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For the first time, the initial four books of the ongoing Valley of Surrender series by USA Today bestseller Trent Evans are now available in a boxed set!
Strict domestic discipline, strong, but yielding submissive women, demanding alpha male Doms, lust that burns as hot as a stroke of the lash, and love that never — ever — gives up. All can be found in this ongoing series about the unique D/s community of White Valley.
Pain and pleasure, ritual and tradition, ecstasy and ordeal — these, and more, are what life promises for those lucky few admitted as residents of the mysterious mountain town nestled high in the Cascades of Washington state...
Included in this collection:
Book 0.5 - Maintenance Night (prequel) Book 1 - Maintenance Week
Book 2 - Lacey's Surrender
Book 3 - Falon's Captivity
Word Count: approx. 210,000 Page Count: approx. 636 pages
Publisher's Warning: Intended for mature readers. 18 and over only!
This D/s dark domestic discipline steamy romance collection contains the following acts or themes:
Both MF couples and MFM Ménage (Maledom/femsub), intense and explicit sexual situations, DP, anal play, DD, D/s, M/s, TPE, objectification, humiliation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, (very) unequal power dynamics, and much, much more.
If you think any of these might be offensive to you, please take a pass on this collection. You have been warned...
There is no sexual interaction between the males in this collection.
Valley of Surrender - Vol.1
Book I - Maintenance Night
There will be a new punishment tonight. Be a good girl, and make sure you’re ready when I get home. You have a hard night ahead of you.
L acey let the note flutter to the floor in front of the fireplace. She leaned on the gray stone of the hearth for a moment, shaking her head. It was Friday.
Apparently, he was serious about Fridays.
She looked at her phone. 5:40 PM.
“Shit.” She hurried down the hallway, knowing she had ten minutes — fifteen minutes tops, if he was late.
But he was never late on Maintenance Night.
Her buttocks twitched. That it would be a long, agonizing night for them was certain.
She jumped in the shower, squealing as her shaking hands turned the hot water up too high. She scrubbed herself scrupulously, knowing there was no part of her body her husband didn’t regard as his. And there would be hell to pay if he found any part of her not squeaky clean.
She cursed the lunchtime jog she’d taken that day at the office. For once, she was keeping to her exercise routine, and it was starting to pay off. She thought she needed to lose ten pounds, even though Troy kept after her about needing to gain ten more pounds. It was just her luck that lithe, athletic Lacey would fall in love with and marry a man like Troy Stanton, who was more interested in the curves of a Christina Hendricks than he was the slenderness of a Jennifer Aniston.
Lacey was fairly certain she would end someone just to get the body of either one of those famous women. But the truth was, she was somewhere between those two extremes. Sure, she used to have the sleek lines of Aniston in college, but in the past couple of years, she’d gotten a little bigger. A more pronounced roundness perhaps, a larger butt for certain. Troy referred to it as her “filling out” for him — as if she was gaining weight on purpose. But oddly enough he loved it, loved her new body. She was ashamed of it, was disgusted with herself for it.
“Dammit, Lace,” she said, stumbling out of the shower. “Stop daydreaming!”
She looked down, frowning at the deep tan of the floor tiles. Water was everywhere. There wasn’t time to clean it up. She looked at the clock on the counter.
Running into their bedroom, she attacked her dripping length of long black hair with a towel. She purposely averted her gaze from the shadowed corner of the room directly opposite their massive bed. She’d be there soon enough.
She zipped the skirt, struggling with the zipper at the top. The patterned, black skirt was breathlessly tight, just as he liked. The Dior stockings were the worst part, for she had to take her time with them. A tear or run would be disastrous. Her delicate hands shook as she rifled through her tops, looking for the one she knew he demanded for Maintenance Nights.
“There you are.” She snatched the ridiculously small tank from the drawer and dashed out to the living room.
The rumble of an engine grew loud outside.
He was home.
She hastily tucked the white tank top into her skirt as the garage door raised and lowered, the cutting out of the motor and the sudden silence snapping her to attention.
Her husband was built like a linebacker, but it was his unsettlingly intense gaze that first caught her eye back in college. He had the kind of rough-around-the-edges dark looks that would have any woman panting, yet for some reason he’d fixated on her.
Just the same way he fixated on her now as he walked through the door.
“Hi, honey!” She perked up her smile, seeing him whistling. Whistling was usually a good sign.
He didn’t answer her though, and his gaze locked with hers.
Wrong. She was in trouble.
Maintenance Night meant she would be spanked; that was as sure as the sunrise. However, if he was unhappy with his wife for some other reason, he’d happily add on extra ‘tariffs’ as he liked to call them. Sometimes it would be some penance in the corner with her naked bottom on display. Other times it might mean her doing a stint in the Frame, her vulnerable flesh dancing to the tune of the thuddy leather flogger he favored for beating her breasts — though thankfully he saved that particular torment for grievous offenses.
He didn’t say a word as his fingers flipped through the mail, his hip against the bar that separated their kitchen from the living room. She felt small, her hands clasped behind her back as she stood, alone, in the middle of the expansive great room.
“How was work?” She moved to pick up the laptop case he’d set on the bar, but he grabbed her hand.
“Back in position,” he said, giving her fingers a quick squeeze.
“Just do it, Lacey. You’re already in enough trouble. Don’t make it worse.”
Lacey’s gaze slanted downward, and she retreated back to her spot. She licked her lips, willing herself to manufacture some saliva as her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
They’d agreed to this. They’d talked about it — a lot. At first Troy hadn’t been sure. She’d convinced him just to try it once. See what he thought. His first time spanking her was almost comical; she’d actually giggled at the tickle that she called that “inaugural spanking”.
That seemed like a thousand years ago.
He walked around her. It was the usual inspection: a smoothing of a skirt hem, a tuck of her unruly dark hair behind her ear.
She yelped as his hand swatted her ass. “Stand up straight. You’re slouching.”
Lacey snapped to ramrod attention.
“More, girl,” he said, standing to the side, just beyond her peripheral vision. “Stick those tits out.”
Straining to obey, she blushed at the way the position arched her back, sticking out her ass and essentially presenting her breasts to her husband.
“That’s better.” He returned to stand before her, looking down upon her from his great height.
Lacey knew better than to be fooled by his pleased tone at her obedience. This was just the beginning.
“You know what day this is, don’t you?”
Her eyebrow quirked upward. “Friday?”
“Sir,” he growled, not quite suppressing an amused curve of his lips.
“Yes, that’s right.” He moved around her again, and stood close behind her. The movement of his lips brushed the edge of her ear. “And what happens on Fridays?”
The whispered words washed over her, and she shivered as the coiling began deep in her belly. “Spanking.”
“Maintenance, Lacey.” He clasped the nape of her neck in his big hand, his finger gently stroking under her chin. “You need maintenance.”
When she was struggling, crying, pleading as she lay over the steel hard slabs of his muscular thighs, she wasn’t sure she’d characterize herself as ‘needing’ it. But when a girl’s ass is on fire, the tears streaming down her face, she isn’t exactly thinking straight.
She dreaded this part. It was...participation. Agreement.
“Yes, Sir. I need to be spanked.”
“Go on.” His hand tightened.
“Because — because, I’ve disobeyed you.”
But I haven’t!
It didn’t matter, of course. Maintenance spankings were instituted in their marriage because Troy felt they were useful for correcting his wife for any minor misdeeds she may have committed during the week, and as a way to reinforce the power dynamics of their relationship.
Troy released her nape, his hands moving down and across the upper swells of her breasts. She wished she’d been allowed a bra to make them seem perkier, but he was more interested in easy access to her breasts than he was her vanity.
“Do you have anything to tell me?” His fingers deftly eased over the hard points of her nipples, the tips blatantly displayed under the snug tank top.
“I… I forgot to tell you when my period ended.”
In one of the most shocking orders she’d ever received from her husband, he’d decreed that she was to inform him when she started and ended her period. She’d had no idea why at the time, but the first time she called him at work with those embarrassing two words “I started”, she understood why.
His whispered “Good girl” had made her both shudder and sigh. It was mortifying, but his making her inform him was just another subtle aspect of his control, a sliver of her independence taken away.
He shook his head, his fingers catching each of her nipples in a firm clench. The thin fabric of her top offered scant protection.
She craned her head back at him. “I’m not — sure.”
“Try again.” His fingers squeezed and she gasped in pain.
“Two… maybe three days ago.” She wasn’t really sure, but she feared her hesitation might look like deception.
His fingers tightened further, her nipples screaming. She bit her lower lip, stifling her yell. “What did we agree you would do, Lacey?”
Oh God, don’t make me say it.
“Troy, please. Can’t we just—”
“Say it, Lacey,” he said, steel creeping into his voice.
She swallowed, the humiliation almost too much to bear. “I’m to tell you when my menstrual period begins and when it ends.”
“And if you don’t?”
“I — If I don’t, I’ll be punished.”
He lightly slapped both of her breasts, and walked around her, shaking his head in mock concern. She felt like a mouse in a cat’s jaws as he crossed his arms over his massive chest, his dark gaze boring into her — relentless, demanding. “Did you think it would just be taken care of on Maintenance Night?”
