by Trent Evans
It had been an off-hand remark she’d made after forgetting to schedule something for one of Kurt’s business trips. “Guess you need to put me up for a Term,” she’d joked, exasperated at her occasional forgetfulness. She was an administrator for a large clinic, responsible for literally dozens of employees, involved in every aspect of the business — and sometimes she’d forget to do something as simple as schedule a flight. Always harder on herself than anyone else, she’d let that little comment slip out.
Kurt had told her he’d arrange it, his eyes sober, almost solemn. He hadn’t even given her a chance to back out, to protest that she wasn’t serious. Had it mattered? Didn’t her quick, silent acquiescence say as much as any words could have?
Did Kurt somehow know she sometimes lay awake at night, listening to his deep breathing as he slept, and wondering what a Term would actually be like? Could he tell that she fantasized about anonymous, rough sex at the hands of several men? Particularly one man who crept repeatedly back into her thoughts? It wasn’t possible for Kurt to know how dark, how twisted her fantasies had become. To be treated as less than a woman, objectified … used. Such thoughts kept her awake at night, amplified her desire as Kurt’s thick cock pushed its way into her, drawing a moan from her.
Now, as the men stood talking above her, she realized that making this fantasy come true had been a helluva lot more than she’d anticipated. Everything had been so much more intense, in the flesh. The avid, sparkling eyes in the audience taking in the spectacle, relishing her degradation, the skirring sound of the leather as she pulled against its implacable grip, the earthy scent of the straw and the musty, weathered floorboards.
She watched her men — odd to think of them that way already, but she did — marveling at their height. Though almost six feet herself, Kurt still looked down upon her at his 6’4”. His rangy, lean body and shock of jet black hair perfectly matched the chiseled, not quite pretty face, the lines at his eyes and mouth showing the ravages of time in that most flattering of ways that men (much to her dismay) seemed to wear so well. Derek was perhaps slightly shorter than her husband, but, as she stole glances at him, she could tell he was powerfully built, broad shoulders straining a dark dress shirt that tapered nicely to a narrow waist, the thick, corded thighs nicely shown off by the well-worn denim of his jeans. The prominent bulge between those thighs told her that part of him at least seemed to disagree with his obvious dismay at her predicament.
She found it endearing in a way, that he’d be so concerned for her. Indeed, though she was genuinely worried that she’d bitten off more than she could chew, she felt better with both of them there. Though Kurt could be strict, even cruel at times, she knew he’d never let her be hurt. She knew that soft core he couldn’t quite hide from his wife, that part of him that she knew how to call to. It was how she usually ended up getting her way — despite the fact it was Kurt who indisputably “ran the ship”.
“We need to find Lino,” Kurt said, meeting Breanna’s eyes. “Let’s get you up. You’re probably needing to stretch your legs anyway, right?”
She watched him a moment, not sure if he was really wanting her to respond. Then he gave her the slightest of nods.
“They’re falling asleep,” she whispered, surprised at the softness of her voice.
“Damn.” Derek knelt down next to her, a soft hand on her upper arm. “Here, I’ll help you—”
“Derek, wait,” Kurt said, grabbing his shoulder. “Let her. She’s gonna need to get used to this anyway. Just untie her.”
“Whatever, I thought she was ‘mine’,” Derek muttered, loosening each of her arms to Kurt’s amused chuckle.
“Oh she is, she is.” Kurt pulled a length of thick black leather from one of the hooks above her. He handed it to Derek. “Which is why you get to do the honors.”
A collar? Oh, shit.
Firmly into unfamiliar waters now, she swallowed, telling herself to be strong. This was what she wanted. Not to know what came next, the opportunity, the paradoxical freedom of simply floating along with the current, to go where it took her. It was a central appeal of the Term — that complete lack of choice, once she’d made her choice to agree to it.
She watched Derek look from the collar, over to Kurt, and back to the length of leather swinging from his hand. “You’re serious with this, Kurt?”
“Of course.” Kurt held up a leash, curled into a loop. “What do you think I’m going to attach this to?”
