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Her Troika: Dominion Trust, Book II

Dominion Trust : Book II

By: Trent Evans
Published By: Shadow Moon Press
Copyright: Copyright © 2014 by Trent Evans All rights reserved.
Thirty-eight Chapters / 120,000 Words
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$4.99

Two strict Doms, one brave sub, and a slave auction... 

Kurt Erickson has been offered a Dom’s dream job. He picks his own hours, answers to no one, and gets to train submissive women all day. One of those submissive women happens to be his willing wife. Making Breanna's deepest, darkest fantasy come true is the easy part. It may be trickier to persuade his best friend Derek to... buy her. 

Breanna Erickson prides herself on being ready for anything. From the courtroom to the bedroom, she can handle it all. But when her strict, but loving, husband gives her the chance to live out a dream, she finds there are things no woman can be ready for. 

Derek’s marriage ended because he buried dark needs that proved incompatible with a vanilla wife. He’s buried those needs, those truths, deep down, determined to never let them hurt him again. Being Kurt’s best friend has many benefits, but some of them are much more than Derek is ready for — or so he thinks. 

Then one night, an auction. Only a select few women agree to a Term of Service to the shadowy organization known as the Dominion Trust. One of them is Breanna. For Kurt, thrilling, tantalizing possibilities are laid out before him. For Breanna, it’s the chance to realize a dark, erotic dream — and to heal a broken heart. And for Derek, forced to confront who he really is — and what he never realized he needed — he must take that first step. 

All he has to do is bid on her... 

Publisher's Warning: Intended for mature readers. 18 and over only! 

This BDSM book contains the following acts or themes: Consensual sexual slavery (auctioning), pony play, D/s, total power exchange, bondage, corporal punishment, forced exhibitionism, objectification, humiliation. 

MFM menage BDSM erotic romance. There is no sexual interaction between the males in this story. 

 

Prologue

T he naked, sweating woman lay lashed securely to the bale of hay, her body motionless in the warm fragrant air of the stall. George Trask slipped in, closing the stall door with a quiet snick behind him. He stood behind her, taking in her beauty in the solitude of the afternoon. None of the adjacent stalls were occupied, leaving the pair blessedly alone, and George free to indulge himself with the woman who was nothing more than property in this place.

He removed his leather kid gloves, draping them over the top of the stall wall. Each enclosure was partitioned with walls and doors just barely six feet high, enough to lend a modicum of privacy but low enough that a passing groom or Owner could easily check on the health of the charges ensconced within the simple, utilitarian spaces.

The overhead fixtures concentrated illumination into the center of each stall, the broad, sun-kissed bare buttocks prostrated over the prickly yellow straw looking almost pale under the harsh lighting. Some of the Owners had once complained about dim lighting in the stalls, and George very much approved of the remedy for such complaints. A woman in this place wasn’t allowed to hide anything: she was bared to all on the track, in the display stands, and most of all, in the intimacy of her stall.

He’d watched E on the dirt track earlier, her heavy boots pounding the hard-packed soil, the merciless sun baking the ground. Round and round she’d run, the grooms’ whips licking out to lend motivation whenever she’d flagged. Her generous breasts, unfettered, bounced wildly on her chest, the vulnerable globes no doubt throbbing by the time she’d reached the end of her prescribed distance. The larger busts of some of the women never caused the trainers to waver, and E was no different. Sore tits or not, she’d obey the dictates of her trainers — slacking was never tolerated.

The bit must have galled the corners of her mouth, George knew, but it was better to get the creatures acclimated to such use as soon as possible. Being firm with them from the very beginning was the most merciful thing to do when training these women. To coddle them out of the gates was to mislead them as to the real rigors of the life their Owners had sentenced them to. For at this place there was only the running, the lash, and obedience. Everything else was meaningless.

George removed his light coat, hanging it from a hook next to numerous whips, crops and canes. The implements hung along the top of one wall, a silent menace none of the inmates in this place ever failed to notice. He ran his fingers through the lengths of leather, playing with the stiff leather flapper at the end of a well-made crop. Perhaps another time.

Rolling up the sleeves of his starched white shirt, his gaze took in the rounded curves of the female rump. It still bore faint lines from the whips of the grooms, but he was pleased to see they’d not needed to mark her over much. He preferred an unblemishedbottom to work upon in case he decided she needed further correction.