“No! I wouldn’t—”
“Be quiet.” He waved a hand in front of her. “The time for explaining is done. This’ll be extra.”
Her eyes went wide. “Troy!”
His hand grasped her throat and she caught her breath. He stepped closer, speaking into the hair above her temple. “Be quiet, Lacey.”
She dropped her eyes, nodding miserably.
“Good. At least you can still follow some directions.”
She tried to suppress the trembling she knew he could feel through her body. Extra meant more pain, more humiliation, and more disapproval from her husband.
Lacey hated his disapproval, but she detested the humiliation of calling to inform him her pussy had stopped seeping blood.
Now, as she stood there, his hand around her neck like a living collar, she knew how stupid she’d been.
Maintenance spankings were bad enough — and now she’d gone and made it worse.
He leaned in close, his dark, piercing gaze freezing her in place. “You asked for this. You need this. So, why do you still disobey me?”
She couldn’t bear to look, her gaze sliding away. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Look at me.”
Her gaze reluctantly met his, and her breath caught at the possessive lust in his eyes, a look that had her pussy moistening even as she shivered with dread.
“You like it, don’t you?”
She looked down once more, the blush on her face burning bright.
He pressed his lips to her forehead, the cool smell of his cologne washing over her. “Then we’ll get you plenty of what you like, little girl.”
Troy was still a moment, his hand squeezing her neck uncomfortably before he stepped away, saying, “Come into the living room, Lacey.”
Book II - Maintenance Week
W aiting and dreading her impending discipline was bad enough. The fact that she was made to don the vaguely penitential “uniform” of the staid, drab smock made things even worse. To her, it seemed little more than a starched brown sack.
It galled her still that the discomfort of wearing such a dress was very much intentional.
She sat in the usual spot, on the varnished bench in the hallway outside the study, waiting for her appointment with shame and pain — and reluctant, embarrassing arousal. The slate gray tile under her plain low heels radiated a coolness that should have had her shivering, but her strange, ritualized dress, made from a heavy cloth with its unfashionably high neck, ensured trickles of nervous sweat meandered between her breasts, tickling the crease between sex and inner thigh. The scratchy fabric was made more so by the fact she was not permitted a stitch of underwear underneath. No women summoned for their periodic appointments with pain were allowed any underthings — unless such an accommodation was to feature prominently in her adjudicated correction.
The men who attended — and passed judgment — at the Accountings were ever inventive, as clever and diabolical as they were strict, taking pleasure in the ritual that was borderline sadistic.
“Provisional member” was what she still was, despite the fact she was anything but a new face at the neighborhood accountings. The shaming title — a concrete reminder that though she’d been welcomed into White Valley, she still wasn’t yet a full-fledged resident — rung in her head repeatedly.
Just because she wasn’t technically yet an official resident didn’t save her from being disciplined like one. Her naked buttocks twitched, knowing what they were in for in but a few short minutes.
She listened to the faint sounds coming through the heavy polished wood of the study door, closing her eyes at the frightful — yet arousing — imagery the sounds evoked within her.
Was that a woman? It sounded like... sobbing.
A loud thump made her jump, then a deep male voice rang out. It sounded authoritative, maybe even angry, but at the same time it was frustratingly muted, preventing her from making out any discernable words.
The hallway she sat in was so silent, almost funereal, her only company the chill-inducing song of feminine anguish and mortification coming from the other side of that door.
Her husband would be inside with them now, his eagerness to take her in hand every bit as intense as the twisted war of anxiety, lust, and fear of the unknown raging inside her.
If she had an ounce of sanity, she’d march from this house. Flee this strange, yet impossibly alluring town. Her hands were still cuffed, yes, but they were bound before her, not behind. Nothing stopped her from walking out the front door and simply getting the fuck outta Dodge.
The rhythmic slapping sound came again. She knew exactly what that was. And she knew that very same fate was in her immediate future. It was the third time she’d heard it during her interminable wait in her own personal Purgatory. Her bottom crawled as she heard the faint pleading, the female cries. The clear note of a shriek sent a shiver down her spine, gooseflesh breaking out upon her naked forearms.
Her pulse was frantic, her mouth as arid as a desert. Yet her nipples were so hard, she feared they’d be on prominent display, twin, impudent, shaming points tenting the front of the heavy starched fabric of the humiliatingly plain dress. Her pussy was a seething, slippery mess, her thighs sticking together. There was a very real prospect she’d be adding a mortifying dark wet spot to the back of the brown sack they’d forced her to wear for her latest Accounting. Would they note it? Would they comment on what a dirty whore she was for being so excited at the prospect of her punishment?
The term was so... formal. Sterile. Yet, she knew what awaited her in that study was anything but.
Submission. Force. Humiliation. Pain. Surrender.
Why did those thoughts make her clit throb when they’d have sent any normal woman screaming for the hills?
The door in front of her opened, Von’s towering form filling her field of vision. His eyes glinted as he smiled down at her, extending a huge, veined hand.
“Come with me, Mrs. Warren. We’re ready to hear your case now. Your husband is waiting for you.”
Several months earlier
T he moment she pulled the car into her driveway, her stern husband standing on the front porch with his arms crossed over his chest, Lacey knew she was in trouble.
He took hold of the car door as she opened it, his glare pinning her in place.
She tried to remember if she’d forgotten anything. If she’d neglected to follow any orders or dictates Troy had given. He’d been quite easy on her post-pregnancy, for which she was supremely grateful. For while carrying Hayden had been almost a dream, he’d been anything but during the first four months of his life. Raising children was hard!
“I think it’s time we talked about our arrangement, don’t you?”
“I… I’m not sure I know what you mean?”
Of course, it was a lie. She knew very well he was referring to their sexual dynamic. Lacey was a wife who’d gladly subjected herself to her husband — in all things.
Submission and discipline. Pleasure and pain.
“Upstairs, now,” he growled, standing aside to let her exit the car. “You know how I want you dressed. I’ll be up in five minutes.”
As if on reflex, she didn’t waste a single second protesting, fleeing through the front door and up the stairs.
She knew that voice, the twitch of muscle at the corner of his jaw. She’d missed that cold glint in his eyes that never failed to make her belly do flip-flops, her nipples grow tight.
He was back.
Stripping off her clothes even as she climbed the carpeted risers, she leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb to the master bedroom, yanking off her low heels. Then she saw it.
The pale, varnished plane of her paddle laying upon the bedspread, like a viper waiting in the grass.
“Oh, my God, I don’t know if I’m ready for this!” Her voice was a strained squeak, but still she rushed into the walk-in, elbowing the door aside, rifling through the bottom drawer of her dresser. She found them, folded neatly, a symbol of what they’d had to put aside to welcome Hayden into the world.
And a symbol of what still waited, perhaps eagerly, to be picked up once more.
It was a uniform of sorts, something they’d alighted on one day as she’d been doing laundry. A tight, white tank top, and a pair of black lace panties, so brief they were little more than an afterthought.
But it was the additions to the clothing that still made her blush.
The tank top was snug indeed, not even coming close to covering all of Lacey’s breasts — especially now that she was nursing. In a stark red script, emblazoned across the curves of her bosom were the words:
Property of Troy
Printed on the back of the underwear, in block letters was:
As she pulled the clothes on, her face heated as she remembered the first time Troy presented them to her, telling her they would be her new “uniform” when it came to discipline. He didn’t even need to refer to the special clothing directly anymore.
They both knew what she was expected to wear when it was time for her to be disciplined.
Her hair held up in a haphazard pile by several pins, she allowed herself a moment to try to right the mess that was her long, dark locks; she hadn’t done her hair that morning, foolishly assuming this day would be just like any other. She stripped the pins out almost frantically, knowing the clock was ticking down — and with the knowledge he’d be at the door to the bedroom at precisely five minutes from when she’d been dismissed from the driveway.
When it came to the subject of spanking his loving wife’s ass, Troy meant every word he said.
She frowned at her reflection as she pulled down the snug tank top enough to cover her belly; she still wasn’t used to the faint pattern of stretch marks there. Fortunately, she had at least been fairly successful in returning herself to some semblance of the shape she’d been in pre-pregnancy.
Troy had told her he loved those marks, that they were a reminder of what they’d created together. Even though she’d never believe those words, she still loved him for saying them.
He was a hard man, a strict man — but not for one moment did Lacey ever doubt her husband loved her.
“I see it might be time for a refresher on the importance of following directions.”
She spun around, bringing her hand to her mouth. “I-I’m sorry. I—”
He shook his head slowly. “Bend over the bed, bad girl. We’ve got a few things to discuss. Then we can address your little disobedience.”
Swallowing hard, her hand splayed across her chest in a vain effort to slow her racing heart, she walked to the foot of the bed. Dropping to her knees, fresh heat flushed up her cheeks at the way the tiny thong seemed to split and showcase her ass, the black lace displaying and presenting bottom cheeks she still felt were much too big.
