The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series)

by Sawyer Bennett

  I shudder, hoping to God he doesn’t auction me off to some old perv. Every night in The Silo has been an absolute torture as I wait to see what he’ll make me do. For the past three nights, he’s kept it fairly simple. The first night he did nothing but parade me around, fully clothed, which lulled me into a false sense of security.

  The next night, he struck up a conversation with one of the other patrons and quickly found out he was a cattle baron, which are frankly a dime a dozen out here, but they are incredibly wealthy. Hell, all the patrons at The Silo are sinfully rich.

  They’d have to be to afford the $50,000 membership fee.

  So with the cattle baron looking at me with undisguised lust, and Magnus calculating mentally how much I could sell for, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to give the man a “freebie”.

  Now, since my “virginal” status is what’s being peddled, the freebie did not mean sex. Magnus made it very clear when he told the man—whose name I do not even know because we were never introduced—that there could be no penetration of my vagina.

  I mean, that’s literally how he said it in that formal, polite way. “You may not put anything in her vagina.”

  I winced because it sounded so clinical. I also winced because that left a lot of other things the man could do to me, and while blow jobs were not unknown to me, I did not want anything near my ass.

  Turns out my worries were for nothing, because the man was more than happy to accept a blow job.

  And it was awful.

  I mean… blow jobs aren’t awful, if you’re with someone you are genuinely attracted to and maybe even have a measure of care for. But sucking a stranger’s dick who you are in no way attracted to is just nasty, and I suppose the only good thing is that the man put a condom on and I was spared from having to swallow.

  He was also a fast shooter so I didn’t need to suck more than a minute or so before he was blowing, so that was good too.

  Last night though, Magnus upped his game. He told me as we pulled into the parking lot he wanted me naked for the night. I immediately balked and told him to go to hell.

  He just clucked his tongue and chastened me, “Now, Lee-Lee… you know you have to do this. You know you have to do it right. You know I won’t accept anything but full effort from you on this deal, and I don’t have to remind you of the consequences if you don’t.”

  So I got naked.

  Because I didn’t need the reminder.

  And Magnus led me around, introducing me to patrons, letting them ogle my breasts. After the first fifteen minutes or so, I lost the red tinge of embarrassment from my cheeks and I let my alter ego take over. I had developed it over the last few days, and it wasn’t a chore.

  Acting came naturally to me, and if I needed to act like the innocent seductress, I could do it. So I lowered my eyes a lot, knowing my fabulous black lashes stood out starkly against my pale skin, and I fidgeted shyly when one of the patrons would roam his eyes all over my body.

  Magnus even let one of the members pinch my nipple. “Just to get a feel of how firm they are,” he’d said.

  My nipple didn’t even react, just stayed soft and yielding. This didn’t even seem to register with Magnus—who never really looked at my naked body—or the other man, who didn’t care if I was turned on or not. He was just trying to get in good with my “owner” so that he’d be in the running for that evening’s “experience” with me.

  Yeah, it shouldn’t be a surprise that nothing about this experience would turn me on, given that this was something I was not fully on board with, and that I was sort of being coerced. Being paraded around and forced to bestow sexual favors, knowing that made me a filthy whore because money would eventually change hands, really wasn’t conducive to stiff nipples or wetness down below.

  That is… until he walked in.

  No clue his name, but I saw him on the first night Magnus brought me in. Saw him on the second night too. Last night, he was still just as beautiful and just as perplexing.

  Oh yes… he’s beautiful. Dark hair, slightly longish and messy like he just doesn’t care one bit about how it looks. A goatee surrounding beautiful lips. His skin olive toned, his jaw solid, and his cheeks angled.

  Those eyes though.

  From the color…

  Hazel with subtle shades of green, brown, and gold.

  To the level of pain I saw within them…

  Deep and consuming.

  To the way in which he communicated his emotion…

  Confidently and without ambiguity.