His hand stroked over the urgent erection tenting the front of his pants, the throbbing between his legs more insistent by the second. He’d deprived himself of his slave for nearly a week, wanting her to acclimate as best she could to the rhythm of training without the distraction of her Owner. But finally it had been too much, and he’d made his way to the intake facility in Washington, eager to be reunited with his precious Elaina. Though her real name would never be uttered by any of the trainers or the grooms – the diminution of “E” her only allowable designation within the confines of the facility – in the privacy of the stall things were different. With only her lord and Master as witness, her name could once more be uttered, if only to remind her that she still had one, that it too existed only at the whim of her Owner.

His hands smoothed over the softness of her hip, acquainting itself with her lush flesh once more. The straw rustled as she stirred, her bottom moving against the bale. Her hands, bound wrist to wrist extended straight ahead lengthwise along the bale her body straddled, the cuffs imprisoning her wrists tied off to an eyebolt in the back wall.

His palms eased across the roughness of whip-scorched skin of her buttocks, pausing to squeeze their weight before stroking down the taut thighs spread to either side. The bound woman moaned through the stout black shield gag, his thumbs yawning open the crevice of the buttocks, the harsh light illuminating the moist cleft, the sweat-sodden valley surrounding the bottom hole.

“Shh, that’s a girl. Be still now, Elaina. It’s just me, having a look now.” The plug had stretched the anus slightly, the pink whorl still glistening with a light sheen of lubricant. Nothing she couldn’t handle easily though. He leant over her pressing his lips to the curve of a buttock. “How I’ve missed you.”

George inhaled the scent of her exertions, remembering the sidelong glance the head groom Lino had given him when he’d instructed that her sweating, trembling body not be sluiced down with the cool water most of the women were greeted with at the conclusion of a hard, exhausting run.

No, to George, who adored every inch, every atom of his slave’s body, such a thing would be to reduce the value of her exertions, and to him, any Owner who couldn’t partake of his slave’s talents in her body’s natural state, who couldn’t enjoy the healthy clean scent of her labors, wasn’t worthy of being an Owner. He loved all of her, and took great lengths to show it.

His hand palmed the swollen, sodden folds of the pussy displayed between the splayed thighs, and she sighed as he stroked the heat of her for a moment.

“You ran well today. So well.” He leaned close allowing her to feel the hard erection through the fabric of his pants, reaching under her, raising her up enough to free her breasts from under her body. “It’s time for a reward. Such a good girl, you’ve been.”

Stroking her breasts, he brushed a sheaf of straw from a turgid nipple, his palms luxuriating in the texture the rough straw had lent to the soft skin of her breasts. Working himself loose, he pressed the heavy head of his cock against the moist lips.

“I don’t know how I’ll be able to stand this,” he whispered into her ear, his body laid over hers, his thick cock sinking into the liquid bliss of her cunt. “An entire month without you is much too long.”

As he took up her hips in a strong grip, sounding the full depth of her pussy, her moans rising in urgency, he resolved to enjoy every last second he could steal with her in the waning afternoon.

Chapter One

T he fog was so impenetrable Derek wondered if he’d even survive the drive up. Off the freeway, and snaking up godforsaken roads into the hills above Goldendale WA, he thought back on the e-mail. His friend Kurt had told Derek when, where, and finally:

‘Ask for a week off, for now. You’ll need it. Bring nothing but yourself — and a healthy appetite.’

Cryptic as fuck, which was standard operating procedure for Kurt. Derek had always wondered what Kurt got up to that one weekend a month. Without fail, the man disappeared — literally — for those two days. National Guard? Survivalist retreat? Civil War reenactments? Derek wanted to know, yet no matter how he questioned Kurt, all he got was a brick wall.

So when Derek got the call on a Sunday evening — a Sunday evening of one of Kurt’s Top Secret Weekends, no less — he thought he’d finally get some answers. He just hoped he wouldn’t find out his good friend was a serial killer.

Instead, it was yet more mystery. But Derek was damned if he’d pass up a chance to learn more. It wasn’t as if he’d be sacrificing anything in his social life, which was on life support. What the hell could it hurt?

The road, riddled with so many potholes his truck felt like a fucking bounce house, ended at a heavy steel gate, the kind you often saw rusting away on lonely logging roads. Only this was no logging road. He glanced at his phone again, the glare of the screen filling the cab with its ghostly white light. Assuming the map application wasn’t screwing him, this was the place. He hit Kurt’s speed dial, holding the phone to his head as he wiped the condensation from the driver’s side window.