“Jesus Christ, I’ve been thinking about this,” he murmured from somewhere behind her.
She wasn’t sure if it was something she was supposed to reply to, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Thinking about what, sir?”
“Your ass. Mine.”
“It was… always yours.”
His deep laughter rolled over her as he moved closer, looming over her. “True — but not like this. Not like it used to be.”
Oh, thank God.
To this day, she still couldn’t make sense of the warring fear and lust that swirled within her as she contemplated — often on her knees — a punishment about to be inflicted upon her vulnerable bottom.
It had been much too long, but she knew it was not her place to pressure him, or to try to get him to bring that part of their marriage back. He would bring it back, when the time was right.
Looks like it’s right now. Be careful what you wish for, Lacey.
The bed dipped as her husband sat down. She knew better than to move her head from where it lay upon her folded arms. A quiet contemplation of her kneeling form was something she still remembered he loved — required — before any meting out of punishment. He loved her — and lusted after her — and nothing fired that lust more than looking upon her naked ass.
Regardless of the fact she may have found her backside a little too… generous.
“Stand up, girl.”
His words were quiet, but the firmness of his intent was unmistakable.
This was no time to dawdle or disobey.
Rising to her feet, she wrung her hands in front of her, unsure what she was supposed to do. Face him? Stay where she was? Hop in place on one leg?
When he slipped into his growly, disciplinary mode, she was quite sure she’d do just that, if he ordered her to.
“Stand in front of me.” He reached out and hooked a big hand around her hip, yanking her close. She stumbled a little then stood before him, within the span of his knees. His gaze coursed at length over her form as she breathed in the pleasing scent of his cologne.
He said nothing as he regarded her, ratcheting up the tension by the second until she fluttered her hands at her sides, her heart pounding.
For a split second, she had to remember what that word entailed exactly, so long had it been since she’d heard the heated order.
Lacing her fingers together under the warm weight of her hair, she clasped her hands behind her neck.
“Good.” His hand caressed the broad curve of her hip, her skin breaking out into gooseflesh. He looked up at her. “Cold?”
“N-no, sir. Just… nervous, I guess.”
“You should be.”
“One of the things we need to talk about is how our lives are going to be, moving forward — now that we have Hayden. Have you thought of that?”
“What are your thoughts? It’s okay to speak, girl. Your words are likely to have a direct impact on how your ass feels in the next few minutes, so I expect you to be honest.”
Lacey shivered. “I-I wondered how long… until things would be back to how they used to be.”
“You mean me keeping you in line?” He palmed one of her buttocks, giving it a meaningful squeeze. “I admit I’ve missed it even more than I thought I would. Did you miss having a hot, throbbing ass, girl?”
“No… but I missed that you”—she took a deep breath, trying to plow forward despite the embarrassment the words elicited within her—“sometimes decided that I… needed that. Sir.”
“Did you miss your Maintenance Nights too?”
It shamed her more than perhaps anything else — and Troy went to great lengths to explore the depths of shame with his wife. She not only missed them, she yearned for them. This despite the pain, despite the humiliation, despite the way he used her like little more than a walking, breathing sex toy. Or maybe it was because of all of those things.
She’d even dreamed of Maintenance Night once!
“Did you worry that having our son was going to change things forever?”
It was always the elephant in the room during her pregnancy — especially when Troy had begun to go very easy on her. There had been no difficulty setting it aside then; her pregnancy and the needs of her unborn son took their rightful place as foremost in her mind. But there was no denying it was always a thought, a whispered fear.
Maybe he wouldn’t want her anymore? Could she still offer him the same deep submission she’d given him before she’d gotten pregnant? The fears of her body no longer being attractive to him were bad enough; ladling on her own growing anxiety that their dynamic was simply incompatible with being parents made things far, far worse.
“Haven’t they changed? I mean… look at me.”
“Oh, I am looking at you.” He hooked a finger under the bottom hem of her tank, and eased it up. Her breath caught in her throat as he pressed soft kisses to the pattern of pale stretchmarks decorating the gentle curve of her lower belly. “And what I see is a woman who’s never looked more beautiful.” His hands clasped her hips harshly. “And one who’s never needed to be spanked more than she does today.”
“Oh, God yes…” she murmured, closing her eyes, despite the pounding of her pulse.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes flying open, she met his stern, flinty gaze, the lust she saw there plain.
“Here’s the truth: things have changed forever.”
Her heart sank. “Troy, how can—?”
“Be quiet, wife of mine, or you’re going to get a spanking before your spanking. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“As I said, things have changed — but not in the way you might think.” His hands stroked up and down her hips, his fingertips playing with the lacy edge of her panties. “Starting today, we’re going to be getting you back in line. I’ve been far too lenient with you. You need a tight rein, bad girl, and I intend to provide it.”
“Unless you’re telling me no, you’d better keep those pretty lips zipped. Last warning, my girl.”
“I… I’m not saying no. Sir.”
“Good — then I expect you to listen quietly.”
She nodded, blushing, knowing he expected her silence.
“Maintenance Nights are now a regular part of your week again — starting Friday.”
Her heart squeezed so hard she thought it might stop — even as her clit immediately began to swell, her sensitive nipples instantly hardening to bullets under the tight fabric of her tank top.
Careful what you wish for, indeed.
Troy continued. “But since you’ve gone so long without the discipline that you’ve so sorely needed — and that I’ve so badly needed to provide to you — we’re going to be making up for some lost time, you and me. So, we’re going to be having a Maintenance Week for you, my dear. What do you think of that?”
Lacey was too stunned to even form speech. “I… what…?”
It used to take her days to fully recover from her Maintenance Nights before. How on Earth was she going to survive a whole week of them? Had he lost his mind?
“You’ll have seven different punishments, one per day. You can sort of think of it as us catching up as a couple again. What do you think?”
How about a nice getaway, instead? Flowers?
Who was she kidding? For women like her, bouquets and vacations were nice, but it was something else entirely that made her clit hard, that haunted her twisted, fevered dreams.
Despite the wording, she knew the man was not seeking her permission. He’d decreed it — and she’d endure it. Just as they’d both agreed years ago. Still, she had to say something.
“I… I don’t think I can take that, Tr — sir.”
“Ah, but I didn’t say they’d be in the same week, did I?”
“But… you called it Maintenance Week.”
He lowered his chin, a gesture that never failed to get her heart pounding faster — for it meant she was treading on thin ice.
It makes your pussy wet, too. You’re insane.
“You’ll have to pay off one punishment each week, over seven weeks. I think you can survive that, don’t you?”
She was only barely able to suppress a sigh. “Yes, sir.”
Though she knew it wouldn’t be easy, she knew she could do it. Yes, it was likely to be hell, knowing how hard he punished when it came to normal maintenance nights, but a part of her was anticipating it with a mix of dread and dark lust.
“We’ll go over the details later. For now, just know — things are going to change, and that starts right now. Understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” She licked her lips, her mouth hopelessly dry.
“Oh, what? Okay…”
“What was that?” His hand gripped her thigh, his fingers like steel.
“That’s my girl. Now, do as you’re told.”
She spun around, then stood silently, feeling his gaze course over her flesh, the humiliating — yet strangely arousing — encouragement to take her in hand emblazoned across the seat of her panties. It was never easy for her to let him look at her ass, especially when he made her cooperate in her display of it.
But it could always be worse, and she knew it was about to be.
“Take them down. Slowly.”
Hooking her thumbs in the thin lace, she drew the fabric down her legs.
“Bend at the waist. Just like you’ve been taught.”
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, her face flaming. It shouldn’t have mattered; the man had seen, and touched, every millimeter of her body. But it was this way every single time.
And she knew he loved it that way. He took advantage of the fact that no matter how many hours she spent on the treadmill, no matter how strict she was with her diet, she always, always, felt like her ass was too big.
It helped that he obviously adored it, but it didn’t change the fact that she cursed her genes — even as she thanked God for bringing her a man who loved how she filled out a pair of jeans.
Straightening her legs, she dropped the panties to her ankles, trying to ignore the wetness of the gusset against her foot. She knew he could see the evidence of her arousal, smell her desire — and her fear of what he was about to do to her.
He loved it all — and she was thankful for it. Somehow, it always eased her fear, and heightened her own arousal, knowing her submission to him was a turn-on for her husband.
Knowing her pain was his pleasure.
His hand slapped her ass playfully. “No, don’t clench them.”
She forced herself to relax those muscles, though it was a certainty her punishment would begin in moments.
He fondled and smacked her buttocks, squeezing them until she hissed. He always knew what mortified her most. And those same things were usually what aroused him more than anything else.
Still, it was a warm-up, one she would appreciate later when she found herself crying out from the cruel blows of his paddle.
Holding her hips still, his voice lowered to a murmur. “Step out of them.” He held her steady as she did so, handing the panties to him as she knew he expected. He grinned up at her as he tucked them in his pocket. “I missed this part too.”
She wasn’t sure what he did with her panties, but he sometimes kept the ones he didn’t rip during her punishments. She was never sure what he might do.
