by Trent Evans
“Are you okay? Anything hurting?”
“No, Sir.”
Please touch my pussy, please, please, please.
Still, he said nothing as he stared at her, dropping a chain from the upper crossbar of the frame and latching it to one of the rings of her collar. As he hauled down on the chain, the collar pressed uncomfortably, but tolerably, against her windpipe, making her lift her chin to alleviate the pull somewhat. He tied off the chain, pulling on it to make sure it wasn’t too taut, then stood back, his blazing eyes never leaving hers.
“I hate to leave you like this, girl, but I need to talk to Kurt.” Derek gave Breanna’s companion in bondage a gallant nod. “I trust you two will keep each other company?”
“Yes, Sir,” Elaina said, nodding back as much as the strictures of her own bindings allowed.
Derek left with a quick caress of Breanna’s cheek, then she watched him stride away, admiring once again the power in those muscular, compact buttocks his jeans showed to such advantage. She watched him make his way back to the crowd, looking for, then finding Kurt and George, both engaged in conversation with Tom and Kort. Lino, after fastening Elaina to her own frame and leaving her with a harsh slap to her bottom, had joined Brayden in attending Genna, both men massaging her legs. The girl’s head lolled back on her shoulders, but whether from pain or pleasure, Breanna couldn’t tell.
“He adores you,” Elaina said, her voice low and smooth, huskier than Breanna’s own. “I remember that look.”
“What look?” Breanna wasn’t yet used to speech, and she worked her jaw.
“The look of possession, ownership. It comes over them at different times, in different ways. But they all feel it.”
Breanna made a soft sound of frustration. “I should be mortified, catatonic, after what just happened. Yet, all I can think about it why he still holds back from me.”
“He didn’t hold back on your ass.”
The flush heated Breanna’s cheeks. “I … well—”
“You don’t need to explain, Breanna. I’ve been there. I know.”
“How? You’re married to George.” Breanna gulped, afraid suddenly that perhaps she’s assumed too much. “Right?”
“Of course, but I’m not sure wife is the correct term anymore.”
“What would you call it?”
Several of the men, all in dark suits, strode across the dirt of the infield toward where Johan stood over a now kneeling Simona.
“I’d call it more like slavery.”
What the fuck?
Elaina gave her a wry smile, turning her head with effort against the stiff collar. “Surprises you?”
“I guess it doesn’t — if I’m honest about it.”
“No reason not to be, dear.” Elaina inhaled deeply, her breasts rising and falling. “These men force us to be. Force us to confront who we really are, don’t they?”
“Yes… I had no idea though.”
“About yourself?”
Breanna smiled. “I’ve known about that since about, oh, ten. It’s him that’s surprised me. It’s just gone deeper and deeper.”
“Oh, you mean your husband then? George saw it in him a long time ago though. A natural, really. Why do you think he steered Kurt toward taking the position?”
“What — what position?”
Elaina blanched, turning her head away for a moment, with a muttered curse. “I’ve spoken out of turn, Breanna. I apologize. Wasn’t my news to give. Ask him when he comes back.”
“I’m not waiting until then.” Breanna tried to turn but the way the chain pulled upward on her collar made it impossible. “I want to know what the hell is going on here. What position?”
“I can’t.”
“You can.” Breanna softened her voice, her eyes watching a knot of spectators as they drifted closer to where the frames stood. “Just tell me. I won’t say a word. Please.”
“Oh all right,” Elaina whispered. “My bottom can’t be any more roasted than it already is anyway.”
“Hurry, they’re coming closer,” Breanna hissed. The small group was definitely meandering there way now, talking amongst themselves as they walked.
“Kurt agreed to become director of this facility.”
“This is just a farm.”
“Not anymore it’s not.”
“So what does that mean? Quit his job? Move out here?”
“Probably something you should as him, my dear.” Breanna’s voice hushed. “Listen to me now though. They expect us not to talk. Silent dumb animals, remember?”
“I …”
“Breanna, this is important. They’re going to touch you, they may even talk to you — but don’t reply with words.”
“Why not?” Breanna’s pulse pounded harder by the second, the group of spectators now a mere thirty feet away.
“They’ll punish you if you do.”
The thought made her mouth dry up, even as she felt the traitorous uncoiling deep in her belly. What did that mean? Was there a limit to what turned her on anymore?”
“Now,” Elaina murmured. “Silence, Breanna.”
The men, four of them in all crowded close, blocking her view of her husband conversing with Derek and George.
“These are the two who Placed and Showed, right?” The accent was something she couldn’t place, New England maybe, mostly submerged. She chanced a glance up at him. A strong jaw, with a neatly trimmed beard black as night, and eyes that glittered as he looked her body up an down.
“The other tracks could learn from this display,” another said, the smile in his voice. “I can’t recall a race with that many big tits bouncing along the track at once.
Laughter rumbled through the group of men.
“Is this George’s then?” Another man, a quieter voice than somehow unsettled Breanna. Then she remembered him from the little pre-race inspection. He was the one who’d fondled and molested Simona as if she were so much horseflesh, her pleased owner looking on.
