by Trent Evans
“Swallow every drop, Sir.”
“And did you?”
“No … Sir.” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, and Derek squeezed her ass gently.
“Do you think we should punish you for that?” Kurt’s crop tapped a turgid nipple, making her flinch.
“Ye-yes, Sir.”
Kurt looked up at the fading light in the sky. “Too late to give you a proper whipping, I’m afraid. A nice spanking might do though. Do you agree?”
“I …” Her voice was barely audible.
“Just agree, girl,” Kurt rumbled, his gaze sharpening.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Yes, what?”
At this point, Derek wanted to fuck her so badly, he’d offer his first born for the chance.
“Yes, I should be … spanked. Sir.”
Her body shuddered at that, and Derek stroked her bottom. “Just a little spanking, Breanna. You’ll live.”
Kurt winked at Derek. “She’s all yours.”
“How many should I give you, Breanna?” Derek had no idea how many he should give her, but making her cooperate in this way seemed to speak to the inner sadist he didn’t even know he harbored.
“As many — as many as you want, Derek.”
“Breanna,” Kurt growled, the crop lightly slapped her hanging breasts, making her yelp.
“As many as you want, Sir.”
Derek knew there was no way he was going to last, the imagery of a hundred champagne bottles popping their corks all at once flooding his mind. He stood next to her, holding her hip against his, then began smacking her. It wasn’t going to be much of a spanking he’d decided — he needed to be inside her too badly.
But after the first ten blows, watching her hips rolling slightly with the smacks, her flesh already beginning to flush with color once more, he thought perhaps her fucking could wait — at least a little while. There was such simple pleasure in this; listening to her rasping breathing, how she bit off her own little yelp at a particularly harsh blow. The luscious wobble of her soft bottom as he spanked her held a sort of hypnotic power — everything else seemed to fade to the background when he punished her.
There was just him, his woman, and her ass. A beautiful ass that called to the predator in him. A beautiful ass that needed to be punished.
“Keep your bottom loose, girl.” Kurt tapped her hip with the crop. “We want to see that bottom jiggle as Derek spanks you. If you clench, I’m going to let him borrow this crop.”
She obeyed as best she could, and they drank in the entrancing sight of her flesh wobbling and bounding under Derek’s increasingly hard blows.
“This is the first time you’ve spanked her isn’t it, Derek?”
“W-what?” Derek couldn’t take his eyes from the movement of her vulnerable flesh, at the way the marks continued to redden, inflamed by each new strike of his palm.
“Ah, I know the feeling,” Kurt murmured. “It’s mesmerizing sometimes. Just you and your woman, alone, punishing her, training her. Making her yours.
Mine.
Derek had thought it more and more during these strange, wonderful few days. Here was this strong, modern, well-educated person. A lawyer. Tough, determined — a force to be reckoned with in any other situation. But here, under his hand, under his control, under his care, she was simply a woman. His woman.
Their woman.
Kurt leaned down, whispering into her ear, and she nodded once. His fingers combed through the sweat sodden locks of her hair, massaging her scalp. Kurt looked back over his shoulder at the fading evening light. “I remember when we were planning this trail, how much I looked forward to bringing her up here to see this view.”
The view was wonderful, the gently rolling hills, the clusters of pine all leading down to the bluff, below which lead back down the valley toward the Columbia river. The light was bleeding from the sky, brilliant oranges giving way to darkening purples.
Kurt turned back to his wife, looking upon her with a fond smile, his hand massaging her nape. “I just didn’t realize you’d get your first glimpse of it as my ponygirl.”
Derek paused, smoothing his palm over the shimmering heat of her bottom, fingering the deep red of the more inflamed marks. He poked at one particularly swollen welt low down on her far cheek, and she hissed, her body tensing against him.
“Hurts?” Derek patted her bottom in mock sympathy. “Just a little more to go, Breanna. Then it’s time for my reward.” Curious, he grasped both buttocks, easing them apart to get a better view of her pussy. His fingers spread her open, her slick flesh glistening. His cock throbbed again at the thought of how it would feel to sink into all that liquid heat. What surprised him though was how turned on she still was, after all of this. After whipping her around the track, forcing her up this trail, and now, presenting herself for a completely undeserved (though still darkly exciting) spanking over a bottom already scored with a pattern of whip marks.