He’d at least had the courtesy not to keep the expensive ones, but she had a feeling her underwear bill was quite a bit higher than most.
“Turn around and present.”
Facing him so quickly her head spun for a moment, she returned to her familiar position.
“Shoulders straight. Arms back. Tits out.” He slapped her thigh. “More. This is called present for a reason, my girl. Present what’s mine.”
Spreading her arms, she looked down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. It wasn’t expected at that point — and it wouldn’t matter, considering she knew what it was he was gazing at.
His fingers combed through the thick delta of dark hair covering her mons, a tug at a curl here and there making her grunt.
“Might be time to trim this a little.”
She nodded, blushing anew. “Yes, sir.”
Though she kept her pubic hair quite neat, it was often not enough for her exacting military man husband. They both reveled in keeping her on a very tight leash — in all things.
His fingers splayed her labia, the air cool on her exposed sex. “Legs apart. Wider. Wider, girl.”
He drew a deep breath, sampling her scent, her face flushing hot once more as he growled his approval. “This cunt’s been missing this too. Have you been dripping, thinking about it?”
There was no way she was letting him know exactly how much she’d missed it, how badly she’d ached for his touch, for his strictness.
“Yes, sir. I’ve… thought about it. All the time, lately.”
He slicked back the hood of her clit, just touching the tip, her breath catching in her throat. She’d been forbidden from masturbating for the past two weeks, her first clue that the old Troy might be stirring in his lair, and as a result, she’d been aroused almost continuously. Her clit seemed to stand up at the mere scent of his cologne at that point.
“Ah, ahhh!” His finger circled her clit, her hips leaning against his touch of their own volition. He expected stoicism while he touched her, inspected her, but she wasn’t sure she had the willpower to obey. She was much too starved of his touch — and his discipline.
Spreading her open again, he leaned close, breathing in once more. “ Fuck, I love this cunt. It’s so wet, so needy. What do you think it needs, girl?”
“That’s right. It needs me, the man who owns it, the man who gives it pleasure.” His voice grew rougher. “And pain.”
Thick fingers glided within her, deep, deeper, making her rise up on her toes, the stretching sudden, but not unwelcome.
No, not unwelcome in the least.
“That’s a girl, oh yes, you needed this so badly, didn’t you? This wet cunt, dripping for your sir.” He pressed a kiss to her mound, her breath already beginning to come in pants. “Well, he’s here now.”
Oh… my God.
Thrusting briskly, the sounds of her wet pussy around his fingers adding a particularly mortifying note to her surrender, he reached around and smacked her bottom. “Eyes on me.”
She obeyed, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. It was easier to hide, to be the passive, submissive vessel for his lusts. To look upon him felt too much like a provocation for him to go still further.
But the worst part was that he might see the naked lust, the animal need in her own eyes.
He patted her mons gently. “Time to get you sorted out then, bad girl. A hot, aching bottom, and a well-fucked cunt should take care of the problem, I think. Over my knees.”
She practically fell over him as she rushed to take the familiar, but mortifying, position. His thighs were like tree trunks against her belly, the thick muscle as hard and implacable as his will.
He pushed her over further, until only her toes touched the floor, her palms flat against the carpet. “Legs open — more.” His hand cupped her pussy and she sighed. “Wider, Lacey. I want to look at your wetness while you’re punished.”
She bit down her whimper, but complied, showing him everything, her legs trembling with tension.
Relief — and an embarrassing amount of pride — flooded through her at the words. They aroused her and strengthened her all at once. That she knew he was pleased with her, regardless of the fact he was about to mete out a hard spanking, made it easier to contend with what was to come, his approval boosting her determination to behave, to obey, to be his good girl.
Even if it hurt.
Or because it hurt.
His palm crashed against her left buttock, and she froze in shock. He was never one for preliminaries, believing when it was time for punishment, then a punishment it would be. Yes, he enjoyed playing with her before, during, and after, but that was as much for his benefit as hers.
It was his rightful enjoyment of the plaything that was his loving wife.
She’d never have it any other way.
Biting off a short cry as he spanked her right cheek, she tried to remain motionless, knowing he was just getting started.
“That’s right,” he growled. “Very still. Take your spanking obediently — and quietly.”
Then he began in earnest, taking up a firm, unhurried rhythm, his hard, callused palm stoking a fire in her ass, the temperature spiraling higher by the second. He alternated between cheeks, sometimes smacking high, other times hitting low, spacing out the blows to ensure the pain sunk deep. She knew he’d be watching her for any disobedience, any sign of trying to avoid her punishment.
But she was made of stronger stuff than that. No matter how badly her ass already burned — and it flamed hot indeed — she would show him. She would submit to him in all ways, in all things.
Taking up even harder blows, he concentrated several smacks upon the same spot, and with these, her will began to break, her high-pitched cries growing in volume with each heavy impact of palm on bottom.
He didn’t allow that to deter him though; he never did.
Rather, he intensified the punishment, until they became a storm of spanks painting her entire ass. Finally, she lay panting over his thighs, mortified — and incredulous still — that no matter how badly the discipline hurt, once again, her body had reacted.
Though her legs churned slowly as she tried to process the pain, the motion only emphasized how hot and slippery she was between the lips of her pussy. A bead of her warm liquid was already meandering down the vulnerable flesh of her inner thigh. She hoped he wouldn’t see it.
His fingertip scooped up the shaming evidence, and he leaned over to hold the glistening finger before her. His voice danced with playful mirth. “Bad girl. I must not be punishing you hard enough.”
“Quiet now,” he murmured, palming the seething heat of her bottom. “I was thinking of going a little easy on you, but considering how wet your cunt is already, I think I’m safe to continue as planned. Any objections?”
She knew what the question was — a subtle escape hatch, a last chance to affect events.
It was something she’d never once done.
“No, sir. No… objections.”
“Good.” The cold, smooth wood pressed to her bottom, and she couldn’t help but jerk, her buttocks balling into hard muscle. The paddle hurt so badly!
It was far from her first time, of course, but aside from the cane, it was the most fearsome implement he wielded.
And like the cane, no matter how many times she’d felt its cruel caress, she’d never get used to it.
“Ten should do, I think.” He clutched her around the waist, pulling her closer, the firm — and strangely comforting — bulge of his erection jutting against her hip. “Be still, my girl. You know what I expect.”
“Yes, sir,” she warbled, her voice little more than a whisper.
The wood slapped against the very center of her cheeks, and she drew in a harsh breath, the burn sinking deep into already inflamed flesh.
“Oh God! I don’t know if… I can do this!”
He tapped the paddle lower down. “Shall I stop then?”
For a second, she thought about it, but dismissed the notion. She’d been through far worse. It was merely her fear at confronting the reality of what she’d been dreaming about for months.
Her husband finally taking her firmly in hand again.
“No, sir.” She leaned further forward as much as his strong grip allowed, hollowing her back and widening her thighs just enough. “I can do it.”
“You’re a good girl,” he said, the smile plain in his voice.
Before she had a chance to bask in those lovely words, the paddle impacted again across the lower curve of her ass, the humiliating jiggle of her cheeks almost as bad as the hot burst of pain across her flesh.
The third blow landed still lower across the boundary between thigh and bottom, and she screeched at it.
“Easy, now,” he rumbled, the grip of his hand slipping down to wrap about her upper hip, pinning her in place.
Several hard strokes of the merciless paddle followed, all across the lower half of her buttocks, leaving them a quivering mass of flames. Finally, the dam broke, the tears streaming down her cheeks, wetting the floor between her palms, her fingernails digging into the carpet.
Finishing up with a final flurry of loud, agonizing smacks all over her tormented bottom, the wood finally settled, stroking the crown of her ass in slow circles, soothing and menacing all at once.
His big palm caressed her lower back. “Breathe. That’s my girl.”
She closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose, exhaling through her mouth, over and over, her strict husband cooing to her as he stroked her skin. Concentrating on her breathing always helped with the pain — and it distracted her from the strength of her arousal too.
“You did so well. I’m very proud of you, girl.” He pressed the softest of kisses to the upper curve of each of her buttocks, his stubble tickling her welted skin. His hand eased between her cheeks, the pad of his thumb gently touching her anus as his fingers played with labia sticky with her hot arousal. “Mmmm, I see some things haven’t changed. My horny little Lacey.”
“Please what, my girl?” He pulled her up, forcing her to her feet to stand before him again, her knees trembling against his spread thighs.
She couldn’t help but look at the large bulge of his genitals, her mouth beginning to water. He’d taken to making her service him with her mouth quite often during her pregnancy, and it made her face flame to think of how she’d come to crave taking his penis between her lips, looking up at him as he pushed for the depths of her throat.
Just because you love sucking his cock doesn’t make you a whore, Lacey. Not quite anyway.
Though part of her might doubt it, might be horrified at the way she seemed to constantly think about sex when it came to her husband, she’d learned to ignore it. There was a freedom in her submission, a letting go of inhibitions, of fears, of doubts.
All that was left was obedience, and lust — and obsession.
