Boy (The Training House #2) (11 page)

As we round the shorter curve of the arena, I stumble, and hear a startled gasp from Ishtar. I pull hard to the left, trying to pull the weight of the buggy with me, righting it, and it’s fucking hard—painful—but I manage to do it. And the damn ginger is ahead again. I dig my feet into the earth and sprint forward just in time. Dahlia waves the flag madly as I cross the finish line, and the crowd goes crazy. Almost instantly, Victor and the two Boys are there, unharnessing me from the buggy.

“Good boy,” Victor tells me.

I want to tell him to fuck off, but even if I wasn’t gagged with the damn plug, I’m too focused on getting into the ginger’s muscular ass to much care about anything else.

They’re still working on releasing him from his buggy when I lunge at him, pulling him down so fast I take one of the slave Boys attending him with us. So the fuck what? I
will
have him. I slam into his big body, forcing him onto his side, and with one knee on his tail, I roll him until the plug slips out of his ass. He’s figured out what’s happening, finally, and he fights me—we’re both back on our feet again. It’s a mad wrestling match, with both of us hooved, hands and feet. One of his metal hooves slams me across the cheek, but pain only fuels my desire, my raging need to take him. My leg snakes around his, and I take him down to the ground again. I smell him—a mixture of sweat, fear, desire. Pre-cum.

Using my thighs, my knees and elbows, I get him under me, on his knees. He’s trying to buck up, but the only thing this accomplishes is bringing his fine, tight ass within reach of my raging hard-on, and I jam it in as quick as I can.

I hear a muffled “oomph” despite the bit in his mouth, and pleasure is like a serpent, winding sinuously through my balls, my belly, into my ass, which is still beautifully plugged. I begin to fuck him in short, vicious strokes. Because I need to. And because it’s the best way to keep him down.

The edging I felt earlier while being dressed in pony gear, as well as Victor’s “fluffing” and the obvious pleasure of the crowd, makes me need to come too damn fast. I want to slow it down, to draw it out, to add to the thrill of the voyeurs watching us, but I can’t fucking control myself. His ass is as tight as a virgin’s, and I know I’m probably tearing him up a little, which only makes it hotter.

Yeah, bleed for me, motherfucker
.

I can feel the jizz gathering in my tight balls, hot and churning with need. And with a scream from deep in my throat, I spill into him. Still fucking him, fucking him, as hard as I can, come spurts from my cock so hard it hurts. But I don’t care. It’s too goddamn good. So good.

I pull out of him, trying hard to catch my breath—a challenge with the rubber gag plug still firmly in place—and as I get to my feet, the crowd applauds, roars, screams. I turn and give them a little bow, which only makes them go wilder. Pleasure shimmers over my flesh like rows of goosebumps. The ginger stud starts to get up, but I shove him back down with a knee in his back. He’s on elbows and knees on the ground in what looks like a pose of supplication, and I can see from the damp puddle in the dirt beside his discarded tail that the fucker came while I was pegging him.

Suddenly, I like this Boy.

But things are happening fast—Victor grabbing my reins and pulling me back a few feet while the slave Boys help the hulking redhead up and lead him away. He manages to shake them off long enough to turn and look at me, his face red beneath the straps of his headpiece, his eyes gleaming with equal parts fury and the afterglow of orgasm. Then they drag him off, and I’m left in the center of the ring with Victor hanging on to me as the Master approaches and lays a wreath of white roses around my neck. But he won’t look me in the eye. I try to pull away from Victor, but he’s got a good grip on the reins, controlling me. I shake my head, trying to shake him loose. Not that it does much good. Victor is strong as hell, the resident Superman, and maybe the only handler here who can really handle me if I’m ready to bolt, and I am, and I’m not. Maybe I just want to be in control. Ha!

Then the Master surprises me by leaning in and telling me quietly, “Excellent job, Christopher.” He gives me a pat on the neck, then the cheek, his fingers digging in as they curl around one of the straps there, and he helps Victor lead me from the arena. Victor opens the wide gate, and we step through. On the other side the Master gives my head a hard yank, forcing me to face him, which I’m happy to do. I want to see his face, to see the pride there.

