irritation in his voice.
“Just keep steady pressure. It’ll give way. Just be patient.”
A wild mewling sounded, along with a frustrated sigh. “See, this isn’t working, Johan.”
“Need to talk her through it. She’s skittish because it’s you, I think.” There was a soft thud, and a clear gasp.
“Can you talk, girl? Move your jaw, now. There, better? Well, I asked you a question, Simona.”
“Sorry, Master,” Simona’s soft voice rasped. “I—It is too big. I will tear. Please—”
“You had this very plug in your ass last week. Don’t lie to me.”
“We could use the next size down, Johan.”
“Absolutely not, Kearney.” Johan’s tone coarsened, irritation plain now. “She’s taking this one. If we have to wait all night. She’s not leaving without that plug in her ass. That one.”
Breanna’s body trembled, sympathetic to Simona’s plight, yet insane as it was, she envied her just a bit as well.
Two men, working on the helpless woman. Though it was something she’d never had the strength to admit in so many words, what was happening on the other side of that partition was straight out of the darkest depths of her own fantasies.
Somehow Kurt had known what she wanted — what her body needed.
And now, as she knelt there listening to the defilement of Simona, she was getting it.
“There, girl. Much better.”
“Thank you … Master.” Her breathless voice dropped to a moan again, whether of pain or pleasure Breanna couldn’t determine. Did it even matter in this place?