With Troy, no matter what he made her do, she always dived in, no matter how much it might make her cheeks burn bright. In more ways than one.
He seemed to take particular delight in pushing her boundaries — even when she found it embarrassing.
Especially if she found it embarrassing.
She could see him considering it, his eyes burning with desire. Then he met her gaze, dropping the paddle on the bed next to him. “On your knees.”
Dropping to the carpet, her bottom on her heels, she laid her palms on either of his corded thighs, reveling in the raw power she felt there.
“Take my cock out, girl.”
She practically attacked his zipper, the size of his erection making it difficult to draw it down for a moment. Then, slipping his boxers down just enough, his shaft sprung free, high and hard, the veins congested and throbbing, the purplish head broad and heavy, glistening stickiness already collecting at the tip.
Dying to wrap her hand around it, to hear his soul-deep groan as she stroked it lovingly, she nonetheless waited, like a setter at its mark, listening for the command of its master to set upon its delicious prey.
His hooded, dark eyes watched her for a moment, his lips tight, nostrils flaring. He loved to make her wait. She knew it was a quiet, subtle reinforcement of his command, of her submission to his will, her surrender to his every desire.
“Do you want to suck it?”
“Yes, sir.” Her cheeks flamed, but she didn’t look away from his intent gaze. There was no point in lying. They both knew the truth.
“Should I make you swallow every drop, or maybe I’ll come all over those soft lips of yours? I like how you blush as you lick it off.”
Looking upon her for long moments, the tension was almost unbearable.
But he surprised her, taking her hands and drawing her up. He clasped those hands in his, his thumbs stroking her delicate fingers. “Take off your top, greedy girl.” He let her go.
Confused at his intent, she stripped off the tank, folding it neatly, trying to ignore the soft sway of her breasts as she did it. They were already beginning to feel tight.
She’d need to pump again soon.
“Get those fingers laced behind your neck,” he barked. “Present properly.”
Almost yelping at the harsh note of his voice, she was instantly in the prescribed position, blushing anew at the way the pose displayed her breasts.
You’re showing off a helluva lot more than your tits.
He touched the achingly sensitive nipples, his other hand languidly fisting the thick shaft of his cock as she stood before him in compliant silence.
“You hurting yet? Been a while since you’ve done it, right?”
“Yes, sir. A little tender.”
“Oh, good,” he drawled, twirling his finger. “Turn around, dear. Show me that nicely spanked ass of yours.”
Reluctantly, she obeyed, keeping her fingers laced at the back of her neck, knowing he’d expect her to remain in that position until told otherwise.
His palm coursed over her martyred flesh, and she hissed as he tested the swelling of a couple of her welts, the pain there burning brighter.
“Much better with a red, hurting bottom. Sweeter, more compliant after a punishment, aren’t you, dear?”
She had no idea if she really was, but she sure wasn’t going to argue with him at that moment, lest he decide her lesson hadn’t been fully learned yet.
“We’ll need to keep you this way more often, I think.”
Before she could reply though, his hands clasped her hips. “Get that cunt open.”
Plunging a hand between her thighs, she splayed her soaked labia wide, biting her lip at the way her inner thighs were coated with her fluids.
Drawing her down, his voice was a harsh growl. “Guide it inside, then sit down on my cock. I want every fucking inch inside that wet cunt of yours.”
She reached back for his bobbing erection, Troy not doing anything to help her. This was part of her submission, the acknowledgment that he would use her body in any way he liked. Her job was but to obey, to do as she was told as quickly as possible.
And just the thought made her pussy even wetter.
Grasping the veined, hot shaft, she pushed the big head of his penis between her labia. Her long, trembling sigh the only sound in the room as she sank down fully upon him, her soft thighs pressed to the hard muscles of his legs, his wiry pubic hair grinding against her flesh.
“Arms behind your back, holding your elbows. You break position and I’ll take a cane to this red ass of yours.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, though there was no need to answer the rumble of his voice. Strict obedience was all he required.
His hand clamped to her shoulder, squeezing it harshly as he held her hip with the other.
“Do you want to come, girl?”
The question never failed to make her blush, even now.
“Yes, sir. I want to come… very badly.”
“Do you think you deserve to come tonight?” He began to thrust ever so slowly, and she took the inside of her lip between her teeth, the tight fit of his big penis moving inside her feeling so good it threatened to drive her mad.
“N-no, sir.” The plaintive sound of her voice only drove her embarrassment higher.
“And why is that?”
“Because… I’m being punished, sir.”
It was something they played with more and more, denying her a climax anytime she found herself subject to his discipline. Where once she could reliably count on coming — more than once — whenever Troy got after her, things had… evolved.
Another layer of control, it was an effective way of tightening his hold over her. Now, most of the time she’d ended her maintenance nights with her burning bottom pressed to her cool, bare heels, his heavy shaft plumbing the depths of her throat. Rather than a screaming orgasm, her appointments with pain often ended with a flood of sperm bursting upon her tongue — or sprayed across her face and breasts.
Though he did sometimes take mercy on her after a punishment, it was never something she could be sure of, her only recourse being especially obedient, especially shameless as she swallowed his cock as he stood over her.
“That’s right, you are being punished, aren’t you?” He slapped her hip. “Now, be a good girl and hold still while I fuck this cunt.”
For the next ten minutes, the quiet room was filled with the slap of flesh on flesh, interspersed with her harsh panting, the wet sounds of her sex being plundered by her avaricious husband, and his growls for her to squeeze his cock tighter.
Her breasts painfully bounced and wobbled as he fucked her — no doubt something he intended.
“I’m close. Squeeze… more! Squeeze that cock.”
She beared down upon it, whimpering at the way the hard head battered the entrance to her womb each time she was thrust back down upon his shaft.
“There you go. Good girl!” He groaned, his grip upon her tightening, as he thrust into her brutally, shaking her body with each impact of her bottom against his hips. “I’m… going to… come!”
He grunted as he held her down against him, his cock impossibly deep, his hips jerking against her, the hot bloom of semen filling her.
Her clit throbbed, lonely, bereft as she felt his last spurts of seed, the aftershocks of his orgasm coursing through his strong body below her. She knew she was expected to sit still as he recovered, his breathing heavy and fast behind her.
“Jesus,” he murmured. “I… it’s been too long since I’ve done that. You were good — mostly.”
She smiled at that, her misgivings at not being able to come washed away by his playfulness. It was something else she was very glad to see again.
Finally, he pulled her back against him, his softening penis slipping from the clutch of her sex, leaving a trail of wetness along her thigh as he drew her close.
She turned to him, snuggling against his chest, loving being in his arms once more, loving even more being the focus of his lust. Most of all, she anticipated what was to come, relieved to once again be the subject of his attentions, his desires — both painful and pleasurable.
“I’m so glad you’re back, sir… but I still want to come.”
He laughed, stroking her hair as he kissed the top of her head. His voice was a rumble in his chest below her ear. “There may come a day when you regret those words, Lacey girl.”
Book III - Lacey’s Surrender
T he heavy leather strap cracked against the pale, plump buttocks, leaving behind a scarlet line of pain, the reddened cheeks clenching in time with a forlorn, feminine groan.
“You know better than to tighten that bottom, dear,” Martin said, his fingertips testing the already swelling mark his stroke had left across her flesh. “Just a few more now, and we can be done with this unfortunate business. Be glad we don’t have time for you to join those other disobedient women in their corners.”
The smooth, varnished wood of the angled bench creaked as Martin’s wife, Brooke, stirred, her hips waving in the air as she tried to process the sting and burn of the punishment currently being meted out by her loving, but stern, husband. Her rich evening dress, the same color as her raven hair, was bunched up at the small of her back, her black lace panties pulled down her legs as far as the stout strap that ran across her thighs would allow. Bound tightly over the apparatus of punishment — one most homes in the very unique community of White Valley were equipped with — the attractive brunette had little choice but to await Martin’s further judgment.
He tapped the dark leather against his palm. “Next time, what will you be doing when you think it’s all right to spend just a little bit more on clothing you don’t really need?”
Brooke’s small voice sounded from the other side of the bench. “Calling you, Sir.”
“That’s right.” Martin whistled in another stroke, the leather landing with a satisfying smack, Brooke crying out for the first time as another thick line darkened upon her already well-marked rump.
“How many more?” Martin asked, glancing over his shoulder at the three men sitting behind the long, cherry wood table that lined one wall of the cozy study. Another common feature of most of the studies or offices in the community, these tables were where the Session sat — and where the women first presented themselves to hear what punishment the men of the Session intended to mete out for their misdeeds. Such informal gatherings were a weekly occurrence in most neighborhoods of White Valley, though the specific attendance of one couple or the next was strictly reserved for the judgment of each particular head of household.
Troy gladly hosted the Session today, his deep excitement at the array of punished females currently decorating his study — including his own beloved wife — was something that would never grow old.
“She’s got two more to go, then her dozen is paid off,” Keenan said, his long finger tapping the page of the large, open book before him on the gleaming tabletop. Sitting to Troy’s left, Keenan consulted the cloth-bounder ledger, nodding as he did so. “She’s the last for today. Too bad.”