“This is Kurt.”

“Hey, I’m here I think.” Derek leaned forward, trying to make out anything through the opaqueness of the fog. “Yellow gate? Chained up?”

“Yep, that’s me. Glad you’re here.”

The windshield wipers swept across the glass, smearing the condensation from the fog rather than clearing it. Derek cursed, switching them off. “It’s thick tonight, man. Why the hell are you all the way up here?”

“We’ll take about it later. Look Derek”—Kurt’s deep rumble dropped another octave—“I need to know one thing.”

“Just don’t tell me you’ve got bodies in your trunk, okay?” Derek’s laugh sounded less forced than it felt.

“Nothing like that. Don’t worry. But I need to know that you’ve got an open mind. You’re going to see things, do things, that will probably be … new to you.”

What? Cloak and Dagger much?

“Kurt, as long as you aren’t killing people for fun, I think I can handle whatever. The guys at work and I have a pool on the first person to learn what the fuck you do on your incognito weekends.”

There was tense silence for a moment. “Derek, I don’t think that’s a good—”

“Kidding, dude. Seriously. Are you gonna open the gate or what?”

Kurt’s chuckle over the line was muted, but it sounded genuine. “You drove the truck, right?”

That’s one tentative check in the non-serial killer column.

“Yep. Once I got one look at the directions you sent I knew a pavement princess wasn’t gonna fly out here in BFE.”

“So drive around it.”

Derek looked at his phone, then put it back to his ear. “Say that again?”

“Drive around the gate. Your rig should be able to handle it.”

“Uh … I guess.” The gravel roadway sloped away on either, side small saplings and brush crowding either end of the gate. Not totally impenetrable. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just, you know,  open the gate?”

“Sure it would ― if I were anywhere near it. We’re still a ways up the road from the gate. Stop being a pussy and just drive around it. Nobody’s going to care.”

“Except my fucking paint job,” Derek muttered, hanging up. There was an awful screeching sound along the doors as he eased the big Ford through the pine saplings, Derek wincing the whole time.

The roadway meandered up one last, long incline, Derek’s ears popping as he neared the top. There was a house, low, sprawling gray lines stretching away on both sides. Some distance from the house, clustered among several outbuildings and a large fenced enclosure, a large wood barn loomed, its boards also a weathered gray. Surprisingly, several limousines, and dozens of other cars crowded a small gravel parking area next to the barn. Derek thought he could make out several figures gathered outside the doorway to the barn, but the fog was so thick he couldn’t make out any detail.

The hulking black form of Kurt’s jacked-up Silverado was canted diagonally near the door of the house, and Derek pulled in next to it. Breanna’s truck wasn’t there, which seemed odd; every time Derek had seen the tall, elegant beauty, she’d seemed attached at the hip with Kurt. Speaking of hips, hers were…

Don’t do it, Derek.

He shook his head as he stepped down out of the truck. He knew it was bad news to ogle his friend’s wife, but a woman (especially an older woman) built like her was impossible not to ogle. It was nature.

Tell yourself that all you want, Mr. Rationalization. You still check out her tits every chance you get. Prick.

“‘Bout time you showed up.” Kurt’s tall, lanky frame stood on the cracked concrete of the front porch, the fog-diffused brightness of the porch light illuminating him in shadowed outline.

Derek pulled the heavy wool flaps of his coat closer. “Tell me this isn’t a hunting trip, Kurt. I will fucking turn back around right now.”

Kurt’s laughter, strangely attenuated by the thick fog, rumbled across the driveway. “No hunting. But there might be some prey.”

“Whatever.” He was used to Kurt evasiveness, but this was getting ridiculous. “Where am I crashing?” Derek cocked a thumb. “The barn?”

“Smartass. You’re in the house with me.” Kurt turned, opening the front door, warm yellow light spilling across the porch. He craned his head back over his shoulder. ”The barn’s occupied.”

* * *

“Y ou remember what we went over, yes?”

Breanna turned toward the smooth voice, thick with the familiar Spanish accent. Lino

“Yes… ” She felt the weight of his hand on the chain attached to her collar. Expectant. “Sir.”

The chain jerked, a reprimand. Her hands twisted at her cuffs. If she could get free, she knew she’d go after the Spaniard.