But what’s burning in his handsome features isn’t pride, exactly—it’s some combination of emotions that’s too complicated for me to take in right now. I’m still the pony, transitioning back to being myself, and my brain isn’t functioning. I am too much an animal right now, and my responses are operating at a purely primal level.

“Christopher,” he whispers harshly, his face inches from mine, “don’t think I am unaware that you plan to leave. Remember what we spoke about. Just…see that you do, damn it.”

He releases me, and walks away, leaving me feeling a little shell-shocked. Is it because I’m so unused to hearing him swear? Because of how angry he is with me?

My earlier euphoria is mixed with a sense of loss now. But I should be used to being a walking contradiction. I should be used to loss.

Victor runs a hand over my back, making me shiver even through the latex.

“Shower time for you, then rest. Do rest, Christopher. You’ve earned it. And you’ll need it.”

The Boys are back, and together they strip me down and get me into the showers. The hot water feels magnificent, and when they’re drying me off, my dick goes hard again. I could stand to come again, but then, I always can.

Victor has disappeared, and I feel a little like shit that I’m relieved, but I need to disconnect. I’ve gotten some of my brain back after the shower, and I don’t want to spend too much more time thinking about things. I’ll rest, as Victor said, but then it’ll be time for action.

The Boys take me to an empty stall, and I lie down in the straw, gladly closing my eyes even as they lock the shackle onto my left ankle. I have much to think about, to dream about. And it all has to do with my beautiful Aimée.

When I wake, the hazy blue-gold of twilight is drifting in through the big barn doors and the air has turned chilly. Someone has come in and laid a horse blanket over me as I slept, and left a tray of real food—a thick chicken stew and a hunk of fresh bread. I get up, take a good, long piss in the bucket, then settle down in the soft straw to eat, and when I’m done I lean into the water trough for a long drink. Then I take a look around to get my bearings.

This is stall eleven, at the opposite end from the handlers tack room, which means Aimée is at the other end of the barn. And there’s a key within reach in here. I have to stretch hard enough that the metal shackle bites into my ankle, drawing a little blood, but it doesn’t matter. Soon I have the key, and I release myself from my chains with only the tiniest edge of regret. Carefully, I replace the key in its hiding place, then poke my head from the stall to make sure the barn is empty of handlers before stepping quietly into the center aisle.

When I make my way to the handlers’ room, I find one of my stash spots behind a cabinet and pull a tight roll of cash wrapped in a plastic bag from it—somewhere around three thousand dollars, if I remember correctly. Grabbing a feedbag from a hook on the wall, I shove the cash into it, then pull a blanket from a shelf, and head to the stall I last saw Aimée in.

But she’s not fucking there! Instead it’s the sleeping figure of a Boy. Luckily he doesn’t stir, even as I cuss under my breath. If they’ve taken her away, Godless motherfucking bastards… But I’m sure they have.
He
has.  Did I really think he wouldn’t fuck with me, if not make it completely impossible for me to get to her? I’m not that deluded, even blinded as I am by my need for her.

I stop swearing and pull in a long breath.

Get your shit together. Go find her.

One by one, I carefully check each stall, some empty, some with sleeping slaves. And finally, in the stall next to the one I’ve just escaped from, there she is—awake and lovelier than ever, blinking at me, which I can see even in the relative darkness of the barn, with only the dim wall sconces in the center aisle to offer any light

“Shh,” I tell her in a whisper as I step in and kneel beside her. I take her face in my hand, feel her shiver beneath my touch. “Will you come with me?” I ask. “Come away and be with me, Aimée. I can’t demand it of you, as much as I’d like to. Are you still willing?”

She lets out a small sob, and when I cover her mouth with my palm, I have my answer as she leans into me, turning her head to nuzzle my hand, to leave soft, fluttering kisses there. I pull it away before I become too distracted by my growing hard-on and the emotion flooding my system. It’s too much, and I need to stay on task.

“I thought you’d left without me. I was so afraid I’d never see you again.”

I hold her face in my hands, letting her tears dampen my skin, and something in me fucking loves her tears. It makes me hot, but it also makes me…what? Her tears do something that’s entirely unfamiliar to me—a painful and glorious tightening of my chest that feels amazing, and at the same time, freaks me the fuck out. 

