Acres, Natalie - Sex Addict [Cowboy Addiction 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More)

by Natalie Acres

  “I still have one in my sights,” he grumbled, probably aware of how his cow comparison would piss her off.

  “You’re such a charming little fellow. Aren’t you?”

  “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

  Kit was right. She’d always enjoyed sarcastic men with a dry sense of humor. At the moment, she appreciated Kit’s cockiness. The way he pursued her made her damp as her pussy clenched with anticipation.

  Expectations were high. Sex was in the air. Lust was leading her fellows around by the nose.

  She placed her palms forward, guarding her body as it heated behind her forward effort to ward off an outright capture. “What do you say we postpone this? Hmm?”

  “I like the timing of right now,” Kit said, still pursuing her.

  “Kemper!” she exclaimed, daring him to help her, but it was too late. She’d seen the sudden change in him when he’d hauled her off to that drab dungeon. He had no plans to save her.

  He was more interested in her corruption.

  Not that she’d need any help. She wondered then if she should share with them where she’d been. Would it take away or add to the experience if they realized she’d been trained to submit, taught to serve? Nay, they’d never believe her anyway. She was too strong willed.

  “I have a choice here, right?” she asked.

  “Strip,” Kit told her.

  “Now?” she screeched, thinking of several reasons why she’d rather wait and lose her clothes in the basement.

  “Yes, now,” Kit replied, his eyes burning through hers. “If I ask again, I’ll spank you with a paddle as we walk downstairs. Imagine Mrs. Daniels’s delight when she stands as a witness to the spanking you deserve?”

  Holly gulped. “Don’t do this. Don’t embarrass me in front of the house staff.”

  “Why not?” Kit demanded. “You seem to enjoy humiliating them.”

  “That’s not true,” Holly said. “Mrs. Daniels and I may carry on with one another but I respect her. We have a good time.”

  “She wouldn’t tell the same story,” Kit informed her.

  “But I’m speaking the truth,” Holly said, feeling as if she were being scolded for a gross misunderstanding. She’d thought she and Mrs. Daniels were indeed buddies. Had the housekeeper complained to Kit and Kemper? Had Mrs. Daniels told them she was too demanding? “I’ll have a talk with Mrs. Daniels. If she thinks I’ve disrespected her in any way, I’ll apologize. It’s not in my nature to hurt someone’s feelings intentionally.”

  “You’re stalling, Holly. I told you to strip. I’m assuming you understand that doesn’t mean this time next week.”

  Kemper nodded. “I have to agree with Kit. You’re wasting time. We have a load of Holsteins coming in later today. After spending two hours in that basement, you can imagine how much time we’ve lost this morning.”

  “You live on a cowboy’s minute anyway,” she said, pitching out one of her favorite sayings. Cowboys around there were never in any particular hurry. True farmers, Kit and Kemper grew corn and tobacco. They worked the land and their stock, which rotated around the clock if the eighteen-wheelers rolling in and out of there were any indication.

  “I’m counting to ten. If every stitch of clothing isn’t off you by the time I’m finished, your sweet ass is whipped, spanked so hard that pilots in the sky will see your bright butt and swear they’ve caught a glimpse of a small wood-burning fire. Understand?”

  Holly’s nostrils flared. Oh, she was furious now. She yanked her T-shirt over her head then peeled off her shorts and stepped away from her shoes. She unclasped her bra and wiggled away from her thong. With her arms spread wide, she said, “Ta-da! Now what?”

  “Now, my dear, your training begins,” Kit replied, retrieving a pair of handcuffs from his front pocket. He yanked her arms behind her and snapped the cuffs over her wrists.

  He wasn’t gentle, and that turned her on. A zip of fire licked at her folds, stroking her cunt with the easy reminder of how quickly Kit and Kemper aroused her.

  “Easy,” Kemper rasped, acting as if he were deeply bothered to see Kit secure her hands behind her back.

  “Perfect,” Kit crooned, studying her chest. He licked his lips and dropped his head, suckling her nipple as he brought the tender point between his teeth.