But here she knew she’d never get free. Not for one second.

“You must be much quicker with the responses, Mrs. Erickson. Any hesitation will be… addressed.”

Insane laughter threatened to bubble out of her at the word. Addressed.

Yes, addressed with the end of a leather whip searing her flesh, extracting tearful apologies, frantic supplications.

“Yes, Lino.” She could feel the flush beneath the cool fabric of the blindfold. “Sir.”

A rough hand glided along her cheek, then the door to the tiny space slammed shut, plunging her into silence once more. Alone.

The straw of the stall (she still couldn’t believe it) poked at her bare legs, itching, bordering on burning. She especially resented Lino for making her strip off her stockings, nice warm woolen ones, and forcing her to kneel in that freezing straw. At least he’d let her keep her skirt and blouse ― she knew she could thank the seasons for that. Were it summer, she’d be ensconced in that stall clothed in nothing but the blindfold, the rope, and her shame.

As if she were some dumb animal, and not a modern woman with a PhD in English Lit. Sure a doctorate in criminal psychology might have helped her suss out earlier the web of cruelty, lust, and fear her husband soon had her enmeshed within, but part of her, that small part she still wasn’t comfortable letting all the way out into the light wouldn’t change it. Not one thing.

You’re insane, Breanna. Truly.

She wasn’t crazy for kneeling, bound, blindfolded alone in a cold, silent stall. Okay, that was a little … out there, but it could be accepted. She had no choice in the matter, therefore, she knelt as she was told. Waiting.

No, what was certifiably batshit nuts was the fact that this had happened before.

She turned her head toward the distant sound of a hinge creaking. It was probably nothing. The fucking barn shifted and snapped and groaned all night long, almost as if it were a living thing.

Then two thumps, followed by the faint murmuring of voices could be heard.

“Well, guess it’s not the building”, Breanna muttered, her heart beating faster now. She tried the cuffs again, but they wouldn’t budge. Lino had bound her wrists together, the heavy leather cuffs themselves attached by a short, stout length of chain affixed to a ring bolt embedded in the floorboards beneath the straw. She couldn’t raise her hands from her lap — defenseless.

Not that it mattered really, considering how effective the tight blindfold was. Only a faint sliver of light could be discerned from the bottom of the blindfold, otherwise her visual world existed in purest black.

But the sounds, Lino had left those to her. To wonder, to anticipate — and to fear.

The sounds, two distinct voices were much louder now, the murmured, low speech punctuated by heavy footfalls on the floorboards, and another set of lighter, more frequent, irregular footsteps.

“Hello?” Breanna knew speech was prohibited unless directly spoken to, but kneeling in her stall, invisible to anyone passing by unless the draped their arms over the top of her lonely enclosure, she had the overwhelming urge to talk to someone, anyone, to stave off the boredom — and the sense that she’d been forgotten.

Stupid girl. You’re going to wish you WERE forgotten in an hour or two.

Was that true though? Sure, when she and Kurt arrived, things had gone almost exactly as they had her first time up here. The silent walk from the truck, Kurt’s hand clasping hers in a firm grip, not saying a word, not even looking at her. Kurt’s quick gesture with his hand, not even making eye contact with her, expecting obedience.

Of course, she had obeyed, kneeling on the hard-packed earth, irritated that her new woolen stockings were likely to be stained. Still, she’d felt the cold seep through the fabric, and was thankful for even that modest protection.

There’d been the quick conversation above her bowed head. Kurt’s list of instructions for the groom, Breanna’s face blushing deeply as her husband’s orders became increasingly strict, even severe. Then a quick touch of his big hand to her cheek, and he was gone, the stocky form of Lino standing over her. She’d looked up at the tanned, weathered face, the eyes almost black. He’d smiled at her, his teeth bright against his copper skin, he pulled her to her feet with deceptive gentleness. That had been quickly dispelled when he’d clasped her neck in the collar. Following the tug of the leash, she followed him silently inside the barn

“Which one did Lino say we needed to use?” The man’s voice held a hint of tension, perhaps nervousness?

“Stall two.” A different, deeper voice said. The accent was something she couldn’t place. Almost like a submerged Australian with a hint of something Germanic. “Ah, here we are. Two”

They must have been right outside her stall. Breanna’s heart pounded, and she tried to hunch over, make herself smaller, but the tight chain affixed to her collar prevented her from leaning forward much at all.

