by Trent Evans
The possessive grip of Derek’s hand squeezing her bottom brought her out of her reverie. “She’s obeyed us, hasn’t she? She’s tried to do what we’ve told her — at least it looks like it to me.”
“Oh sure, she’s obeyed. I still think she should be whipped though.”
Breanna’s breath caught in her throat. A thickness had crept into Kurt’s voice, one she was very familiar with. She felt her nipples tighten into stony points.
“Why, Kurt?”
Kurt slowed his pace, glancing at Derek. “Because I want to whip her. You don’t have a problem with that idea do you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
The rumbling tone of Derek’s voice told her that any hopes she might have entertained about him gallantly rescuing her from a skipping were gone.
Thank God.
“Okay, but I’m wondering,” Kurt said, his hand tightening on the reins. “After all this, you still wouldn’t like to just whip her, make her cry out, simply because you liked it?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
Kurt’s chuckle was rich with pleasure. “I knew this was a good idea.”
Oh, shit.
Breanna’s mouth went dry, despite her bit. Was she nervous because she was definitely about to be punished, or because apparently, the very thought excited both of the men? How did she feel about that? That both her husband, and this new, wonderful man, might actually harbor the urge to hurt her, sexually?
The stirring deep in her belly and the throb of her swollen, saddle strap inflamed clit answered that question. Her body shuddered even as she trudged onward to the relentless pull of Kurt’s arm.
Finally, they reached the crest of the hill, and the trail widened out into a sort of turn-about, a cluster of tall Ponderosa pine offering blessed shade. A small wood-framed structure, about the size of a phone booth stood on one side of the turnabout. The sun-faded trunk of a huge tree, long denuded of its branches, lay along the edge of the trail, the Breanna stood, drinking in the dramatic view even as her chest heaved, lungs working like a bellows.
“Damn, now I see why you guys went to the trouble,” Derek murmured, leaning an elbow on the trunk to look down the hillside. He slapped a hand down on the weathered bark. “And I can see why you didn’t bother moving this big bitch. Unreal how the tree fell this way.”
“The old owner said it blew down in a windstorm in ‘81,” Kurt said, stooping to unwrap the straps of her harness from the traces. “Said he couldn’t find a crew who wanted to tackle hauling it away. Too dangerous — yet there it is still, all these years later.”
“Um, care to tell me what you’re doing, Kurt?”
Breanna lurched forward on rubbery legs, following the tug of her reins as he pulled her free from the traces.
“Come over here and help me get her arms loose.”
Oh yes, please!
The thought of getting her hands free was appealing indeed; her arms were already growing stiff, and she knew she’d be feeling this in her shoulders in the morning.
Their strong fingers worked at the straps that bound her arms, and finally she was able to straighten them, the regained freedom blessed to her.
“Any tingling? Pins and needles?” Kurt’s brow furrowed, his eyes boring into hers.
She shook her head, her lips trying to form a smile through the enforced rictus of the bit. Amazingly, other than a little surface numbness where the straps pressed tightest, she didn’t have any trouble at all. Whoever manufactured that harness definitely knew what they were doing.
“Get on your knees, Breanna.” Kurt undid his belt.
Whoa, what?
Derek came up behind her, gripping her shoulders. Thankfully, he helped her kneel, her legs leaden with fatigue. A hard twig dug into one knee, but she ignored it — even with the discomfort, kneeling was far superior to standing now.
She watched Kurt’s big hands open his fly, then reach out to caress her chin. She looked up at him, the hard glint in his eyes making her breath catch, her clit thrum.
Yes...
“I’ve been waiting too long today, Breanna,” Kurt said, glancing at Derek then back down to her. “All day we’ve watched that pretty ass jiggling, those hips swaying, and those big tits of yours bouncing. We got to see how your flesh took the whip, how the color deepened, the marks darkening. What do you think should be done about that?” Kurt’s head tilted. “Do you think there might be a way to provide me some relief from that torture?”