Oh, fuck.
“Wait, I …” the words dying on her lips as she realized the rule she’d broken.
Kurt’s gaze snapped down to hers, the storm gathering in his eyes. “You know better.”
“Sorry. I just … we didn’t talk about that.”
“Talk about what?” Kurt handed the leash to Derek, then knelt down in front of her. A muscle clenched at his jaw. “This is what you agreed to, Breanna. As soon as that gavel came down, your opinion ceased to matter, didn’t it? Well?”
He was right, of course. This was the double-edged sword of the whole game — that choice she didn’t really want, yet feared relinquishing. Could she trust that these men wouldn’t take it too far? Wouldn’t abuse her trust? Did the danger of that possibility actually lend (in its own twisted way) more heat to this whole encounter?
Perhaps she’d look that revelation over another time. Now, it appeared that she was about to be fucking leashed up like an animal. Incredibly, her pussy was so wet she felt the slickness between her legs. Terrifying though the thought was of walking among those people, led on a goddamned leash, her body was — as usual — telling its own story.
Kurt’s hand grasped one of her proffered breasts, and despite her fright, automatically, she pushed herself into his grasp. He squeezed as he frowned at her. “Be good. He’s going to need you to help him through this too. Make me proud.”
She lowered her eyes, nodding even as his hand squeezed harder in reprimand. It wasn’t enough pain to really deter her; it was more than enough pain to turn her on even more though.
Damn him.
Derek knelt down next to her, the clean smell of his cologne making her lightheaded, her belly flutter. She couldn’t help but look into his eyes as he fit the collar around her throat. His eyes matched the dark brown of his hair, green flecks in the irises catching the light in a mesmerizing pattern.
“Let me know if it pinches, okay?” His voice trembled just the slightest bit — whether from unease or arousal, she couldn’t tell. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kurt, still crouched in front of her, looked down, shaking his head. “You’re gonna have to get over that, Derek. Hurting her is going to be part of the deal.”
Both men stood up together. Derek wrapped the leash loosely around his big hand, Breanna watching the veins of his forearm popping in stark, mouth-watering relief.
“Well, it’s the part I’m not ready for, Kurt. Okay?” The slight shake of Derek’s hand as it held the leash matched the uncertainty in his voice.
Inwardly, she smiled at that small glimpse of vulnerability. More than that, it was a tiny relief to know that these men felt, that they weren’t merely heartless machines bent on breaking her will completely. Maybe someday there might be a time she’d actually want that, but right now it was too soon, all of this so overwhelming, she knew she wouldn’t be able to endure more than what she was experiencing tonight.
Kurt’s hand patted her cheek. “Up now. Let’s see if we can find Lino.” He winked. “I’m looking forward to getting this started.”
She stood, her arms working helplessly against their tight bonds as she swayed on her heels. Her breasts swung obscenely, and for the thousandth time, she wished her arms were free to cover them.
As they led her out of the stall, she was thankful for the blanket wrapped around her, maddeningly itchy though it definitely was. The throng had thinned considerably, the seating area now totally devoid of people. What few people were left, seemed to be clustered around severa
l of the other stalls. As Breanna walked, obeying the humiliating pull of the leash, she got a glimpse inside one of the stalls.
Her mouth dropped open in a gasp.
It was Shae, surrounded by several men, all well dressed in suits as if they’d been taking a break from a long business meeting. The woman was on her knees, her arms raised straight up toward the ceiling. Thick leather cuffs lashed her hands together, a knot of rope leading to an eyebolt near the top of the back stall wall keeping them up and well out of the way. One of the men was standing quite close to her, his hand entwined in that striking auburn hair Breanna couldn’t help but envy.
Are you fucking nuts? Hardly the time for vanity or competition. Hello? Slavery!