  Those eyes captivated me from the start. The rest of his packaging was beautiful as well, as he was tall and built. There wasn’t a woman in that circular house of perversion who didn’t have their tongues hanging out when he walked by.

  But it was his eyes.

  They simply spoke to me.

  For the past three nights, this stranger, with a heavy burden on his shoulders I’m not sure anyone else truly recognized, played a subtle game of secret communication using stolen glances and subtle body language.

  It’s not that we spoke on any deep level using the power of our gazes, but there was clear meaning.

  Lust, intrigue, frustration.

  I took one look at the beautiful man with the soulful eyes and my nipples got hard. They did that each night I saw him.

  Even as I was sucking another man’s dick, they were hard. I looked at him once in mid-bob, and I hoped he understood my message.

  I wish this were you.

  I understood his response. It was short, and then he stalked off.

  I wish it were me too.

  But it never would be. I didn’t know the man at all… not even his name… but I could tell he didn’t have the money to be a real patron at The Silo. His jeans were always worn and some of his shirts a little frayed. I heard Magnus talking with the owner, Bridger, one night, and he said that some of the men and women in The Silo are Fantasy Makers. Extra people who are on hand to add to the numbers of people wanting to fuck and be fucked. They are paid employees, I guess, which probably made the beautiful, sad man as much a prostitute as I am.

  That is something we have in common.

  Perhaps why we understand each other with just the merest of glances.

  A knock on my bedroom door startles me out of my thoughts, and I look down to see if my nipples are poking out against my robe. They are… straight out and completely reflective of my wayward thoughts toward a man I’ll never be able to touch.

  I open the door just a crack and peer outside, keeping my traitorous body from his view.

  Not that he’d look.

  I don’t think Magnus is into women.

  Or men for that matter.

  I think he’s just into money.

  “Yes?” I ask crisply as I open the door. He knows I don’t like being around him when it’s not needed.

  “We’re going to leave a little early tonight for The Silo,” he says coolly. “I want you to wear that pink dress tonight.”

  I grit my teeth and nod, thankful on one hand I’ll be clothed since he’s choosing my wardrobe, but also on edge, because I know he has something different planned for tonight.

  The dress is pretty and demure with a flowing skirt that comes to just above my ankles. He had bought a pair of pale, pink ballet flats to go with it.

  It is demure and virginal, and he wants to remind everyone at The Silo that he’s got a product to sell.

  Fresh, tight pussy.

  “And leave your hair long,” Magnus adds on.

  I nod again and stare at him with hard eyes.

  “We’re upping the “wow” factor tonight,” he says thoughtfully, almost as if he’s trying to get a rise out of me. Which is ludicrous. Magnus does not like to fight and does not like confrontation. He merely expects obedience. “I want you to really put on a show for the crowd.”

  “Understood,” I grit out, and then I shut the door in his slimy face.

  Oh, I’ll give a show all right if tha
t’s what he wants. If I can do anything to facilitate this matter so we can just get it over and done with, I’m all for that.

  I’m going to see this through to the end, because I have no choice in the matter.

  And when I’m done, I’m done.

  Finished.

  Never coming back to this life again.

  And in my new life, I’m going to make it my mission to find a way to make Magnus suffer for what he’s doing to my family and me.

  Chapter 3

  Logan

  I walk into The Silo tonight tense and on edge. I spent all day out on the Snake River with a father and son visiting from Maryland. The boy was eleven years old and the first cutthroat trout he pulled out of the water had him screaming with excitement. I maintained a lucid smile on my face while I removed the hook from the corner of the fish’s mouth, trying not to show how much it hurt when the father reached an affectionate hand out and ruffled his kid’s hair with pride.

  Those twinges of pain are to be expected, but are usually alleviated by the mere fact that my job during the summer and fall months consists of taking tourists out on float trips down the Snake River for a taste of some Wyoming fly fishing. While I certainly can’t speak for all careers and professions out there, I can say, without a doubt, this is probably the best job I’ve ever had. Even more so than fucking myself into a stupor at The Silo.