Kurt caught his gaze, giving him a quick grin. “It’s one of my favorites, you know. Remember when you found us? In her stall? I like nothing better than to have her there, over my lap. Under my hands, nothing else matters. It’s just me, her — and her submission to me.” Kurt stroked her cheek. “But now it’s not just you and I anymore, is it girl?”
“No.” She swallowed. “No, Sir.”
“That’s right. You’ve got two masters now, don’t you?” Kurt tugged on her blonde ponytail. “Things just got a lot more difficult for you.”
Derek stroked the outside curves of her bottom, framing her hips in his hands, then ran his knuckles down the satin skin of her thighs, insinuating his fingers between her legs. “Open.”
Her legs spread apart, just a little, but it was enough. His touch coursed up the tender inner thighs until the edges of his hands brushed the soft petals of her cunt, her moist flesh sticking to his.
“I think she should be spanked more often though,” Kurt said. He lifted a shoulder. “What do you think, Derek? Should we spank her once a week? Once a day?”
“If I had her to myself, I don’t think she’d ever sit down in comfort,” Derek muttered.
The words surprised him though. He’d never considered himself any aficionado of corporal punishment, but what he felt while he spanked her, whipped her, paddled her. It was something different, something special. To see that it turned her on — really turned her on — helped, but still he struggled with what this all meant. Where this was going.
Was this all entirely fucked up? Yes. Was he a sadist in kind, decent Derek’s clothing? Apparently so.
Was he starting not to care about that fact?
Absolutely.
“I think we’ll put a new schedule in place for you, girl.” Kurt pushed himself away from the log, then walked around the end, standing on the opposite side with his back facing them, taking in that twilight view, his hands on his hips, the black menace of the crop dangling from his fingers. “We’ll do once a week to start. We’ll alternate. Since Derek has the pleasure tonight, it’ll be my turn to redden that cute little backside of yours next week. Say, what? Thursday night?”
“Kurt, no …” she murmured in a strained voice. She shifted under Derek’s hands, and he shushed her, squeezing her bottom, savoring the soft yielding of her hot flesh.
Kurt glanced back, eyes darkening. “Something you’d like to say about that idea?”
Her sigh sent a soft shudder through her body that made Derek smile. Then she dropped her head, a little whisper of breeze stirring her blonde hair. “No, Sir.”
“Good,” Kurt said. “Because for a second there, I thought you might actually be objecting to my plans for you.”
Kurt caught Derek’s eye. “Sometimes, even after all these years, she forgets herself. Has to be reminded to obey me.” The crop was extended, handle first, over her back toward Derek. “Just in case, let’s remind her again.”
Derek’s mouth went dry, but he took the offered implement, already imaginin
g the mark the first stroke would leave.
Exactly when did you become evil, Derek?
“You sure, Kurt?”
His friend nodded, then turned away once more, looking up, inhaling deeply of the cooling evening air. “Trust me. She needs it.”
Derek looked at the bottom prostrated before him. The cheeks were suffused with a deep pink glow, with splotches of deep red where the whip marks crossed or where his hand had fallen hardest. Breanna froze as he laid the crop low across the part of her bottom comparatively unmarked by the whip.
“Only a few, Breanna.” He pulled the crop back and snapped it down. The flesh whitened in a line across both cheeks, then the mark darkened quickly. Exhaling sharply, Breanna went up on her toes, squeezing her cheeks hard together.
Derek tapped the crop lower, aiming. The implement was well designed, most of the weight being in the braided leather handle, and he found it very easy to control. He tapped her where her bottom met her trembling thighs.
“He needs practice with the crop anyway, girl,” Kurt said, still turned away. “The carriage whip is fine for what it is, but you need to know what it will feel like when your owner really decides you need more serious discipline.” Kurt moved around the end of the trunk again, leaning his hip against the bark once more. He touched her cheek with his knuckles. “Or when he wants more speed from you on the track.”