Shae was completely naked, her lush, nude body at once jarring and in a way alluring, surrounded by all of the fully clothed males. The man held her chin as he fed the glistening length of his cock back into Shae’s mouth as her brimming eyes looked up at him. Her mascara had run, a crazy black runnel of it meandering down her cheek, the man’s thumb smearing it across her flushed skin. Another man, quite tall, with very broad shoulders, leaned against the wall on the other side of Shae. The leather flapper at the tip of the crop he held played itself back and forth over her red nipples.
Then the leash pulled at Breanna’s neck and she followed it, losing sight of the tableau within Shae’s stall.
Passing several more empty enclosures, she could hear grunting and moaning up ahead, getting louder. Kurt glanced at Derek, the two men exchanging a look that Breanna wasn’t sure how to interpret. As they passed the last stall, Breanna could see that there were only three figures within, no silent watchers, no leering gallery of onlookers.
Toward the back, the stall had the familiar timber beam stretching across the width of the space. Bent tightly over it was a bound woman, a corset, cruelly tight, clasped her center, the black leather emphasizing the pale roundness of the woman’s bottom. A man stood behind her, his compact muscular buttocks clenching, outlined by snug dark slacks. His thick, inflamed cock plunged and retreated between swollen labia, their combined fluids soaking the quivering slopes of the woman’s inner thighs. Her ankles were bound widely, clasped in black cuffs, ropes securing each foot to ringbolts in the floor. Her extended toes just touched the weathered wood of the floorboards, the muscles of her calves bunched in strain. The woman’s hands were secured to the back of her corset, the man behind her clasping both of her wrists in his hand, using the leverage to plunge deeper.
A second man in a starched white dress shirt and slacks, his navy suit coat hanging on the wall next to an array of whips, crouched on the other side of the beam. He murmured to the captive woman, brushing her long black hair from her eyes, his smile equal parts fondness and lust. With a low growl, the man behind her slapped the upturned buttocks, once, twice, the woman shuddering with a moan, the man crouching near her head softly cooing to her.
“Wish you were in her place?” Kurt’s voice startled her, and she nearly screamed. His laughter made her flush, and is she had her hands free she feared she would have hit him.
“Come on Kurt,” Derek said, his voice thick. “I feel like a perv standing here watching this.”
“I don’t know why.” Kurt smoothed a hand over Breanna’s temple, his touch proprietary. “We’re all here for the same thing. Nothing wrong with enjoying the show.”
For her part, Breanna couldn’t take her eyes from it, even as the pulse pounded in her ears, her throat clicking. Part of her did picture herself in that poor girl’s place, only it was Derek’s long, thick cock sliding deep, taking her breath away as Kurt whispered promises, threats into her ear.
There was a tug at her neck again. “Come on, Breanna,” Derek whispered. “I don’t know what else Maestro Perv here has in mind for us, but we might as well get this over with.”
She noted Derek’s faint attempt at a smile that couldn’t quite hide the naked male lust she could see in his gaze. Though she could tell he tried not to look at the woman being taken within that stall, she didn’t miss the avid attention in his brown eyes as he turned, leading her further on by the demeaning, yet disturbingly arousing pull of the leash.
They passed the final stall and the last of the men silently observing the festivities. Walking deeper into the cavernous barn, the sounds of the woman’s increasingly distressed moans fading as they moved further away. The space opened up into a large clear area, the floorboards giving way to bare, packed earth. The light was dimmer here, the air slightly cooler. Then she saw Lino, his back to them as he worked a hand-cranked winch, lowering a tangled harness of leather straps and fine, thin chain. A bright spot of light clearly illuminated the ground directly below the harness.
Kurt cleared his throat, and Lino turned. His handsome Latin features warmed as he grinned, his eyes finding hers, the coldness normally within his gaze absent for once. “Ah, here we are. Good to see you again, fulana.”
Kurt cocked a thumb toward Derek. “Well Lino, here’s the lucky man, my friend Derek York.”
Lino extended his hand, the lean corded muscles of his forearm highlighted by the overhead light.
“Nice to meet you,” Derek murmured, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m not sure why we’re here, so hopefully you can help us out with that.”
Kurt chuckled, clapping a hand on Lino’s shoulder. “All yours.”