Brooke Shafer, like any other woman required to appear at a Session, was expected to bring her Infractions Ledger with her — and woe betide the girl who forgot it.
Martin didn’t respond, instead turning his attention back to his well-disciplined wife, laid bare upon the spanking bench before everyone. He stroked her hip gently, tapping the thick length of the strap against her buttocks as if to measure his aim. Brooke stilled, surely knowing what was coming.
One stroke, then another, even harder this time, splatted against her martyred bottom, the last blow drawing a tight shriek from the woman. Lacey, standing in the corner between a wooden filing cabinet and a tall armoire, jerked at the sound of Brooke’s anguish, her own bottom still glowing an angry rose after her stiff paddling at Troy’s own hand only minutes earlier. Troy would never tire of looking upon his wife’s generously curved bottom currently bared to the onlookers courtesy of her floral-patterned sundress bunched in her hands at the small of her back, her white panties at half mast, stretched across her slightly spread thighs. He thought, even from this distance, that he could just detect the hint of glistening moisture between the close-lipped labia quite visible at the juncture of her pale, shapely legs.
Laying the strap upon the crest of his wife’s swollen, inflamed bottom, Martin caressed her gently, bending over her bound form and whispering to her, the faint sounds of her soft weeping drifting over to the men seated at the table. Once he’d calmed her, Martin snatched up the strap and brought it back to the table, laying it neatly upon the table, fixing the watching men with a bright, toothsome smile, his well-groomed dark hair shiny with pomade. Rolling the sleeves of his white dress shirt back down muscled forearms, Martin nodded back toward his still-bound wife.
“I’m afraid we need to sneak out early, gentleman. Brooke and I still have an engagement to keep this evening.”
“You really didn’t tell her?” Von asked, leaning back in his chair, a wry smile curving his lips. “You’re a cruel bastard, Martin.”
Pulling on a fitted suitcoat the color of slate, Martin shrugged, buttoning his cuffs. “There’s a lot to be said for keeping these women on their toes. We’ve still got plenty of time for dinner — it just won’t be as early as she might have guessed.”
“And she’ll be taking it on a roasted backside too.” Keenan said, his eyes glittering.
Martin took up the strap, handing it to Keenan. “Appreciate letting me borrow it. Need to get one made for Brooke one of these days. I’m sure Amy doesn’t like sharing it with the others.”
“Amy will share anything if I tell her to,” Keenan said quietly.
The men glanced over at Keenan’s wife, laid atop the broad plane of Troy’s office desk. Her hands, bound in heavy metal cuffs at the middle of her back stirred only slightly, as if she were lost in thought. Her bottom was decorated with a veritable storm of thin red lines painted over smooth buttocks flushing a congested pink, the aftermath of the stiffest birching Troy had seen meted out in quite some time. Between those punished cheeks, the rectangular base of a very thick polished steel plug could clearly be seen.
Troy had been positive such a large toy could not possibly fit into Amy’s tight bottom, but the men had watched in aroused silence as Keenan proceeded to prove just how well he’d trained the woman who was both his wife, and slave. The man had been as patient as he was relentless, working Amy’s well-lubricated anus until the plug finally sank fully home, her breathing reduced to panicked pants.
A mute buzzing sounded and Von dug in the pockets of his slacks for his phone, cursing as he stared at the screen, his thumb flicking quickly through the texts.
Troy and Keenan watched Martin lead Brooke from the room, the man giving them a deeply satisfied smile as he ushered his wife before him, the woman transformed from weeping penitent to the elegant beauty she was, her dress restored to the classy attire of a woman about to go out on the town. Only Brooke’s stiff gait betrayed the no-doubt still throbbing buttocks rolling under the form-fitting black dress.
“Cori giving Lee trouble again?” Keenan chuckled. “I knew it. She’s too old for him.”
Von winced, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “They can’t make it. She’s refusing — again. Lee said she and her friends joke about the Sessions — they call it the ‘Spanked Wives Club.’ I think it’s time she goes before a full Session — but that’s up to Lee. We’ll talk about it later.” With a sigh, Von looked over at Troy. “You asked me here even though Celina didn’t need to come to this week’s little, uh, get together. So what’s the big deal? Spill it.”
“Wanted to talk to both of you, actually.” Troy said. “It’s about my friend, Hunter.”
Lacey’s head snapped around at the mention of his best friend’s name. She peered back at him from her lonely corner, color high in her cheeks, her lips quirking hopefully despite being forced to display her naked, punished bottom to the men in the room. When it came to all things Hunter, Lacey was always… more than interested.
“I think I want to have Hunter out for a visit, at least for a few days — maybe longer.” Troy met Lacey’s dark, intent gaze, smiling at her. “See where things go.”
T he woman’s lush, round buttocks twitched at the sharp sound of the can’s pop top snapping open.
“Hunter — it’s your deal.” Von sipped his beer, the bright overhead light glinting off the aluminum.
“Ah, sorry.” Hunter cleared his throat. “Big blind to you, Von?”
Von’s dark blue eyes narrowed, but a smile played upon his lips. “If you weren’t spending so much time staring at my wife’s ass you’d know the answer to that question.”
Troy, sitting to Hunter’s right, shook his head, chuckling. “Rookies.”
Hunter dealt the cards, trying to ignore the heat at his cheeks. “Kinda hard to concentrate…”
“Do you want me to send her away?” Von’s eyes glittered.
“I didn’t say that.”
Hunter set the deck down, checking his hole cards. A two of clubs and a seven of hearts.
“Told you,” Troy murmured, not looking up from the two cards he held in his hand. “After what I saw when Hunt was over for Christmas, I knew he’d be a fit.”
Von glanced at Troy with a quirk of an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that. Boy hasn’t even so much as dipped his toes in, and he’s already jumpy.”
“You didn’t see him with Lace.” Troy gave Hunter a wink. “He seemed to have the way of it.”
Von dropped two fives into the pot. “You find somewhere to stay yet?”
Relieved at the change of subject, Hunter still had to will himself not to look over at the naked woman facing the wall at the far end of the darkened living room.
“Right now, I’m at the Redwood. The one right there on the highway?”
It was a surprisingly well appointed and — thankfully — quiet little motel just off the White Valley Canyon highway, the main drag that snaked through the community of White Valley, Washington. Troy had told him how beautiful White Valley was, but his friend’s words hadn’t even come close to doing it justice. The first time Hunter had come to visit Troy in his new town, the community had reminded him of a cross between a Norwegian fjord and a sleepy hamlet nestled against the broad, green flank of a mountain in the Austrian Alps.
Von grunted. “Figured you’d be staying with Troy until you found something more… permanent.”
“I tried, but the asshole turned me down cold.” Troy laid down the Flop, pointing at Hunter. “Your bet.”
“I’m just here for a week or two.” Hunter dropped a fifty into the pot, despite only having a pair of sevens.
Those are lucky numbers, right?
“Week or two?” Von looked at Hunter the way a father might look at a naive child. “You’ll change your tune.”
Hunter flipped over the Turn card. A two of hearts. Things were looking up.
“You gonna ask?” Troy grinned. “I know you’re dying to, Hunt.”
“Ask what?” Hunter said, already knowing.
Troy lifted his chin toward the silent woman twenty feet away.
Von didn’t look up from his cards, but Hunter knew the hulking man was paying keen attention.
“So… why is she standing there like that?”
“Like what?” Von lifted his gaze to Hunter’s.
Hunter lowered his voice to a murmur. “Well, naked, for starters.”
“You don’t like what you see?” Von laid an elbow on the table.
“No, it’s not… that.”
Hunter would be damned if he’d be caught commenting on the shapeliness of Von’s wife’s ass. It didn’t mean such shapeliness wasn’t noted — or affecting him. His cock had stirred to life the moment he’d seen her silently emerge from the hallway and take her spot facing the wall. He’d never seen a woman actually… do that.
But it seemed part of him liked it. A lot.
“Then what is it?” Von set his cards down, sipping from his glass of amber-hued single malt. “Because this is just the start, my friend. A taste. If this is too much”—Von flicked a glance at Troy, doing it in a way Hunter couldn’t help but see—“then maybe this isn’t a fit after all?”
“He is, Von.” Troy fixed his friend with a look somewhere between sober and icy. “I brought him here. I know him. With what he’s been through? With how I saw him handle Lacey? You’d know it too, if you paid any fucking attention to what I told you.”
Von was silent for a moment, regarding them both, a long, deeply tanned finger tapping the rim of his glass. “No time like the present then, is there?”
Troy grunted. “What about the game?”
“Fuck the game,” Von murmured, already gazing out at the bewitching sight of his wife waiting in the darkness, the deep shadow rendering her ass into a hint, a suggestion of twin, pale moons. “Celina. In here, please.”
Hunter’s mouth was as dry as his cock was hard, the naked woman padding — rather reluctantly, he thought — across the room, and into the circle of warm yellow light cast by the crystal fixture over the card table.