  There is nothing more peaceful or restorative to my soul than three or four hours spent floating lazily down a meandering river with blue sky and gentle breezes washing your worries away. Now granted… that restorative fix is usually destroyed by my nightmares, but I can say that there are great chunks of my day that are pleasant and even happy at times.

  Today was no exception, except that as the evening got nearer and I knew I’d be heading to The Silo, I started to get knotted up with unease. This was very strange because I go to The Silo almost every night, and I fuck almost every night. I love sex. It’s amazing and addictive and freeing and numbing.

  So I try to do it as much as possible.

  It is something that causes my steps to become lighter once I walk toward a guaranteed orgasm within that building.

  But not tonight.

  I walk in that door, and I immediately tense up with wondering what Auralie will be wearing. How will she smell? Will her hair be up or down? Nipples hard or soft? Will her eyes look at me with the same meaning as last night, and will I absolutely hate watching her touch and taste another man if Magnus so deems that to be the night’s main attraction?

  I’m late getting here, perhaps even subconsciously hoping that Magnus will have already paraded her around before I arrive, but the minute I step into the circular opening of The Silo, my eyes are immediately drawn to the pale pink of Auralie’s dress.

  I know what Magnus is doing. He’s playing up every bit of youthful innocence she possesses, and I have to say, it’s a brilliant move for most of the perverts in here that want to pop her cherry.

  Who wouldn’t want to be the big, studly man who gives the virgin her first sweet orgasm?

  I hate to break it to these fools in here, but I know something about Auralie that they don’t. I’ve never talked to that beautiful woman once, but I know that she knows exactly what an orgasm feels like. It may not be by a man’s cock if Magnus is to be believed, but she’s had a finger, tongue, or vibrator up against her tight bud before.

  I can tell.

  It’s in her eyes.

  She may not like sucking the dick she’s had to suck, and she might not like having her flesh peddled—all things that are patently clear—but when she looks at me and she conveys that message of want and desire for yours truly, I know it’s because she knows how fucking good an orgasm feels and she’s imagining one with me.

  God knows… I’ve sure as shit been fantasizing about it from my end.

  Her slender back is to me with her long hair that is so black it shines blue hanging down her back almost to that rounded ass, but she stiffens slightly when I walk in. Almost as if sensing me, she turns her head slightly and lets her gaze roam the room until it comes to a complete stop right on me.

  She gives me a soft smile, but the real meaning simmers in those cobalt eyes. You’re here. I’m so glad.

  I’m not trying to be a dick, but I’m angry and frustrated by these circumstances, and I can’t help my return look. I’m not so glad. I can’t have you, and it’s going to kill me to watch you be given to someone else.

  Sadness fills her eyes, making them shimmer briefly before they shutter closed. Her lips draw down, and, with a regretful sigh, she turns from me to listen in on the conversation Magnus is having with the Cleimdens, a married couple who are into some seriously kinky shit that includes the wife pegging her husband in the ass while he brays like a donkey. I hope to fuck Magnus is not going to let Auralie play with them tonight.

  Turning away, I make my way through the crowd up to the center bar that’s circular like the room. A black lacquer top and contemporary chrome stools upholstered in buttery black leather are heavily occupied except for an empty seat right beside Bridger.

  He’s sipping on water, ass sitting on the edge of a stool while his foot is propped up on the chrome railing at the bottom of the bar. He rests an elbow casually on top of the bar, but his gaze is pinned on Magnus and Auralie. He’s clearly unsettled by the couple as his gaze is wary, but I can tell by the loose set to his shoulders that he’s also accepting of their presence. Bridger does not try to curtail the kinky shit that goes on in this establishment as long as all participants are willing and consenting.