Beaming at Derek, the Spaniard glanced at Kurt before his gaze alighted on Breanna. His hand beckoned her toward him. “Let’s have you up here, now. Arms up, fulana.”
Oh no.
Chapter Ten
Watching Lino haul Breanna up by that chain was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Every part of him wanted to grab her, protect her somehow, yet at the same time … he wanted to see this.
“There, she is in a good place, yes?” Lino wound the chain around a hook in the nearby wall.
Breanna stood up on her very toes, her height emphasized even more by the way her long form stretched its utmost toward the heavens, the light from above rendering the pleasing curves of her body in stark contrast. The straps of the harness clasped her body in an implacable grip, her ribs heaving against the cruel stricture. But that wasn’t all. Lino had forced a thick wooden bit between her teeth, the straps at each end of the bit tied off around the back of her head. Then once he’d bound her to his specifications, he’d pulled on that chain, stretching her tight.
“This is the first thing you must do when you train.” Lino jabbed a finger at Breanna. “She must know that she has no choice but to obey. You bind her in body.” Lino tapped her temple, her eyes fluttering. “Then she will know it in mind, too.”
Lino stood back, his arms crossed, and turned toward Breanna, observing. “Mr. Derek. Tell me what you see here. Go on.”
Her beautiful body, stretched as it was drew his eye so strongly that he knew it was pointless to resist it. She’d put herself here, so it made no sense not to look her over. “I see a naked woman.” He glanced at Kurt. “A beautiful one.”
Breanna’s cheeks pinkened above the straps holding the bit, and she closed her eyes a moment. Kurt’s grin relieved him.
“No, this is not it.” Lino looked at him, frowning. “Tell Lino what you really see. What does she look like? What can she do?”
“I don’t — I don’t get it.”
Lino waved a hand dismissively, stepping up to Breanna’s motionless form. “First thing. You stop seeing her as Breanna. Here she is no longer a person. Here she is ‘B’, yes?”
“Okay … ”
“Just go with this, Derek,” Kurt muttered. “It’s okay. The guy knows what he’s doing.”
Glad one of us does.
He remembered the first time he’d met Breanna, at the office. Kurt had brought her through Cubeville, the nerds in Derek’s section all twitterpated at the tall, hot blonde Kurt was leading through the aisles, various heads bobbing up and down over cube walls like geeky prairie dogs. He’d said maybe ten words t
o her, the entire time trying to keep his eyes on hers, and off that stunning body. He wasn’t sure he’d succeeded as he talked to her; he was positive he’d failed as he watched her walk away, those hips swaying in a tight skirt. She’d dressed to kill that day, though it hadn’t really registered at the time.
“Look at her body,” Lino said. “See what she might be good at, what she might fail at. This is what you must do.”
Lino’s hands coursed down the smooth thighs, Derek’s eye drinking in the way the light cast her plump sex in shadow where it nestled between them. “This one has very long legs, yes? She might be swift of foot, but hard pulling — that might be no good for her.”
Crouching down, Lino lifted each of her legs in turn, urging her to flex, twist and extend both of them in turn. “This is very important. You must check for injuries, problems with joints. Look for old scars. Signs of old injuries. She is entrusting herself to you, yes? Make sure she is safe — and able to work hard for you.”
In her position, those legs stretched for miles, the pleasing curve of her hips a striking counterpoint to the lithe thighs, the slim, but well-muscled calves. It was such an odd feeling, taking the time to really look at the female body, and at the same time, he felt a new almost awe in its simple beauty, the perfection of the form.
Lino rose, and as he did his hands stroked up her inner thighs. She shuddered in her harness, her mouth working around the bit. “This one is sensitive, nervous.” Lino chuckled, running the edge of his hands up through the crease between genitals and inner thighs, a soft moan emanating from behind the bit. “We must train her out of this.”
“What are we training her to do?” Derek looked from Lino to Kurt, but both men remained impassive, though Kurt’s gaze was keen, never leaving Breanna.