God, yes…
She lifted her chin, and nodded, her gaze locked with his.
“Good,” Kurt said, with that quick smile of his that made her tingle. “Then we understand one another.”
“You’ll relieve both of us,” Derek said into her ear, his hands pulling loose the straps at her nape. “You’re going to show your husband how thankful you are for this. You’ll be a good girl — then you’ll thank me too.”
The bit slid from between her lips, a long, glistening string of saliva following, then breaking to leave a line of moisture down the side her chin. The heat flared in her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze.
Despite everything that had been done to her, despite kneeling between them, in the dust, she still felt shame at appearing dirty or unclean, still worried that her degraded status as a ponygirl somehow lessened her value in their eyes. She knew it made no sense to crave the humiliation, the objectification, but at the same time feel in danger of losing her personhood. But she trusted her husband when he’d told her there wasn’t a single thing they could do together that would make her any less in his eyes, make her anything other than the love of his life.
Still the fear was there, and with Derek there now — even though she somehow trusted him, implicitly — that fear was amplified, increasing her uneasiness when she allowed herself to examine things too closely.
Then maybe you should stop thinking about it so much — and just enjoy this.
Kurt’s hand lifted her chin, his thumb wiping away the wetness. “I want to see that face, your eyes, all of it. You’ll hide nothing from me — from us. Ever.” He pointed at the huge bulge in his jeans. “Now take it out and get to work.”
Holding back, not attacking his fly like a starving dog, took actual, conscious effort. Her mouth already watered, imagining the clean, male scent, the salty tang of his semen as he spurted his seed over her tongue. Gently, almost reverently, she freed his cock from his pants, leaning back a bit to look at it. The shaft cast a long shadow over his hip in the late afternoon sun, the tip of the broad, inflamed head glistening with moisture. His cock twitched with his pulse, and she grasped it at the base, her fingers mingling with the silken black pubic hair. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, knowing what he liked.
Kurt’s jaw clenched. “Suck now, Breanna.”
She tasted that moisture at the tip first, savoring it, then took him in her mouth, the heat of his shaft pleasant on her tongue as she sucked.
“God, she’s so fucking good at this,” Kurt rumbled above her, hands gathering the weight of her ponytail, holding it firmly close to her scalp. “I was jealous of you when she sucked you in her stall.”
“Selfish bastard.” Derek stood behind her, close, and the knowledge of what he must be seeing, standing there watching her lips sliding up and down her husband’s veined erection, made the heat flare in her cheeks again, even as the thought of being watched added something more to her already rapidly increasing arousal.
“Suck harder, girl.” Kurt’s hands tightened on her ponytail, pulling her more fully onto him, and she tried to relax her throat, knowing soon he’d want her taking — and holding — every last inch of his cock. He’d enjoyed training her to his exact requirements, making sure she knew every nuance, every ritual for servicing her Master.
“Come on, Breanna, do what he says,” Derek voice rumbled at her ear. “Show me everything. If you don’t we’re going to spank that sore ass of yours, whip marks or not.” Derek’s hands eas
ed down over her buttocks, circling his palms over the welts. “I’d like to just have you all to myself, over my lap. I’d spank you until this ass is bright red, until you begged me to stop — or to fuck you. Which one would it be?”
She moaned around the shaft plunging back and forth within the clench of her lips.
“That’s it, girl. You like that don’t you?” Kurt pulled her all the way down his cock, her nose tickled by his pubic hair. She willed herself to stay relaxed, to let him in, her body still. “You want him to spank you, don’t you? Well, you will be — but you’ve got a job to do first.”
The hands at her buttocks squeezed, harsh pain awakened anew in her well-whipped backside. Sucking ever harder, taking him in longer and longer strokes, she reached for Kurt’s hips, but Derek’s hands caught her, locking like manacles around her upper arms. He pulled them behind her, holding them firmly together, as Kurt’s grip on her hair tightened further, a promise … and a threat.