  “I see you have all sorts of control,” Kemper grumbled.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Holly said, feeling satisfied she’d tempted the devil out of hell. If Kit thought he could hide behind Domination and submission, bondage and toy play, he was due for disappointment.

  She’d break the Dom before she ever had the need for a safe word, which she might want to establish sometime soon.

  Kit cupped her right breast and flipped the nipple, flattening his tongue against the protruding shape as she jerked. He took painstakingly slow strokes, indulging in her lust as he tucked his hand under her cunt and left his palm open and wide under her moist pussy lips.

  Once, she bumped against his hand, and he slapped her mound. “Oh no you don’t.”

  She arched a brow. “What’s wrong, Kit? Are you afraid if you wet your fingers, you’ll want to dampen that little willy, too?”

  Kemper snorted at that.

  Kit actually snickered as well. “I’ll show you a small boy’s toy a little later, babe. Right now, I’d rather torture you.”

  “Torture, huh?” She shivered on purpose, going as far as clattering her teeth. “You frighten me!”

  “Smart-ass.”

  “You wouldn’t have me any other way,” she told him, noticing how the lust darkened his hooded eyes. Kit got off on this, and she got off on men like Kit when they acted like a Dom in heat.

  Kit shoved his hand in his pocket again. This time, he retrieved nipple clamps with shiny little silver bells. She was beginning to like it when Kit’s hand disappeared. He always withdrew a new intriguing gadget from his jeans.

  “There you go again, hiding behind your toys and making excuses for acting like such a little boy.”

  Kit snarled. “Are you insulting me, sub?”

  She hoped so. She’d needed a good spanking all day.

  “I’m so sorry, Master,” she drawled, her eyes downcast. Immediately, she lifted her gaze and shifted her feet. She needed to watch herself until she decided whether or not she wanted her lovers to know she’d been involved with a Dom in the past.

  “Good,” Kit replied, taking his finger and tweaking the bell. The little ding resounded around them. “You’re forgiven. This time.”

  “Perfect,” she muttered, realizing then Mrs. Daniels would come running when she heard them walking downstairs.

  “All right, then,” Kit said, standing behind her. “March, sub. Keep your head high and don’t look to either side. If you mind us, you’ll be rewarded when you reach the basement.”

  “Perfect,” she said once more, put out but also highly aroused. God, she needed sex. What was wrong with her? All she thought about was screwing. It was her first thought in the morning and her last thought at night.

  She needed that erotic balls-to-the-wall, fucking-like-crazy kind of sex. But she didn’t want witnesses, unless of course she was in Times Square and then everyone could watch. Why not? If she gained her shot at ten seconds of fame, she wanted the world to know where she excelled.

  In her short life, she’d heard about her talents often enough. She once had a professional athlete pay for her service, and he really stroked her ego, not to mention every opening she possessed. He’d paid her a bonus because he said a woman with a golden pussy deserved to spend the money her treasure earned her.

  Maybe that’s why she spent so much Keesling dough. She’d been taught to use her assets for benefits.

  Kit guided her forward, taking hold of her shoulders and pushing her into a slow stroll, holding her back whenever she tried to pick up the pace a notch or two.

  They reached the second floor landing, and Holly heard voices beneath them. “Damn!” she ra
sped. “Morgan is down there.”

  “And Morgan has been required to do some of the very things we’ll expect from you.”

  “I doubt Blake and Grant humiliated her and made her walk in front of you.”

  “Of course they didn’t. She’s our sister.”

  “My point exactly! I don’t want her to see me like this!”

  “She won’t,” Kemper assured her.

  “Morgan is a sub,” she whispered, still processing. “Are you kidding me?”

  “You’d be surprised at how many strong women are actually subs and sex slaves,” Kemper said.

  No, she wouldn’t. Kit might be shocked to learn how many strong women she’d seen at lifestyle clubs, chained and gagged one minute and toting briefcases the next. She’d watched many of them hurry off to a meeting after an afternoon of bondage and submission.

  As they walked closer to the foyer, Holly picked up her pace again. She wanted this behind her as quickly as possible. It was bad enough that her lovers’ little sister didn’t like her. The last thing she needed was to bump into Morgan as she walked the submissive’s stroll of shame.