  Knowing Bridger as I do, which isn’t all that great really because the guy is a complete mystery to most, I’m sure he’s thoroughly checked out this Magnus dude as well as ensured Auralie was a willing participant in his shenanigans, contrary to what her eyes have told me in the past.

  “What’s up?” I announce my presence behind him with a slight clap of my hand on his back.

  He’s not startled because he’s Bridger and nothing rattles him, so he merely swivels his body my way and nods. “Not much. What’s up with you?”

  I shrug. Not much is up other than my blood pressure and feelings of guilt and anger over the thought of Auralie touching someone else tonight, but I’m not going to tell him that.

  This Bridger notices all in one skilled glance because my emotions are painted clearly on my face, but he tries not to make a big deal out of it. “You seem tense.”

  I don’t respond but call out to Heather, one of the bartenders, who looks my way. “Maker’s Mark… neat.”

  “Must be tense,” Bridger comments. “You don’t ever drink on work nights.”

  “I might take the night off,” I muse, trying not to get insulted by Bridger’s snort of disbelief. Me coming to The Silo and not getting my rocks off is just… unheard of.

  “Seriously,” he prods at me. “What’s up?”

  Taking the drink, I slug back a hefty swallow and set it back down, enjoying the burn. I shouldn’t even bother to engage, and I’m better served by walking out of here and staying away until sweet Auralie is sold off, but I can’t fucking help myself.

  “What’s the deal with the virgin auction?” I say, carefully veiling my feelings by not even daring to mention I know Auralie’s name. I mean, it’s hard not to given that everyone is talking about her and her “owner” Magnus—which is a seriously stupid fucking name—but I don’t want him to see how affected I am.

  Bridger’s head swivels back to Auralie and Magnus, and my gaze follows. I receive a jolt that makes my legs shake as I realize she’s staring straight at me. Time seems to stand still as she gives me that wistful look before turning away. Bridger looks at her for just a moment more, and then turns back to me.

  For a moment, I can’t even move, but then I tear my gaze away from that pretty pink dress and look back to Bridger, trying to seem unaffected. I’m met with a highly arched eyebrow of curiosity.

  “What?” I say with
a belligerent tone. “I’m curious about them, that’s all.”

  “Have you been fucking her?” he asks in a low voice, leaning in toward me. “Because if he’s advertising her as a virgin, someone’s going to be disappointed.”

  “No, I’m not fucking her,” I mutter, but damn… I so wish I were fucking her.

  “That look she just gave you,” Bridger says knowingly. “It’s carnal.”

  “I haven’t touched—”

  “Maybe not carnal as in physicality, but you two know each other in some way,” he presses.

  Yeah, if you give any credence to silent, wordless communication, then sure… I know her. I know she doesn’t belong here selling that sweet pussy to someone, and that I should be the one to have her.

  I think this all in a sullen tone inside my head.

  “You don’t have enough money,” Bridger says flatly, but not unkindly. He’s just trying to make me see reality.

  Oddly, I do have some money if I was so inclined to bid on a virgin, but no one here knows that and besides… it’s probably not enough for the amount Auralie will eventually command. So it will continue to sit in my savings untouched… just as it’s been for the past two years. As far as anyone here knows, I’m practically a vagrant who wanders the country in search of the next big rush. I’ve landed in Wyoming and stayed longer here than I have anywhere in the last two years, mainly because I love my job as a fishing guide and I love the unlimited sex that lets me have some measure of solitude. The fact that I live on a permanent campsite in a small tin trailer with wheels that I pull behind my beat-up old Ford truck lends to the air that I’m pretty much penniless. And that’s really how I exist. My income is nominal from my job, but it’s enough to pay for my campsite, put good food in my belly, and clothing on my back when I need it.

  I don’t respond to Bridger’s comment about money, but instead I ask, “You sure she’s doing this of her own free will?”

  “So she says,” he responds. “I talked to her at length, and she was adamant that she was.”