A slap rang out, and Elaina inhaled sharply. Then another one, louder, and Breanna looked over. The cruel man was standing directly in front of Elaina, trying to meet her downcast gaze, his hand slapping her breasts left then right, red splotches deepening upon their vulnerable slopes.
“Not much sag at all in this mare’s tits, either. Surprising for the size of them, and for her age.” The cruel man looked back at one of his friends. “Do you remember the retreat last year? That dark-eyed one with the gold rings in her nipples? That smaller breasted one?”
“She one the championship at the Retreat.”
“Yep, that’s the one.” The cruel man turned back to Elaina, pulling one of her breasts up by a pinched nipple, shaking it back and forth as dog might shake a chew toy. “Her Owner let the entire gallery have a go at her after the race, even though she’d won. Took almost two hours for everyone to get a turn. I almost felt sorry for the filly.”
“Looks like Johan has the same idea.” The men murmured, turning their heads to the stocks in midfield.
Breanna couldn’t make out everything, having to peek over the broad shoulders of one of the men. Simona was now surrounded by men, perhaps a dozen of them, a few of them talking and laughing with Johan as he observed, the faint crack of a paddle sounding even from that great distance.
“Now this one. I’ve never seen her before.” The air changed as the man drew close, and Breanna dropped her gaze to his feet, her eye noting the impeccable crease of his gray slacks, the black gleam of the Ferragamo shoes something she was used to seeing in a courtroom rather than on this twisted parody of a farm.
“Kurt’s wife,” one of the men said, pleasure in his voice. “First time competing too, Tom told me.”
“Another beauty,” Cruel man said, tipping up Breanna’s chin to gaze into her eyes. She saw not an ounce of warmth in his admittedly striking blue eyes, yet despite that, her body reacted, her nipples beading to stones, the lips of her sex tingling, heat gathering between her legs.
Even cruelty makes you wet now? What happened to you?
What had a happened? As she stood there, hopelessly bound, the man’s hands gathering up the weight of her breasts, bouncing them in his palms, she considered it, stepping out of herself for a moment. For the first time, she seriously considered the tantalizing question that had been dancing around the edges of her awareness.
Was this what she’s been seeking?
Where once she’d seen this as a lark, a diversion, even recreation, now something had fundamentally altered within her. Did she want to go back to that life? The safety of her practice, the familiar, the comfortable. Or did she fear regretting for the rest of her days not taking that leap, taking that chance she’d not really seen until this moment. Perhaps the surrealness of the circumstances would sink in later, but in that moment as a perfect strangers hands testing the pliability of her breasts, squeezing them as one might assess a piece of produce, she could see it.
A choice. Two paths she could walk, not knowing how either would end. One called to her mind, to her logic, to her pragmatism, while the other called to her heart, her cunt, and her soul.
And for the first time, she wasn’t sure which one she’d choose.
Elaina’s groan spiraled high, her chains clinking as one of the man knelt down behind her, working one, then two fingers slowly, but remorselessly, deep into the tightness of her ass, making her take them to the knuckles, slapping her welted buttocks, and growling at her to “open that ass up, bitch”.
Cruel man leaned in close, his nails pinching Breanna’s nipples in a fiery throb of pain.
“I see you trying to watch Simona,” his breath brushed her cheek, his hushed voice thick with lust. “You wonder what it would be like, don’t you? I see it in your eyes.”
Breanna bit off a whimper as his fingers clenched tighter, her nipples screaming.
“Someday you’ll be in her place, my buxom filly. And I’ll be there to enjoy you.”
With a sharp slap to each of her breasts the man turned away, striding for the spectacle at the center of the track, his compatriots drifting along in his wake, one of them giving Elaina a last longing look before turning away.
“That wasn’t … so bad.” Breanna snapped her jaw shut as she watched Mr. Cruel go, happy to see him leave.
“Easy for you to say,” Elaina said, wincing. “You didn’t have Marshall trying to shove his whole hand up your ass.”
“Marshall?”
“Yes, he’s —” Elaina blushed crimson “— he enjoys inspecting the fillies after the races. When I raced, years ago, I was a … favorite.”
Breanna looked toward the stands again, searching for her husband, for Derek. She already missed them, missed that male strength next to her, molding her, controlling her. The thought flashed through her mind again, that realization of how natural it all felt, no matter how much she burned with shame, no matter how scared she’d been running on that track. It was being under their thumb, and instrument of and for their lusts that spoke to her. There was a time where such a thought might have seemed alien, and now the only thing that seemed terrifyingly alien, was being away from her two men, her two pillars.
The men that she loved, and that she loved more than she could ever say.
So you show them then, Breanna. Show them that you’re worthy of them, of their love.
And she knew she would.
Elaina made a strange sound, and the noise of the crowd stirred for a moment. A group of men entered the track, slipping under the rail along the edge of the track and moving in Kurt and Derek’s direction.
No.
It was him.
Quinton strode across the track, confidence and arrogance pouring from him as she surveyed the track, grinning and saying something to his men as he spotted the group of spectators mercilessly working Simona over in the infield. Then Quinton’s gaze turned toward them, and Breanna’s blood ran cold.