“You never got a chance to meet Johan did you?” Kurt’s voice strained as her tongue and lips continued their ministrations. By no stretch of the imagination was she in control here, but the sound of his lust in his voice filled her with pride, with an odd sort of self-satisfaction. That she could bring him to such pleasure made her feel her power in the act — though an observer of the scene, with her on her knees, her head being forced to take Kurt’s cock deep into her throat, might assume she hadn’t a shred of power at all.
“Uh, Johan? Nope.” Derek’s grip pushed her closer, ensuring she couldn’t pull all the way off of Kurt’s cock at each plunge and retreat of her lips. The feel of Derek’s strong hands made her moan again, the vibration imparted to her husband’s cock making him curse under his breath.
“Wait until you see her next week — his girl, Simona. I’m sure she’ll be here. Johan likes to take her right there on the track, just makes her bend over, still locked between the shafts. It’s unreal.” Kurt pulled her head off his cock, the grip in her hair stinging. She extended her tongue, licking the swollen head as much as he allowed. A bead of sweat broke and ran down the cleavage of her breasts, but her pinioned arms ensured she couldn’t wipe it away, keeping her attention fixed on the task at hand.
“You do love this, Breanna. We know it.” Derek crooned behind her, holding her arms together with one hand and reaching down to the rear of the harness. He worked at the fastening at her back, then the saddle strap — which had been cutting into her split for so long, she’d almost become inured to it — suddenly loosened, his rough fingers brusquely extracting it from the sorely tested lips of her pussy. “Gotta get this off — it’s in my way, dammit.”
“Lino says the saddle strap keeps them wet, thinking about their pussies.”
“I think he’s right,” Derek said, his hand plunging between the cheeks of her ass. He slapped the swollen lips of her sex, and she jerked in surprise. “Open your legs, Breanna. That’s good. Good girl.”
There was too much for her to follow. Her lips continued those deep, slow strokes she knew her husband loved, her tongue swirling along the underside of the long, hot shaft. But with Derek right behind her, she couldn’t process all of the incredible sensation crashing in on her at once.
“Now finish him, Breanna.” Derek plunged two fingers deep into the wetness of her sex, and she bucked her hips, the cock in her mouth stifling her moan. Kurt pulled her close then, the broad head forced down her throat once more. She coughed once as he fully seated himself, and she twisted at the grip in her hair.
“Calm down now, girl. Concentrate. You can do this.” Kurt stroked her throat even as he kept up the harsh, searing grip at the roots of her hair. Fortunately, she calmed her rising panic, forcing her tongue out to ease the gag reflex and willing herself to still, to be simply a vessel for him, visualizing the pleasure on his face, the knowledge that she’d pleased him.
“Oh fuck, that’s it. Close now.” Kurt took up a hard thrusting, and she opened her throat to him, surrendering to her husband, to her Master, while Derek’s fingers pounded into her, raising her hips on his hand at each deep plunge of the digits.
“Swallow every drop, Breanna,” Derek said. “Just like you did when you sucked my cock. You’ll be doing that a lot with two of us around to satisfy, you know. I can’t wait to feel those lips around me again, see your eyes water as I push deep. See those big nipples of yours harden like stones as you suck me. Soon, Breanna, soon.”
“God dammit. Oh fuck, I’m …” Kurt’s cock swelled even larger then, his hand squeezing her hair painfully. Then his hips froze, his body shuddering, as hot, salty semen flooded her mouth. She gulped it down as fast as she could, but a drop escaped the clutch of her lips, laying an incriminating, shameful slick down her chin.
“Uh oh,” Derek murmured, pressing his soft lips to her ear. “I’m afraid that’s not very good, Breanna. Not good at all.”
