Her Troika (31 page)

“Come on,” Kurt said, pulling her up by her hair. He pressed a hard kiss to her lips, his gaze fiery. Then he nodded toward Derek. “We need to get back. It’ll be dark soon, and we don’t have any lights up here yet.”

“What kinda cheap joint you runnin’ here anyway?” Derek said with a grin.

Breanna let out a surprised yelp as Kurt pulled the saddle strap tight, bringing her up onto her toes as he roughly tied it off at the back of her harness. Derek fondled her breasts as she waited, eyes down, as Kurt secured her arms behind her once more, jostling her as he ensured her straps were snug.

Then they made their way back down the hill, each man taking turns in the cart behind her striding legs, and churning whip-scored buttocks. As Derek took his turn, flicking her hip with the whip, his eyes fixated on her semen-slickened inner thighs. His imagination wandered as he watched her. He pictured her pussy stoppered with a thick plug, retaining his seed within her. In his mind’s eye, he could see her waiting in their bedroom in the heat of a summer evening, naked on elbows and knees, her head down, her broad round bottom up, her hugely swollen belly below her. He could hear her murmurs as he slid his cock deep, his hands gathering up her breasts to squeeze them, his fingers playing with the darkened, enlarged nipples. His cock stirred anew at the thought.

What, you want to get her pregnant now, too? You’ve lost your fucking mind.

Maybe not now, not really, but he remembered his ex, how she was horrified at the very idea of children. He’d always wanted them, knew he’d make a good father someday. And he knew how beautiful a woman like Breanna would look pregnant.

But as she made her way off the hill, and brought the cart toward the barn, Kurt urging her into an exaggerated tit-bouncing gait once more, one word still rang over and over in Derek’s mind.

Master.

Chapter Twenty Four

T
he waters of Elliott Bay reflected the afternoon sunlight up into her eyes. Her assistant, Tina, had tried to pull the shades, but Breanna had stopped her. It wasn't sunny that often in Seattle, and she wanted to soak it all up — even way up there in her office, twenty five stories above the street.

That sun reminded her of that baking track, the freshly cut dusty trail up the hillside. It reminded her of them. Their deep, growling voices, the hard, merciless hands, the thick cocks stretching her.

She still didn't know what she was supposed to do, supposed to feel. It was still a little uncomfortable to sit on anything hard. The mementos of her weekend of submission and objectification; of pleasure and pain. Kurt had left marks before of course, but nothing like these. The first day back, she'd stood in front of the full-length mirror in the early morning light of her bedroom, and stared at the vivid colors of her bruises. Now, the colors had faded away, only a shadow of them left — but the memories remained.

Yes, it's all you can think about, Breanna.

But that wasn't all of it, not by a long shot. Kurt had murmured it to her, before Derek had lain down those lines of fire with that evil crop. It was a lot more complicated now. More than even she'd expected. Fantasies never held complications, never tripped you up with little things like reality, ramifications, and difficulty.

Derek.

She tried not to think more about him, tried not to squeeze it too hard. That wanting, that needing more. He'd been more than she'd ever hoped for — and she didn't know what the hell she was going to do about that fact. She knew now what it meant when she'd read poly couples online counseling against jumping into things. How incredibly powerful all that emotion was. It could warp your judgment, cast things in a deceptively favorable light, and keep one from seeing the unvarnished truth of things. The fact was, her feelings for Derek had scrambled up her emotions so badly, she hadn't known up from down. So she'd concentrated on just obeying, and not thinking. There wasn't time to think.

Now, though, back in her real world, all she
had
was time to think. And the more she thought about it, the more she knew she needed to talk to her husband about what came next. Hoping, yearning. To feel out what that next step might be, even as she steeled her heart for the possibility that what she’d dreamed of might stay just that. A dream; a dark, alluring fantasy better left in the safe realm of imagination.

Next week, they'd go back — and this time it would be the real deal. Many owners, many slaves — even a few ponygirls like herself. But was she sure that's what she'd be? What if they hadn't really decided anything by then? Did her status
need
to be decided? She was theirs — that should be all that mattered to her now. Was she just a lust-addled idiot to be thinking of all of this? To let her mind wander down the honeyed halls of sweet daydreams, of hopes she only had the courage to whisper in her mind.

For some reason, Kurt hadn't spoken of it in the two days since they'd been back. The first morning, upon waking, he'd made her pull down her panties and lay over the foot of the bed. She'd been excited at that murmured command, thinking she might be getting another spanking, even as her rational mind — the one not centered in her clit — told her it would not only be stupid, it might be dangerous.

Rather than a spanking though, his hands had caressed her buttocks, those hard fingers gentle, following the stark lines, the bursts of color the crop had left in her flesh. She'd never had one used on her before, and she wasn't sure she ever wanted one used on her again.

That's not up to you anymore, is it?

It wasn't. And though the thought made her mouth dry and the butterflies flutter in her belly, she knew it to be true, knew that lack of choice to be right for her. Maybe it had been something she'd always wanted?

Her pen twirled in her fingers as she stared out at the still green surface of Puget Sound. One of the water taxis was just pulling away from its dock, headed for the hidden jewel that was West Seattle, just across the bay.

She'd walked Alki Point with Kurt when they were first married, the cold wind chilling them to the bone. The determined joggers hadn't been fazed though, and the roadside bars that lined the road following the arc of the point were hopping, as usual. The city certainly didn't have a reputation as a crazy place. She knew otherwise, though.

Seattle never really stopped the party.