The second stroke was harder, and laid down across more tender skin. This time Breanna cried out, shaking her bottom, the cheeks clenching, widening, then tightening once more. The line left by the stroke filled in even quicker this time, swelling immediately into a vivid dark red weal to match its twin embossed in her flesh just above it.
Breanna’s breath came hard and fast, and her thighs shook. Derek couldn’t help it, his fingers tracing the swollen marks. The roughness and heat he felt there was startling, but that didn’t keep his cock from swelling even more, his erection almost painful now. He pried open her buttocks, rubbing the tip of the crop between the lips of her sex. He pushed back the hood of her clitoris, worrying the deep red bundle of nerves with the flapper of the crop.
“Oh God,” Breanna breathed, as Derek stroked the shaft of the crop through her cleft, wetting its blackness with a bright sheen of moisture.
“One more, Breanna,” Derek murmured. “Then I’m fucking this wet cunt of yours.”
He met Kurt’s gaze, and his friend gave him a nod.
The crop whipped down across the very tops of Breanna’s vulnerable thighs, and she let loose a keening scream, the muscles of her legs clenching into stony rigidity. Her hips bobbed up and down as if to try to shake off the hurt burning into her flesh. The weal across her thighs was instantly swollen, darkening by the second. Part of Derek was horrified by the fierceness of the blow, but another part of him was fascinated by her marks, at the feeling that swirled within him as he punished her.
How could hurting this gorgeous woman excite him so? What was happening to him?
“Ah God! Please, no more,” she grated out. Then her voice broke, her back hitching as she wept.
“You did so well, girl,” Kurt murmured into her ear, kissing it as his fingers wiped away her tears, his other hand kneading the pendent weight of her breasts as they hung below her. “No more now. Be a good girl, and be still now.”
The heat of her cunt almost matched the heat of her marks as Derek thrust into her, seating himself fully in one long, steady plunge.
She gasped, the muscles of her pussy clamping onto him.
“Every second of today I’ve wanted to do this.” Derek grasped her hips hard, pulling back then lunging forward again, drawing a surprised sound from her. He luxuriated in the feel of the hot weals against his lower belly, the way her pussy seemed to vibrate around his shaft. He reached under her and found that hard clit, swiping a finger across it, making her yelp. Her hips began to writhe then, and she pushed her bottom back against him, seating his cock even more fully within her. His fingers stroked her roughly again, then with a little tweak of that hard clit, he took them away, clasping both of her hips once more.
“Not this time, Breanna. This is for me now, for your Sir. Torturing me with that cute little ass of yours, those big breasts. It’s too much — and it’s cruel. And now I’m going to take what’s mine as a reward.”
Cruel? Hello, glass house? This is stone calling.
But the contradiction, the unfairness of it, didn’t matter. In fact, that unfairness was the entire point. This wasn’t about fair. This was about a woman submitting herself to her men, giving of her body for their pleasure — and hers. That it was unfair, unjust, even cruel, only added spice to it. As he took up hard, punishing thrusts, the head of his cock butting up against her womb at each stroke, he felt the rightness of things now. This was how it was meant to be between them.
This woman, this body, this cunt.
His.
“Open for him, girl,” Kurt said, taking her chin in his hand and forcing her head up, locking his stern gaze with hers. “Show him how much you want him inside you. Taking that pussy. That pussy that drips for him. Drips for us.”
As he stroked within the heavenly, wet tightness of her pussy, Derek looked over the valley below, took in the beauty all around him, the beauty below him, the beauty clasped in his hands. It was almost too much then, how right this was, how vital this was. His spirits soared as his climax neared, as the exquisite pressure built within him, his balls tightening.
Some moments in life stayed with a man forever, and as he gazed at the beauty of nature, of the world, as he took the woman he knew he never wanted to let go ever again, he knew this would be one of them. The perfect moment; the pleasure, the joy, the brilliant intensity of living, of being human, and over all of that … the thrilling, terrifying power of deeper feelings just beginning to blossom.