I stare into her eyes, and they’re more green than ever, gleaming with the tears. Beautiful. So damn vulnerable it makes me ache in places I didn’t know existed. Oh, I could become the poet for this girl. I could maybe become everything for her.

“I need you to think about it,” I tell her. “Once we go, there’s no turning back—not for me. They’ll never accept me back into this inner circle once I take you out of here. I don’t know if they’d accept you again—I can’t say. Do you understand what it means to go away with me?”

“I understand I will get to be with you.”

“And that’ll be enough?” I have to ask it. It’s one of the few times in my adult life I’ve been unsure of myself. Will
I
be enough?

“You are
everything
,” she says, keeping her soft voice low. “I know we hardly know each other in terms of time span, but the things we’ve said to each other…the strange kind of life we have in common, even the enormous differences in the way we were raised…it all adds up. Except it’s not a mathematical equation—you can’t define human experience that way. There’s an undeniable connection that goes far beyond the kink or the chemistry—and you must feel the same, or you wouldn’t be here right now. You’d simply be gone. You’ve said as much. Do I have to know more than that I want to take this risk with you? That because it’s
you
, it doesn’t feel so risky? Do I have to know why? Does it really matter? ”

“Not when you say it like that.” Stroking her hot cheek with my thumb, then my palm, I feel the fever of her sincerity burn into my hand. Into my fucking
soul
. She has to be mine. She
is
mine. I have no other option. “Let’s go.”

I find the key hidden in the wall and unlock her, then wrap her in the blanket I’ve brought. “I have clothes in an outbuilding, but nothing that’ll fit you, Aimée. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Yes. It’s all okay. I know you’ll take care of me.”

A sense of pride unlike anything I’ve felt before floods my system, and as I lace an arm around her waist and we move quietly out into the cool night, I feel almost unbearably protective of her. My girl.
Mine
.

Something that belongs to me for the first time in my life.

No.
Someone
.

We jog up the road, then I direct her to veer off onto a side path that leads up a hill to a small tool shed. Inside, on a high shelf behind a box of rusting bailing wire, I have a bundle of clothes hidden away—dark jeans, black t-shirt, black thermal pullover, socks and boots—and a cell phone with a battery-powered charger. I plug it in before I dress her in the warm shirt, which comes down over her thighs, then dress myself in the rest. The clothes feel odd against my skin, the soft cotton much stranger than the latex I wore earlier in the day. Transferring the cash to the small leather satchel I kept the clothes in, I stash the feedbag in its place. The less traceable clues to our whereabouts, the better, for a time—until the memory of us fades away. Then I’ll return the contract fees the Master paid into our bank accounts when we signed. It’s what I always do, and he’ll know I’m good for it. I may be the ultimate brat, the ultimate anarchist and an ex-junkie, but I’m no thief. Except that I’m stealing Aimée from him.

Don’t think about it now.

Taking her hand, I lead her down another path until we get to the grand, well-lit iron gates of the ranch, and I call for a cab. The cell phone feels strange in my hand, as if I’m from some other era and unfamiliar with the technology. It’s always like this, when I run. It’s all a little routine to me. But Aimée has been silent this whole time, and I’m worried about how she’s taking all this, escaping like refugees in the night.

“Hey. You okay, prettiness?” I ask her, stroking her silky hair from her cheek while we wait, maybe more for my benefit than hers.

“I will always be okay with you, Christopher. I promise.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“It’s as mysterious as that, isn’t it? You and I?”

“It is. But I’ve decided I don’t have to understand it, as I told you earlier. I know this whole thing is a little crazy. I truly don’t care. I’ve always followed what my heart needed, and this is no different, unless that it’s more so. Impossibly more. And…I think you’re doing the same, aren’t you? Following your heart?”

I nod and pull her in closer.

The cab arrives in a small spray of gravel and dust, and we get in. The driver gives me a puzzled look in the rearview mirror, but I hand him a wad of twenties and tell him to take us to a hotel I know in Monterey, one town over. When I loop an arm around her shoulders, she lays her head on my chest in an attitude of absolute trust, and eventually she seems to sleep.