  She lowered her eyes as if to say to those in the world of Domination and submission she was submitting to her Dom’s request. As if Morgan wouldn’t know. She often disappeared with Blake and Grant for hours at a time.

  Holly always suspected they were downstairs, but she would’ve never guessed what she might have experienced there. And she wouldn’t have thought the Keesling little sister—once a crystal meth junkie—would be stable enough to step into the role of a submissive.

  Soon, Holly would log her own hours there in that dimly lit dungeon, too. She wondered then if she’d lost her mind. What kind of woman relinquished all control to her lovers?

  She’d heard horror stories in the past which was one reason she typically didn’t become involved with Doms in the first place. In today’s world, and particularly in the strip club business she’d recently left behind, anything could happen.

  A woman entering Domination and submission had to understand the consequences. More than anything else, submissives needed complete trust and the willingness to hand over her devotion and loyalty to the Doms in charge of her pleasure and care. She took a deep breath. She wondered then—could she trust Kit and Kemper enough?

  She knew the answer without hesitation—absolutely.

  They hit the last stair, and Kit guided her off to the right. “No,” she shrieked. “The basement is left! Go left!”

  “Morgan and Mrs. Daniels are in the kitchen. We’ll walk through there first.”

  “Why?” she screeched.

  “Why not?” Kit asked.

  “Can I use a safe word at some point?”

  Kit stopped and used her body to spin her around. “What do you know about safe words?” he asked, his eyes aglow with the knowledge she’d hidden how much she understood about the lifestyle.

  “Enough,” she replied. “I’d like to use my safe word right now. It’s sexathon.”

  “I like that one,” Kemper told her, grinning at Kit. “Guess she just dropped a tit in your watering mouth, huh?”

  Kit grunted. “I’ll survive.”

  “Good,” Kemper said, taking her by the arm and leading her to the basement. As the noises from the kitchen faded behind her, Kemper whispered in her ear, “You played right into his hand, you know. He suspected you understood more about the lifestyle than you’d ever admit.”

  “He used the threat of public embarrassment so I’d come clean?”

  “His tactics worked, didn’t they?” Kemper asked, arching a brow. “You can’t knock the life when you obviously love it.”

  “I do not,” she snipped, trailing behind him after he walked in front of her.

  When they reached the middle of the room, Kemper swept her off her feet, carrying her cradle-style to the solid stool behind the ugly blue curtain. Her body was overly sensitive to his touch, the excitement tickling her muscles as the heat and moisture pooled at her entrance.

  Without an explanation, Kemper drew the drapes. “I have to work. Kit will be down in a minute to get you started. Your training will keep you busy this afternoon. I’ll see you later.” He dropped a peck on her forehead and disappeared on the other side of the curtain.

  “You aren’t leaving me down here!” she screamed, standing at once. Nudging her knee against the curtain, she managed to squeeze between the heavy material and wall. Breaking free of the entrapment, she walked three steps—maybe four—and bumped right into Kit.

  “Kemper is tied up all afternoon. Good thing, too. Now, by the looks of things here, it’s only me and you.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  His fingers rubbed over her hard nipples. “Yes, I see that. In fact, I’ve never seen a submissive woman nearly this excited.”

  Chapter Eight

  Morgan was studying a new filly at the fence when Kemper joined her. “Hey there, pretty little sister. How’s it going?”

  She smiled as their new arrival toddled off on wobbly legs, spooked when Kemper appeared at the fence. “Question is, how are you?”

  “I’m great,” he replied, beaming.

  “I imagine that’s true,” she said. “I heard Holly screaming her blasted head off about an hour ago. She must’ve been under the impression that you really didn’t mean to lock her downstairs.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll have a talk with her. Tell her to keep her voice down.”

  “You do that. I’m sure she’ll listen,” Morgan said, thinking the defiant woman would really give her lungs a workout then. If Morgan had learned anything at all, it was how Holly responded to constructive criticism and their occasional requests.