This moment in time held all of it, and he knew he’d never forget it.
Then with a devious squeeze of her wet cunt around his cock, he came, throwing his head back with a soul-deep groan as his vision blacked, all of his consciousness concentrated on the incredible pleasure, his seed pouring from him. His hips bucked against her hard several times, his muscles cramping as orgasm crested, the sensation almost too much.
“Breanna, Breanna,” Derek said, his breathing heavy, hands on her back holding himself up, her pussy still squeezing his half-erect cock. “Never leave. You’ll never leave. Us.”
“Ours,” Kurt rumbled, his fist in her hair. His hand smacked her cheek, and she let out a breath. “Say it. Now!”
“I’m yours,” she whispered, her eyes wild, her breathing labored. “Always, yours. Masters.”
The word hit Derek hard. The meaning behind it, the meaning he heard in her soft voice.
Master.
Derek’s cock slipped from Breanna’s pussy, and he straightened, patting her hip possessively. She murmured as he wiped his still partially erect shaft on her ass, leaving a trail of her wetness across the inflamed, well-spanked flesh.
“Come on,” Kurt said, pulling her up by her hair. He pressed a hard kiss to her lips, his gaze fiery. Then he nodded toward Derek. “We need to get back. It’ll be dark soon, and we don’t have any lights up here yet.”
“What kinda cheap joint you runnin’ here anyway?” Derek said with a grin.
Breanna let out a surprised yelp as Kurt pulled the saddle strap tight, bringing her up onto her toes as he roughly tied it off at the back of her harness. Derek fondled her breasts as she waited, eyes down, as Kurt secured her arms behind her once more, jostling her as he ensured her straps were snug.
Then they made their way back down the hill, each man taking turns in the cart behind her striding legs, and churning whip-scored buttocks. As Derek took his turn, flicking her hip with the whip, his eyes fixated on her semen-slickened inner thighs. His imagination wandered as he watched her. He pictured her pussy stoppered with a thick plug, retaining his seed within her. In his mind’s eye, he could see her wa
iting in their bedroom in the heat of a summer evening, naked on elbows and knees, her head down, her broad round bottom up, her hugely swollen belly below her. He could hear her murmurs as he slid his cock deep, his hands gathering up her breasts to squeeze them, his fingers playing with the darkened, enlarged nipples. His cock stirred anew at the thought.
What, you want to get her pregnant now, too? You’ve lost your fucking mind.
Maybe not now, not really, but he remembered his ex, how she was horrified at the very idea of children. He’d always wanted them, knew he’d make a good father someday. And he knew how beautiful a woman like Breanna would look pregnant.
But as she made her way off the hill, and brought the cart toward the barn, Kurt urging her into an exaggerated tit-bouncing gait once more, one word still rang over and over in Derek’s mind.
Master.
Chapter Twenty Four
The waters of Elliott Bay reflected the afternoon sunlight up into her eyes. Her assistant, Tina, had tried to pull the shades, but Breanna had stopped her. It wasn't sunny that often in Seattle, and she wanted to soak it all up — even way up there in her office, twenty five stories above the street.
That sun reminded her of that baking track, the freshly cut dusty trail up the hillside. It reminded her of them. Their deep, growling voices, the hard, merciless hands, the thick cocks stretching her.
She still didn't know what she was supposed to do, supposed to feel. It was still a little uncomfortable to sit on anything hard. The mementos of her weekend of submission and objectification; of pleasure and pain. Kurt had left marks before of course, but nothing like these. The first day back, she'd stood in front of the full-length mirror in the early morning light of her bedroom, and stared at the vivid colors of her bruises. Now, the colors had faded away, only a shadow of them left — but the memories remained.
Yes, it's all you can think about, Breanna.
But that wasn't all of it, not by a long shot. Kurt had murmured it to her, before Derek had lain down those lines of fire with that evil crop. It was a lot more complicated now. More than even she'd expected. Fantasies never held complications, never tripped you up with little things like reality, ramifications, and difficulty.