Bastard Lino.

One of her husband’s instructions to the groom was to ensure that Breanna couldn’t hide, specifically that she couldn’t hide her breasts. At first, she’d been relieved, fearing she’d have to kneel there in her own little world, her trembling breasts bare for all the world to see.

This was only slightly better, bound so tightly she could neither rise nor lie down, stuck in her kneeling posture. On display like some animal.

“Where should we put her?” Mr. Nervous asked. A note of eagerness had crept into that voice. Anticipation. “That bench?”

“Bend her over it,” the deeper voice said. “There, like that. Spread your legs, girl.” There was a metallic sound of chains. “Yes … there should be one on the other side too. See?”

“Got it,” Mr. Nervous said, grunting.

There were several thunks from the stall next door, the sound vibrating the floorboards under Breanna’s partially numb knees. She wondered how much longer she’d be left in that position, her lower legs threatening to fall asleep soon.

Breanna heard a soft whimper. A female? She heard it again, louder, but she couldn’t make out any words. Another woman! She wouldn’t be alone here after all. It was cold comfort, kneeling there in the straw, but just knowing she wouldn’t be the only woman there this weekend meant she wouldn’t be the sole focus of attention.

Unlike last time.

She shuddered, squeezing her thighs shut at the treacherous tingling in her pussy at the dark memories of her inaugural visit to this place.

Breanna froze at the sound of something metal banging against the wood wall of her enclosure, the air pressure changing ever so slightly.

“Who do we have here?” The deep voice intoned, obviously looking at Breanna. She swallowed, her throat suddenly parched. She stayed very still, the instinct to freeze strong, as if by freezing she could blend into her surroundings, hide from the predators.

“I’m not sure. Tits look to be almost as big as Simona’s.”

“These are bigger,” Deep Voice said. “Simona’s shorter, makes them look bigger. This lecker here’s a tall one, she is.”

Lecker? Breanna struggled to remember. It was familiar — very familiar. Then she had it.

It was a slang term, something she remembered hearing on a travel show on the radio a few days ago. Lecker meant luscious or wonderful. It was South African. Now she could place that accent!

Way to go, genius. You’re still bound here like a prize turkey. Figuring out someone’s accent doesn’t solve the problem at hand, does it?

“Wonder why they’ve got her clothes still on her?” Mr. Nervous. Chatty motherfucker. Breanna wanted to kick him in the nuts.

“Doesn’t matter,” the South African said, his voice turning away and back into their stall. “We’ll all get a look at what she’s hiding soon enough.”

“Oh? How?” Mr.Nervous’s voice turned away too, and Breanna let out a breath, tension ratcheting down ever so slightly.

The thought of these strange faceless men … touching her, was disturbing — but not nearly as much as she thought it should be.

“How does this even come off?” Nervous man was no longer so nervous, his voice thick. “Does this ever come off, Johan?”

A name! Breanna almost exclaimed it aloud. She committed it to memory, knowing she’d likely have little chance to confirm the information. Tightly blindfolded nearly that entire inaugural weekend, there were several nameless men who’d been privy to rather … intimate knowledge of Breanna’s person. The only things she knew of them were the cruel hands, the gruff, demanding voices, and the relentless pounding of their hard cocks.

South African chuckled. “It does, when I wish it.”

“How often do you … wish it?”

“You ask lotta questions, man.”

Two steps, and something rustled. Fabric? Clothing?

“Sorry Johan, I’ve just … I’ve never seen a belt like that.”

“It’s okay, Kearney.” A pause. “She gets out every couple weeks or so. If she’s good.”

Breanna caught her breath. Did they mean?

Tell me they do not keep her in one of those …

“Couple of weeks? Jesus…” She couldn’t tell if it was horror or mere curiosity in Kearney’s voice.

There was the sound of a hand clapping someone’s back. “Relax about it, Kearney. It’s what she needs. You want …?”

There was a snap of leather, and the sound of a buckle rattling. “No, I can try.”

“Yeah, man. Pull off all the snaps. They’re tight — yeah, you see how they slide through?”

“Oh, yes I see,” Kearney said, his voice strained. “Let’s — Jesus, damned tight!”

There was a low moan.

“Shh, stay there, Simona.” There was a fondness in Johan’s deep voice. “Be good now.”