“Oh God, Elaina,” Breanna whispered, looking over at her companion in chains. “Your own son … how could he?”
“It’s okay,” Elaina said, giving Breanna a pained smile.
“How can that be okay? You’re stark naked…”
“He’s not my son, Breanna.”
“What?”
She watched Kurt and Derek turn toward Quinton, Derek folding his arms across his chest. Quinton’s voice rose as he jabbed a finger toward Brayden, who still knelt with the injured Genna.
“His mother—” Elaina sighed. “— didn’t agree with what George was, what the Trust was. They split up not long before George … met me. Quinton was still a young boy.”
“Thank God,” Breanna breathed. “But mother or not, he’s still family, right? Should he even be here? Seeing you like this?”
“Quinton doesn’t consider me family.” Color bloomed high on her cheeks. “Trust me this isn’t the first time he’s seen me like this.”
Breanna’s chains skirred as she twisted toward her companion. “You’re serious?”
“Of course.”
“And you’re … okay with that? With your …step-son seeing you displayed like an animal?”
“It’s never easy, but he’s the son of a Prime. I don’t have much choice, really.” Elaina looked down, a shudder running through her body. “I’ll do anything for my George though. This is a small price to pay, believe me.”
Quinton gestured toward Breanna, and a chill ran down her spine. Quinton’s goons advanced, Derek dropping his arms and squaring his shoulders.
“Something’s wrong,” Breanna whispered. “What’s happening.”
“I don’t know,” Elaina said. “But there’s something I want to tell you while we have the chance.” Elaina looked pointedly toward the poor Simona, still being used by the spectators. “These men, the Trust. It’s intimidating, and frightening sometimes, what they’ll demand of you. But remember one thing, the one thing that matters. When your man — your men — claim you. They’ll do anything for you, and they’ll never let you be harmed. Never.”
Derek and Kurt, shoulder to shoulder, advanced a step toward Quinton, Kurt’s face darkened with rage. In that moment, her pride in her men swelled. They would protect her, keep her safe. In that moment she felt that same devotion she’d seen in Elaina’s eyes when she spoke of George.
Breanna would do anything for her men too.
“Some of the things they’ll demand of you — they may seem degrading, or painful, or both. But there’s a reason for it, a method to their madness. And there’s a larger purpose to all of this. I didn’t understand it at the beginning either.” Elaina’s sheepish grin lit up her blushing face, and Breanna found her breathtakingly lovely. “In the beginning I was too deep in lust, in the fantasy of all of it to really see. But I learned. And you will too.”
Elaina turned her head and met Breanna’s gaze.
“All you need to remember is to let them love you in their own way — and love them back in yours. For all the strength, and fury, and steel of these men, there’s a secret that only the privileged few of us women know. These men need us as much as we need them.”
Chapter Thirty Four
“I’m taking her tonight, Kurt,” Quinton brushed at the cuff of his shirt, the cuff links flashing in the waning light. “Twenty four hours, as Trust tradition demands. I’m going to enjoy this. She’ll be ruined for you when I get done with her.”
“Quinton, you’re confused.” Kurt’s grin lit up, and Derek tensed, knowing what that meant. Kurt grinned when he was losing it, when a fight was moments away.
“The only person confused here is you, Erickson.” Quinton lifted a chin toward his father George. “He’ll tell you, if you don’t believe it.”
Derek looked to George who stared daggers at his son, then met Kurt’s gaze with a nod.
George stood to one side, an elbow leaning against the railing, his rich jacket unbuttoned. Derek couldn’t understand why the man looked so relaxed. Judging by the gaggle of meatheads Quinton deci
ded to bring along with him, there was about to be huge fucking fight.
And he and Kurt were probably going to lose.
Kurt’s jaw clenched so hard Derek could almost hear it creak. “After what we saw with Genna today, there’s no way I’m letting her go with you, Quinton. No fucking way.”
Quinton paused for just the briefest of moments, his eyes sliding from Kurt to his father, then back again. “You know what this means, don’t you Erickson?”
“Enlighten us, dick.” Derek hated this squaring up shit. If this was going down, he wanted to get it over with. One of Quinton’s boys reached into his coat, and Derek stepped right up to him, nose to nose, so close he could smell the man’s cigarette breath. “Don’t do it, friend. Don’t fucking do it.”
“Derek’s right,” Kurt growled. “You want her? Try and take her you little fuck. I don’t care what the rules are, what the Trust tradition says. I’m not letting some little damaged goods head case take my wife for one second let alone twenty four hours.”
Two of Quinton’s men pulled the third away from Derek, giving Derek a shove in the chest to try to back him off.
Kurt grabbed Derek’s arm, pulling him back too, muttering under his breath: “Dude, it’s all right. Be cool here.”
“Kurt, perhaps we should talk about this in more—” George nodded toward the crowd milling about around them, several people stopping to watch the confrontation “— we don’t have to do this here.”
“I’ll fill a grievance with The Council, Kurt,” Quinton said, triumph lighting his face. He smiled expansively, gesturing toward the crowd. “There’s more than enough witnesses here today to confirm everything that was said.”