  Holly defied them at every turn, which was probably part of her appeal. Morgan believed her brothers had never faced bigger challenges than the ones Holly constructed on a daily basis.

  Morgan stared at Kemper, her thoughts gathering quicker than she could convey them. “You know, Kemper, Holly may not be what you’re looking for in a submissive woman. This isn’t a lifestyle everyone easily adapts to and not everyone wants to accept the same practices.”

  “Why did you?”

  She grabbed hold of the top plank and swung backward. “You have to ask? I grew up watching you and Kit disappear in the basement with these beautiful, sexy women. I always imagined one day, some handsome man would sweep me off my feet, drag me down to that basement, and make mad and passionate love to me.”

  “I don’t think I want to hear this,” Kemper grumbled.

  “Maybe not but perhaps you need to listen to Holly. Part of being the ultimate Dom is being able to hear what your sub tells you. It’s not entirely about control, which is often the universal misconception.”

  “I thought you didn’t like Holly.”

  “I don’t have an opinion about her either way. She’s already judged me and that’s okay. I’m sure you’ve confided in her and I don’t fault you for that.”

  Kemper frowned. “We don’t discuss you with Holly. We never have.”

  “Maybe not, but she’s been here long enough to see the good times and bad. When she first arrived here, I was clean but only remained that way for a few days, if you’ll remember. A few weeks of sobriety and I had a setback. I’m sure it was ugly. I don’t remember much about it.”

  “You’ve made one mistake since you’ve been home. There’s no reason to think you’ll have another relapse.”

  “There’s no reason for you to believe another relapse will never occur, Kemper. That’s one thing I’ve learned. Every day of my life, I’ll have the craving. I’ll want the drug. Fortunately, I want love and happiness in my life more. My fellas won’t put up with a drug user and they love me enough to hold me accountable.”

  Kemper patted her arm. “I think if you and Holly gave one another a chance, you’d get along.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Some folks aren’t supposed to be friends, but it won’t change
fate and I believe we’re destined to become sisters-in-law. If so, then who knows, maybe down the road we’ll find common ground.”

  “I really don’t think she judges you.”

  “I couldn’t care less either way. If I’ve learned anything through the healing process it’s this. Addiction is a disease no one understands unless they’ve been there and done that. Addicts are shunned. They’re ostracized by the world and often viewed as animals. Quite honestly, they’re treated even worse.

  “I remember once you asked me to go into rehab. I never told you, but I wanted to go. Unfortunately, I had too many friends on the streets. Many of them tried various programs. They didn’t find sobriety in rehab, they found other addicts, better connections for locating their drugs.

  “There at the end, I didn’t go because I was scared. I was a coward. I’m just lucky I had men like you and Kit for brothers, men like Blake and Grant for lovers.”

  Kemper playfully covered his ears. “I told you I don’t want to hear about that.”

  She laughed. “They’re your best friends. I’m sure they’ve mentioned me a time or two.”

  “Sure they have,” he said, winking. “And Kit told them both if they ever mention doing the nasty with you, he’ll bar them from using our basement.”

  “Then I guess they never breathe my name.”

  “They must have some kind of time down there. I wouldn’t know. I don’t stand at the door with my ear pressed against the wooden panels.”

  “You knew I did that?”

  “Why do you think Kit and I stopped dating when you were a junior in high school?”

  “I figured no woman wanted you. Lord knows, you’d tried enough of them. They always came and went. Holly is the only gal I can remember sticking around for longer than a week.”

  “That’s not true. Mona was here one summer. That gorgeous lady from New Orleans, what was her name? Oh yeah, Peggy Ann. She stayed two months.” Kemper looked toward the fields. “But you’re right. I have a feeling Holly will be around for years to come if Kit doesn’t scare her off first.”

  “Then what are you doing with me? If I were you, I’d go supervise her training. A submissive wants to know she’s adored and cherished as much as any other woman. And she wants to feel safe. Depending on how Kit handles her, she may not feel as protected as what you might think. That basement is pretty intimidating.” A beat later, she added, “A submissive longs for security, Kemper. She wants to know she has a rock, a solid foundation to support her. Always remember that.”