Another thunk, and a step. “How does?”

“Reach between her legs, Kearney. There — right, the buckle.”

“Got it,” Kearney grunted. “This is a bitch.”

“She’s well—looked after,” Johan said. “You should think about one of your own. Nothing like it.”

There was a dismissive snort. “Too much work. I like borrowing yours.”

“Selfish bastard,” Johan muttered.

Breanna inhaled sharply, suddenly remembering she needed to breathe. She felt sorry for the girl, but it was impossible not to listen. They were ten feet away!

“Unh, unnnh!” The soft voice was strained, lost. Gagged?

“There, slow. Slow, Kearney.” Another clink of a buckle. “Here give it to me.”

“She’s soaked … “

Breanna could hear the girl breathing like a bellows. Was that arousal she could smell on the air too? She wasn’t sure if it was hers (her pussy clenched at each tortured moan from the stall next door) or the girl’s.

“No — that smaller strap too,” Johan said. “You’re not done.”

“Here?”

“Unsnaps from the main belt, and just pull it back through … now, you’ve got it.”

“Unnh! UNNNH!” There was a harsh slap, the sound echoing in the stall.

“Keep quiet, Simona. Let him learn.”

“Christ Johan … it’s fucking huge.”

The South African’s deep laughter rumbled. “Impressive, ya? She needs it though. Keeps her in line like nothing else, man. Ready?”

“Guess so. Will this hurt her?”

“Of course — but not as much as it did going in. Don’t be a girl, Kearney. Get on with it.”

“UNNNH AH AHHHH!” Feet stamped the boards, hard.

“Slow and steady, Kearney. That’s right.” There was the sound of a hand patting bare flesh. “Relax and push out, girl.”

The pitch of the girl’s whimpering descended from frantic to exhausted, her breathing labored. Breanna couldn’t help but wince in sympathy.

“Look at that … ”

“Quite a gape, yes?” The pride was clear in Johan’s voice. “Took us a long while to get up to that size. But she manages regularly now.”

“How? That thing barely fits.”

“I didn’t say she manages easily, Kearney. She manages though because I  make her. She gave up any choice in the matter long ago.”

A sliding sound, and leather striking wood. “Here, use this first,” Johan said. “I’ll help you.”

Breanna jerked at the first blow, the flogger startlingly loud in the enclosure. The girl grunted in surprise, rather than pain.

“Harder, man. It sounds worse than it is.”

“You sure?”

“Haven’t you flogged an ass before, Kearney?”

“Well, sure. I mean … ”

Johan’s laughter rolled through the otherwise quiet space. “Oh, you’ve been thrown in the deep end here, yah?”

Breanna listened in tense silence as the flogging continued, each blow harder than the last, the deep voice of the South African exhorting his inexperienced companion to hit her harder, sweep upward, catch the thighs. Soon, the girl was keening steadily behind her gag, the flogger coming down on her with a harsh SHLACK, over and over.

“There that’s enough now.” Johan’s voice strained. “Have a feel, then we need to …”

“Burning!” There was wonder in Kearney’s voice.

“Great coloring too, yes? Nothing like a hard flogging to bring it out. You left some good marks on her thighs too. Really laid into her.”

“Ah shit, Johan. I’m sorry—”

“Nonsense. She’s tough.” There was wet slap, and a mewling sound. “Look at that cunt. Tells you all you need to know about whether or not she liked her little whipping.”

Breanna thought she could actually hear zippers lowering, then definitely could hear the crinkling sound of condoms being unwrapped. “No, use her cunt. You can have her ass another time when it’s not so sore. She still has to have that thing put back in when you’re done She’s not out of the woods quite yet, mate.”

The girl sighed, chains rattling against wood. “Christ, she’s hot!” Kearney hissed.

Then rhythmic slaps of flesh on flesh soon filled the quiet building the girl’s moaning quavering as her body shook under the assault.

“That’s right. Don’t hold it back now. Give it to her hard. She doesn’t know any other way.

Breanna’s pussy clenched in anticipation of what she hoped would come. But if her last visit was anything to go by, she knew if might be a very long weekend indeed for her lonely, bereft pussy.

The sounds of flesh smacking flesh grew louder. A sharp slap and a growled oath had the girl mewling again.

“Get deep, man. Her cervix is sensitive, don’t forget it too.”