Her buoyant breasts swayed a moment as she took her place at her husband’s arm, looking down at Von, her big brown eyes reflecting either excitement or fear — or both.
Von’s gaze dropped a moment to the lush growth at the apex of her soft thighs.
“Still letting her grow it out?” Troy said, looking upon her displayed charms without an ounce of bashfulness, his gaze frank… and with more than a hint of lustful avarice.
Celina’s cheeks colored at the words, but she remained silent, her eyes locked upon her husband.
Von sipped from his whiskey, then set the glass down, his gaze not leaving his wife as he spoke. “I like it that way. I think it actually makes them even more embarrassed to display their pussies, if you can believe that.”
“You always did like that part of it,” Troy murmured, reaching over to Hunter, sliding his cards across the green felt of the card table.
“Getting in their heads is when the real fun starts,” Von said, his voice almost a whisper.
This wasn’t much different from what Troy had let him experience at Christmas last year, but sitting there, mere feet from Celina’s gorgeous form had Hunter more than anxious. He didn’t know what he struggled with more — wanting to touch that soft, olive skin or take a walk in the cool evening air. Hopefully, that would at least calm the steel bar currently twisting in the confines of his jeans. Looking at the coral color of the woman’s large — and very erect — nipples wasn’t helping matters.
Not one bit.
Von looked over at Hunter. “Troy’s explained to you what’s going to happen tonight?”
Hunter nodded, a lump in his throat.
“We don’t need to go over this,” Troy said, rolling his eyes as he slipped the deck of cards back into its case. “He and I talked about this — at length. He knows the rules, what’s expected, what might come next.”
“I need her to hear that,” Von said, turning his gaze upon Troy, tipping his head toward Celina. “You’ll have to humor me on this one. It’s not like it’s your wife that’s standing here with her naked cunt on display, is it?”
“Not this week, anyway,” Troy murmured, his smile an almost predatory flash of white teeth.
“We don’t bring strangers into this very often, and if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. All the way.” Von looked at Hunter once more, the deep blue of the man’s eyes suddenly going cold, flat, as a shark’s might just before delivering the fatal bite. “So, I need to hear it from you, Hunter. Do you understand what this means once we take this first step? Once we go far enough, there’s no going back — even if you wanted to.”
“I’m ready,” Hunter croaked, the pulse in his neck pounding in time with the throb of his aching cock.
This was really happening.
“Good.” Von looked up at Celina, reaching for her, spreading her long, slender fingers across his broad palm. “Did you bring the Infractions Ledger then?”
Book IV - Falon’s Captivity
I didn’t know what was worse anymore — when he opened that door or when he closed it.
How many times had she wondered? How many minutes had she counted until they’d fallen away in the blackness, unmoored in the shadows of her cell?
But it was a waste of time. He had her, and there was nothing she could do about it now.
The only thing that mattered was figuring him out. What was he really after? What did he truly want?
It wasn’t just her body — he could have that any time he wanted, and we both knew it. And yet, here she stayed — in this dark hole, lost to the world, her only connection to it that man who was both her protector and her captor.
She had to remember the deal. The agreement was her only true protection.
“Keep it the fuck together, Falon!”
She clapped her hand over her lips.At least he’d left enough slack in her chains for her to do that much. She had to be careful though. He could be out there, just outside the threshold of her dark, little kingdom of a single soul.
Tracking the time was perhaps the best way to regain her bearings. It kept her anchored in the now, in what might happen, in the knowledge that — however far away it might seem — eventually she’d be free.
For the thousandth time, she cursed her stupidity, her hubris, her idiotic conviction that she could pull this off. It was a cruel irony of fate that a single, impulsive, split second decision could profoundly influence the rest of a person’s life.
In ways one could never expect.
“Calm, Falon. You can do this.”
Shaking her head again, she bit into her tongue, the pinching burn a reminder to shut the fuck up, to keep her thoughts in the one place they were still safe — her mind.
Maybe he’d figure out a way in there too?
It was true though. A bastard he might have been, perhaps even a monster. But somehow, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.
Well, not more than she could bear anyway.
Not that it mattered much anymore. Nobody knew where she was,not yet. Hell, her boss probably didn’t even miss her yet.
Not setting a check-in date wasn’t your smartest choice, Falon.
She missed clothes — a luxury more precious that almost anything, now that she’d been deprived of them. But she knew he only saw them as an impediment, something that got in the way of his enjoyment of the physical attributes of his living sex toy.
The traitorous tightening of her nipples didn’t surprise her anymore. She’d given up on making sense of any of it. How had he managed it? How had me turned her against… herself? Was it that he saw what was already there and simply brought it to the fore? Was she that shallow, that simple?
What did it mean that her body readied itself with an anticipation borne of far more than a need to survive? More than was even logical?
The thought echoed in her mind more and more now, even if she tried to suppress it, tried to argue against even the possibility that it could be.
She wasn’t that weak. That much she knew. It would take a lot more than this to break her.
But how much more of this could she take? How much more did he intend to put her through? What was the end game, when terms of the agreement had been fulfilled?
She already suspected, deep down, that there could only be one end to this, a single conclusion to what this had become. Her strength was ebbing, something she couldn’t deny it any longer. Her exhaustion was bad enough, but what was the worst was the temptation, the increasingly appealing prospect of simply… surrendering.
Giving him what he wanted.
What then, Falon?
Maybe he’d turn her into one of the Stepfords populating that town? Hadn’t that been the worst? That they’d all agreed to it? Wanted a life like that?
I think you know why it really bothered you. Why lie to yourself?
“Stop it, you idiot,” she whispered, her voice rasping like the slither of a serpent through fallen leaves. She hated the way every sound was amplified in her little cell. He’d installed some sort of lighting along the tops of the walls in the basement though the faint illumination spraying up onto the painted ceiling doing little to brighten the dismal space she occupied.
At least it seemed dim enough to let her sleep.
Her heart froze in her chest at the sound, the familiar thump and creaking of stairs filling her with that maddening mix of dread and anticipation, her body exhibiting an increasingly Pavlovian response that mortified her more every time. Had he wanted it that way? Was turning her body against her just part of his plan?
With a creak of hinges, the cell door swung open, his shadowed silhouette all she could make out in the low light.
He was here again.
H e thought she’d talk more.
Ford watched her in his rear-view mirror, her blonde sun-kissed good looks paler now, the set of her jaw betraying something different than fright.
Her blue eyes met his gaze. “You can’t do this, you know. You think arresting me is going to stop this shit from getting out?”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
He turned the truck onto Dyer Road. Though he hoped he’d never have to do this, he knew the protocol well in such cases. If she knew just how much trouble she was really in, he suspected she’d be a blubbering mess there in the back seat.
Or maybe not.
Falon, young, hapless producer girl or not, was a smart one. And tougher than she looked, if he had to guess. Things would have been much, much different if Deputy Anders hadn’t tailed her. The spot she’d chosen in the park was perfect for concealment. They’d never have spotted her in a million years. Who knew what god-awful chaos she’d have unleashed for White Valley if she’d slipped away?
“What am I being charged with, Sheriff?”
The new venom in her tone made him crack a grin. He liked a woman who didn’t just roll over and give up. He respected that kind of strength, even though it wouldn’t matter in the end.
“I’m sure we can think of something,” he muttered, stopping at the light where Waters Avenue crossed Dyer, the intersection marking the western edge of town. “Disturbing the peace comes to mind.”
“I don’t think a judge is going think much of that defense.”
“As if I’ll see a fucking judge,” she hissed under her breath, looking out her window again. “You didn’t have to leave these cuffs on, Sheriff. Not like I’m going to overpower mister Big Bad Cop.”
“I’m not taking any chances, Ms. Moore. You’ve already proven I can’t trust you. Until you’ve disabused me of the inclination to not trust you any farther than I can throw you, I’ll have to err on the side of caution. I think you understand.”
Her murmured curse wasn’t quite audible, but it didn’t need to be. He got the message loud and clear — she was going to fight.
“Where are you taking me? The station’s the other way, isn’t it?”
“Observant, I see.” He pulled the truck over onto the gravel shoulder, rocks jumping up and crackling against the undercarriage as he brought the Tahoe to a stop. He flipped on the light bar, then draped an elbow over the side of his seat, turning toward her. “We’re not going to the police station.”
“Why not? I need to make my phone call. Then we’ll see how you like it when you’ve fucked somebody in the press.” She smiled, a bitter edge to it utterly devoid of amusement or warmth. “You think criminals are bad? We’ll make your life hell.”
“I haven’t fucked anyone in the press, Ms. Moore. Not yet anyway.”
“Just keep quiet for a minute.” He paused, looking out his window. The first applicant in The Walk would be reaching the viewpoint soon, perhaps at that very moment. He was irritated at having to miss this one, but something — and someone — even more intriguing had fallen into his lap.
And that person currently sat cuffed in his backseat.
“Need to talk to someone — and being in town isn’t the best place for you at the moment.”
“Not the best place? What the fuck?” Her eyes were wide now. “I want to talk to a lawyer, Ford. Now.”