Kurt pulled her away, staring down upon her with his crooked grin that could bode either good or ill for her. Extended above her face, his still half-erect cock lowered slowly. She longed to lick it further, to clean it as she’d been taught — but first her transgression would be addressed. She dreaded it even as she clenched her sex harder in anticipation upon the now three fingers Derek still pistoned within her sex.
“What did Derek tell you, girl? Hmm?” The setting sun threw deep shadow over Kurt’s features as he stared down at her, his hands on his hips. Only the bright shine of his eyes could be made out against the background of the brilliant orange sunset. “I’m waiting.”
She wanted to lick the damning globule of semen from her chin more than she wanted to breathe, but she resisted it, knowing it would just make things worse. Her voice rasped, and she cleared her throat. “Swallow … every drop, Sir.”
Kurt made her suck him often, and he was always very strict with her about doing exactly as she was told when she did it. She knew she was in trouble, but hoped against hope that perhaps since Derek was there—
Derek’s fingers curled within her, and her eyes rolled back as she groaned, his stroking hitting the exact place he knew could make her fly apart.
Focus, focus, idiot!
“And what should be done about the fact that you failed to follow that direction, girl?” Kurt’s finger whisked the offending droplet from her chin, holding it up to glisten in the fading sunlight.
“I should be … punished. Sir.” She dropped her eyes, already knowing what was coming.
“No. Look at me.” Hard fingers grasped her chin, pulling her gaze up to his. “You will be punished, girl.”
“Yes, Sir.” At home, such an offense would get her a spanking, or corner time — or both. But out here? This was indeed uncharted territory. There were no rules here — they could, and intended to — do literally anything they wanted to her. That thought made her clit thrum once more, though it should have disturbed her. If anything, this acknowledgment of her true helplessness, amplified her arousal, her need to surrender, to place everything in these mens’ hands.
Then Kurt’s smile beamed, a mischievous light in his eyes. “Before we punish you though, Derek needs something first.”
Derek stood, hauling her to her feet by her arms and a fistful of her hair. He spun her around, her heavy breasts swaying, then held her close, staring into her eyes. The sun had almost set now, and a warm purple-orange glow lit his rugged face, his eyes glittering in the coming twilight. Fingers, one set of them slippery with her own juices, clamped onto her turgid nipples, the pain flaring, making her wince.
“Now you’ll serve me, Breanna. You see that tree trunk over there?”
Oh no...
She gulped, her breathing quickening as his fingers squeezed further.
“Drape your ass over it. Now.”
Chapter Twenty Three
Derek watched her try to find a comfortable position over the harsh roughness of the trunk’s bark. His cock was so hard it felt like it might actually burst the buttons of his fly in its need
to be unleashed upon this beautiful creature prostrating herself before him.
Finally, Kurt took mercy on her, leaning his hip against the fallen tree, the crop from the cart clenched in one fist, the black flapper stroking the line of her back. “Just put your hands on the bark, girl. That’s enough stalling.”
Derek smiled. “Legs together, and hollow your back, Breanna.”
The position left her ass in perfect, round emphasis, the swollen, dusky purse of her cunt peeking back between tightly clenched thighs. He reached out and palmed her ass, the pink lines from the whip forming a haphazard pattern across the crowns of each buttock. In this position, the undersides of each cheek, nominally protected while she ran in harness, were now utterly exposed, vulnerable, the pale flesh a striking contrast to the well-disciplined upper curves of the lush bottom.
“Now,” Kurt said, crossing his arms, and glancing down at his prostrate wife. “Before you use that wet pussy of yours to provide some relief to your Sir, there is one item we need to address. Your disobedience.”
Three days ago, this would’ve been pure WTF territory for him. Now, as he listened to his friend lecture his wife, Derek had to remember to breathe, resist the urge to pull his cock out right there and stroke it.
Down, boy.
“When you are sucking your Master’s cock, or your Sir’s cock, you’re to always do what, girl?” Kurt’s crop menaced the erect nipples of the pendent breasts.