“Unnh Ahh! Ahh!”

Kearney groaned, chains rattling and feet stomping the floor.

“Be careful, man. Come out slowly. She’s really close.”

A ragged sigh, followed by another harsh slap, making her whine.

Breanna wanted to see, yet she wanted to do anything but. To witness the poor woman’s defilement, nothing more than a receptacle for the mens’ animal lusts. She felt sympathy, and at the same time … envy. Her cunt was being pounded, her ass smacked. Attention, even of the degrading, cruel sort was preferable to her lonely stall. The sounds from the other side of the partition: South African man telling Kearney to pull out the next largest size from the case, only further inflamed Breanna’s lust. Her clit throbbed, seeming to swell larger with each heartbeat. Her nipples tented the fine silk of her blouse, the throb of her clit seemingly directly linked to the impossibly hard tips of her swollen breasts.

“Now, you’re going to need her help for this.” Johan said. “Yes, just undo the cuffs, the chains will keep them there.”

“This is … there’s no way, Johan. It won’t fit.”

Johan’s low laugh rumbled. “She’ll take it. We’ve done bigger before. Grab that lube, there.”

Breanna could hear the wet sounds of lubrication being applied.

“Not too much, man,” Johan’s voice gentled, redirecting. “We want you to feel this, don’t we girl? A little slickness now to get it started, but nothing should be easy for you should it? Exactly the way you need it.”

A defeated murmur sounded from the girl, followed by another light slap. “Okay, let’s get moving, Kearney.”

“Jesus, Johan this is going to tear her.”

“Nonsense. Trust me.”

There was another rattle of chains, the girl’s rapid breathing clearly audible.

“Here, try this.” Johan’s voice lowered, stern. “You know you’re to help him. What is this now? There, better, but you’re too slow to obey—”

“Johan, no it’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. She’s been trained better than this.” Two loud slaps. “Get them back there, slut! Wide! Wider than that.”

“That’s more than I need. You’re sure this won’t hurt her?”

“Who said anything about it not hurting? I won’t tear her — if you’re careful — but it’s going to hurt her all right. That’s the point, Kearney. She needs this, the pain — she responds to it. Just wait, you’ll see.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, and a skirring of chains.

“She’s tightening,” Kearney said, irritation in his voice.

“Just keep steady pressure. It’ll give way. Just be patient.”

A wild mewling sounded, along with a frustrated sigh. “See, this isn’t working, Johan.”

“Need to talk her through it. She’s skittish because it’s you, I think.” There was a soft thud, and a clear gasp.

“Can you talk, girl? Move your jaw, now. There, better? Well, I asked you a question, Simona.”

“Sorry Master,” Simona’s soft voice rasped. “I—It is too big. I will tear. Please—”

“You had this very plug in your ass last week. Don’t lie to me.”

“We could use the next size down, Johan.”

“Absolutely not, Kearney.” Johan’s tone coarsened, irritation plain now. “She’s taking this one. If we have to wait all night. She’s not leaving without that plug in her ass. That one.”

Breanna’s body trembled, sympathetic to Simona’s plight, yet insane as it was, she envied her just a bit as well.

Two men, working on the helpless woman. Though it was something she’d never had the strength to admit in so many words, what was happening on the other side of that partition was straight out of the darkest depths of her own fantasies.

Somehow Kurt had known what she wanted — what her body needed.

And now, as she knelt there listening to the defilement of Simona, she was getting it.

“There, girl. Much better.”

“Thank you … Master.” Her breathless voice dropped to a moan again, whether of pain or pleasure Breanna couldn’t determine. Did it even matter in this place?

A higher pitched moan, then the sound of breath rasping from her lungs.

“Got it,” Kearney said. “I … can’t believe it.”

“Wait till you see her between the shafts, man. Make this look like child’s play.”

“Now?”

“Later.” There was the sound of snaps being fastened, and a sharp intake of breath. “She needs to rest a little while, yeah?”

“What do I do with … this?”

Johan’s laughter boomed once more. “Just set it down next to her. No, where she can see it. I want her to think about what’s coming next, man.”

“Are there more?”

“Girls?” She could hear the smile in Johan’s voice. “Sure — there’s usually at least a few more at the auctions. I’ve seen more than ten, occasionally. Depends on the bidders and … the selection.”

Auctions?

Breanna’s mouth went dry. She needed Kurt. Now.

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