This was something she didn’t expect, and he knew keeping her off balance, uncertain, was the best way to handle her. She was a lot smarter than some might think, and he wasn’t about to give her an opportunity to prove it.
“No lawyer is going to get your ass out of the sling it’s in right now.” He lowered his voice, glaring at her. “If you’d simply listened to me, headed on out of here for greener pastures, this wouldn’t be happening. Now, you’ve forced me to do this — for your own good.”
“So, you’re arresting me — without charges — for… my own good?” She burst out laughing, looking down. “I can’t fucking believe this shit.”
“Believe it, Falon.” He faced forward once more, taking a deep breath as he brought the Tahoe back onto the road, gunning it up to fifty and leaving the lights on. “We’re going to have a little talk and figure out what we’re going to do with you.”
She was silent after that, another sign that she was a cooler customer than one might otherwise think. The more time she had to work out her situation, the more dangerous she was. Though he thought he could probably keep a handle on her, the girl would indeed bear watching. Close watching.
One thing was troubling him though. After he’d cuffed and stuffed her, he’d had a look at the documents she still had with her. She didn’t have much on her, but in her car they’d found a treasure trove of information, including laptops, tablets and thumb drives.
Most of the “dirt” she’d dug up on White Valley was exactly what he’d expected. That wasn’t the problem. Her source, which frustratingly wasn’t identified anywhere that they’d found thus far, had provided her information — damaging information.
The worst part of it though was that it was information that was entirely new to Ford. And if even half of it was true, Ms. Moore was going to turn out to be a whole lot more trouble than even he thought.
For the entire goddamned town.
* * *
S he couldn’t help but wonder what he had in mind. Where was he taking her? Would he hurt her? At this point, she wasn’t sure what he would do. The question now was: how the hell was she going to get out of this? She suspected the town might try something like this, but she hadn’t expected it would be someone like Ford doing it. She thought of him as, well, one of the good guys. She was usually pretty good at reading people — it was part of the job. This time though, she’d screwed up. Badly.
The truck flew along the road, west of town, in a part of the country she had no familiarity with — she’d never gone this far in her travels around White Valley. There was one thing for sure though, he wasn’t taking her back to the police station.
What does that mean?
Each time she thought of it, the possibility of what might come next ran through her mind, and she tried to push away her fright, her fear of the unknown. And yet, a part of her was morbidly fascinated at what was happening. She really had no reference, no experience to draw upon for something like this. What she’d seen in the town through that telephoto lens was something she still didn’t know how to process.
Everything her source had told her was true.
So often sources flaked, or had a hidden agenda, an ax to grind.
Not this time.
She watched Ford as he drove, the man silent as ever, and wondered. Was he really one of the good guys? Or was he just one of the many people in White Valley her source had warned her could be dangerous?
He pulled the truck off the road, gravel spraying against the undercarriage, Falon bouncing and groaning as the cuffs abraded her wrists once more. Then they came to a stop, a cloud of dust rising around them, her heart suddenly pounding like a jackhammer in her chest.
Oh my god.
She watched Ford as he got out of the truck, turning her head to follow him as he walked around the rear of the vehicle. She tried to prepare herself for what might come next. Would he pull out a gun? A knife? It could be anything. She didn’t know what he was capable of doing anymore. She had to assume he was capable of anything.
Stop this, Falon. He would have killed you already if that’s what he wanted to do.
Her door opened, and then Ford stood there, filling the exit. He peered inside, his gaze meeting hers.
“I need you to cooperate with me. This will go easier. For both of us.”
“You could start by taking these off, you know.” Falon leaned over on one side, wiggling fingers just beginning to grow numb in the stricture of the cuffs. “Then you could try telling me what this is.”
“Proving you can be trusted is the only way those are coming off, Ms. Moore. Thus far, you haven’t even come close to earning that trust.” Ford tapped his fingers upon the roof at the top of the doorway. “I need you to sit tight for a minute.”
Instinctively, she knew she shouldn’t argue the point. She was in even more danger outside. It was the middle of nowhere, well outside of town, and though she still couldn’t believe he’d really hurt her, it felt a tiny bit safer in that backseat, cuffs or not.
Falon wasn’t about to let Ford know that though. She glared at him, but didn’t move.
“Now, you can choose to sit quietly for a minute, or you can choose to defy me. I promise you won’t like it if you choose the latter.”
“Fuck this,” Falon said under her breath.
Ford watched her, his eyes narrowing, and for one terrifying moment, she feared she’d pushed him a little too far. Then he sighed, slamming the door and walking several paces toward the road, his phone to his ear.
Falon nearly screamed in startled fright as the radio in the truck crackled twice, the sound jarring in the hushed silence.
She looked around at the expanse of tall conifers surrounding them, the shadowed undergrowth choked with brambles, the few bright yellow flowers in its midst belying the flesh-shredding danger of the mass of thorns within. The road seemed to be following the base of a ridge that stretched up to their left, what looked like might be a foot trail disappearing into the tangled vegetation. There wasn’t a single sign of civilization aside from the two-lane blacktop.
“Where the hell are we?” she whispered.
Then she saw a second vehicle, another truck, jacked up, with a well-worn steel rack in the bed, various ladders and lengths of lumber strapped to the top of it. A red circle with the words Ellison Companies emblazoned in bold, white letters across it decorated the driver’s side door.
The truck slid to a stop in the gravel behind Ford’s truck, and a tall man stepped out, walking slowly toward the Sheriff.
Then she recognized him. The tall bastard on the street watching the… festivities.
The newcomer talked with Ford for a minute, both men turning their backs to Falon, the tall man occasionally looking over his shoulder toward her, his eyes equal parts darkness and cold.
Then they walked over to the truck, Ford opening her door again, the cool air whispering against the sweat gathering at the base of her throat. The stranger leaned a head in, his jaw as hard as granite, his eyes like twin points of obsidian.
“You should’ve stayed in Portland, girl.” His voice matched his look, deep and gravelly.
“Who the hell are you?” Falon swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. The man may have been twice her size, but she knew it was unlikely he’d try anything with a cop around.
They both needed to understand they were fucking with the wrong chick.
“Doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is that you tell Ford here what he needs to know. Do that, and you might have a chance at getting that cute little ass of yours out of the trouble it’s in right now.”
“I don’t know who you are, but unless you’re helping me out of these cuffs, you’re not really helping anything.”
The man shook his head, then stepped back.
“Shut up,” Ford said, leaning in and taking hold of her upper arm, laying a hand across the top of her head as he extricated her from the truck.
The gravel shifted beneath the soles of her shoes as she peered up at the two hulking men.
“At this point, running that mouth isn’t doing you any favors,” the tall stranger said, jabbing a finger at her. “I see Ford wasn’t lying about your attitude.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Should I have thanked the good Sheriff for detaining me without charge?”
Ford slammed the door behind her, then spun her around to face him.
“I want a goddamned lawyer,” she spat. “I want to know what I’m being arrested for. This is America. You can’t fucking do this.”
His strong fingers bit into her chin as he lifted it. For the first time since she’d met him, she saw real anger in his dark blue eyes, something she couldn’t say was entirely unappealing.
Hardly the time to be drooling over the big, bad alpha male cop, you idiot.
“The way I see it, Ms. Moore, you’re out to sea. And I’m the only hope you have of ever making it back home. Yes, we’re still in America, but after what you’ve pulled? You might as well be in a different galaxy for all the good that will do you. Now, shut that smart mouth, or I’ll gag you.” He jabbed a thumb back toward town. “What you did back there? You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
“Ford, this is fu—”
“I’m done arguing with you. Quiet, or else.” He tilted his head. “Are we clear?”
The tall man looked her up and down, a new interest sparking in his dark gaze. A smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. “I’m starting to understand your interest in her, Ford.”
“Don’t start, Von.” Ford let go of her chin, then ran his fingers through his hair, the hard bulge of his biceps straining the fabric of his tan uniform.
Stop looking at his muscles and think about that name. Who the fuck is that?
Von put his hands on his hips, emphasizing the breadth of the towering man’s shoulders, his battered and well-worn black denim jacket sliding open. “Now, I didn’t say a thing, Sheriff.” He grinned, nodding toward Ford. “Need any help with her?”
“I’ve got it.” Ford took hold of her upper arm again, his tight grip making her wince. “She stays with me for the time being.”
“I’ll let them know then,” Von said, giving her one last look before heading back to his truck. “I’m guessing it will need to be right away, now that he’s back in town.”
“I’ll use the station then until we decide what to do.” Ford tugged her back toward the Tahoe. “Come on.”
As Von climbed in, closing the door behind him, he draped an elbow out his open window, his expression suddenly somber. “This… isn’t gonna be good. You know that, right?”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Ford nudged Falon. “She’s so far into the deep end of the pool, she doesn’t even know which way is up anymore. Isn’t that right, Ms. Moore?”
Still trying to process the threat of both his words and the naked possessiveness she saw in both mens’ gazes, she simply nodded, momentarily deprived of speech, if not her will to keep fighting.
They’d never extinguish that.