She still remembered the way Kurt's thick thighs shivered as she'd worked his shorts down, his hands playing with the frazzled mess the wind had made of her long hair. His cock had seemed so cool to her hot lips as she'd knelt in the car afterward, wind gusts buffeting the vehicle as she’d sucked him—

A knock on her door startled her back to the now. Tina cracked the door, her brown curls and uncertain smile peeking in.

"Got something for you here."

"Huh? Okay, come on in." Breanna stood, taking one last look at the water. One of the huge white painted ferries was coming back in — probably from Bainbridge or Mercer. She loved the ferries, the way their massive size deceived the eye as to just how fast they were moving across the water, the way the engine vibration felt under her feet as they stood outside smelling that salt breeze, wrapped in each others arms, Kurt's soft lips tickling her ear as he whispered the latest depraved thing he'd planned to do to her when they got home.

"The courier was a
haw-tee
," Tina said, waggling her sculpted brows, laying the yellow manila envelope on Breanna's desk. "I would've called you to scope him out, but he was in a hurry, I guess."

Oh, if only you knew what I really did with my spare time.

Breanna smiled at her assistant. "Thanks, Tina."

"Sure. Let me know if you need anything." The door snicked closed behind her.

Things had been different, there was no getting around it. Sure, they were a decade older. She'd thought maybe that was it at first — closing in on forty, she felt those sands of time, keenly. Then Kurt had dropped his bombshell.

He wanted to start over. He'd told her he wasn't being the real him, the man he'd always been inside — and as of that day, that
moment
, that was over with.

She’d never forget the way her heart had pounded as she’d sat there on the edge of the coffee table, listening to him, watching him pace. She’d been certain that it meant he'd found someone else, that this was it. The terrifying chasm had loomed ahead. Divorce. Heartbreak. Loneliness.

Then he'd said the last thing she'd ever have expected him to say, the last thing she’d have expected
any
man to say.

"I'm going to spank you."

Five words to change their marriage, to change their lives. And it opened up an entire new world, a renewed connection, an ever deepening, and strengthening bond of lust and love and pleasure. And not a little pain, too.

At his gruff order to go into their bedroom and take off her clothes, she'd obeyed, dazed, wondering as she'd walked down the hall if it had all been real.

It had. Thank God.

Dropping back into her chair, she kicked off her shoes under the desk. These new ones were killing her feet, but both she and Kurt loved them, the way they accentuated her legs, the heels calling bold attention to her height. Plus, she was fairly certain the pain — which she'd dutifully reported to her husband — probably added something even more to the allure of the shoes for him. That she'd wear something so beautiful, even though it hurt, just to please her husband. Truth be told, it pleased her too, for she'd adored the flash of his eyes when he'd looked her up and down.

She knew she'd never get tired of inspiring lust in her beloved Kurt.

The envelope wasn't marked, and she used her pen to pry open the flap. She smiled at the menu — her favorite place, right on the water near Ballard. Along with the menu was a note, and she unfolded it. She pursed her lips as she read it:

Don't laugh at this. I'm sick of e-mails and texts all the time. Isn't this better, somehow?

"Yes, it is," she said aloud to no one at all, still reading.

I want you to meet me for early dinner. 4:00. We have some things to talk about.

Kurt

She set the note down, gazing out the huge windows again, squinting at the afternoon sun. Clouds were building to the west, already shrouding the Olympics. She hoped they'd hold off until sunset. Until she could take the man she loved back home to show him how a good wife treats a good husband.

Deciding to leave her car in the garage for the night, she'd called for a taxi. Tina got her a town car instead, making a face at the mention of getting a cab, citing the potential issues with mixing skeevy cabbies and a hot woman in short skirts.

Tipping the driver half again her entire fare — the man knew how to drive — she smoothed her skirt as she walked down the weathered wood of the outdoor deck. The ocean smell of the Sound was sharp, but where others found it off-putting, she breathed it in. It was life, and she'd learned to savor it, in all its forms and environments. One of the unexpected benefits of a woman deep in lust, exploring the limits of her desire — a new found appreciation for the simple, yet profound things in life we pass by every day, yet never really experience.

Now, she looked forward to seeing her Kurt, her Master, his hooded eyes, the line of his jaw, the bulge of genitals as his cock hardened at the mere sight of his wife, his slave. Maybe it would be dinner, whispered threats and promises in her ear, then who knew what else the night would hold while ensconced safely in her husband's strong arms? She’d been sure to make herself a few minutes late, just enough to get her into a little trouble — if Kurt was so inclined.

And he almost always was.

But her thoughts took her in a different direction. It was a fleeting memory from the farm. Watching her two men talk while she stood mute, sweating, the hot sun beating down upon her heaving chest. As she watched them talk, it had first come to her then. Wondering if ...

Perhaps you could tell him now? Might be time, you think?

Yes, now was the time. And as she turned the corner to the side of the deck that faced the Sound, the breeze washing over her face, she resolved to do just that. There was no reason to be afraid. It was time to be honest.

Then she spotted the table that was their favorite … and stopped in her tracks.

It wasn’t her husband sitting at their table.

* * *

H
e didn't know how he'd missed this place. The low-slung, weathered wood of the restaurant’s facade jutted right out onto the water, tucked between a marina teeming with boats worth more money than his life, and the huge gray hulk of an industrial building. A couple miles across the water was a beautiful view of the sparkling, sun-drenched gap between two of Puget Sound’s innumerable small islands, huge evergreens crowding down to the very water's edge on either side of the passage.

It was happy hour, so he had plenty of company at the restaurant. Somehow, that felt better, though. Not being alone here. Being alone would mean he'd have to examine his thoughts, to face the truth. His return from the farm was a return to reality — and the likelihood that this probably wasn't going to work.