Her Troika (The Complete Story) (Dominion Trust Book 2) (27 page)

“He’s not whipping her that hard.” In fact, she only had a faint pattern of pink lines across the round contours of her bottom.

“I’m not talking about that,” Kurt said, with a wink. “Wait until we can untack her. I’ll bet her pussy is
soaked
.”

“She seriously … likes this?” He knew it was a patently absurd question, but as seemed to be happening often in the past few days, he just blurted shit out without thinking, his brain unable to process all that he’d witnessed.

“She signed up for this. I even asked her if she was sure, but she was bound and determined.”

“For
all
of this? Has she ever seen any of this before?”

Kurt shrugged. “Not in person, no — but she’s heard the stories. You should’ve seen her the first time she heard about the Terms. Sat at dinner that night with this spacey look on her face. Deep in fantasyland, I think.”

“Where do you think she is now?” For the hundredth time, Derek wished he could get inside her head, feel what she felt — know what it was about all this that excited her so.

“Where is she right now?” Kurt grinned, tilting his head. “Oh I’d say ‘in over her head’. Which is just where I like her.”

Lino guided her back to the cart, stopping her in front of it. Her reins close to her head, he guided her between the traces projecting up from the front of the cart. The straps at the hips of her harness (Derek remembered wondering just what the hell
those
were for) were wrapped around the metal of each trace, then each metal arm fitted through the two stout fixed rings embedded in the harness. Lino finished off the equipage by locking the rings together, fixing the traces tightly within them.

“The weight is taken by her hips.” Lino tapped Breanna’s pinioned elbows. “No hands for fillies.”

“Um, what happens if she, uh, falls?” Derek pictured carnage as she tripped in those boots, the cart behind her rolling over her.

Lino palmed one of Breanna’s buttocks. “Kneel.”

She turned her head to the Spaniard, who gave her a sharp nod. The traces lowered as she sank to the dirt, her unsteady legs trembling.

“Now, up.” Lino grasped her ponytail, giving it a yank. “Yes, up.”

Breanna struggled to her feet, twisting against the bonds locking her to her traces. Finally she straightened, her breath coming faster around the bit.

“Now you sit, and see,” Lino said to Derek, pointing at the cart.

“You gotta be shittin’ me.”

“Just do it, pussy.” Kurt’s smile made Derek want to smack it off his face.

Derek shot Kurt a sharp look then climbed in, shaking his head. “Okay, now wha—”

He found himself eye level with Breanna’s gorgeous ass, and whatever words he’d intended to speak died upon his lips, utterly meaningless in comparison to the beautiful, bound woman standing a mere arm’s length from him. The cruel grip of the harness made her round buttocks swell even more, and he longed to run his fingers down the faint pink marks left by the carriage whip.

The dark, thin line of the saddle strap plunged between those mouthwatering cheeks, disappearing into the swollen folds of the shaven sex he could just make out between her legs.

He could see the faint trembling of her thighs, and wondered if it was from fatigue, or perhaps nervousness at having him sitting so close behind her, fully exposed to him, a front row seat to her degradation.

Lino’s whip played against her buttocks, stroking the curve of her hip. “Now, kneel,
fulana
.”

She sank down, the traces following her at first, but then she stopped, seeming to almost float in place. Lino tapped her under her thighs and she lifted them, suspending herself by the anchors attaching her harness to the traces.

“How the fu…?”

Lino grinned. “Cart has counterweight — you.”

“Fat ass,” Kurt muttered from behind him.

Derek’s arm shot up, middle finger extended.

Lino’s grin brightened. “As long as you — or Mr. Kurt — are in cart, she cannot fall.” His whip menaced her once more, stroking slowly up between the cheeks of her bottom. “But you must train her
hard
. She must pull, always. Filly must fear your whip as much as your disappointment.”

The Spaniard plucked the riding crop from the holder attached to Derek’s seat. “Only use this when she needs. You must be careful.” Then he waved the carriage whip. “This is for direction, for training. Filly will come to know whip well, to obey without thinking.”

He pressed the whip into Derek’s hand. “Take her out.”

“What? I don’t—”

“She will know,” Lino said, with a nod. “She has ears. She has a
chocho
. She has fantasies. Give it to her.”

He craned his head back toward Kurt. His friend just inclined his head, a crooked smile creasing his weathered features.

Derek looked back at the waiting buttocks, so vulnerable, the urge to whip them, to make her cry out, so strong it shocked him for a moment. He took a deep breath as Lino stepped away from the cart.

“Remember, use whip, and reins,” Lino said. “She does not need words — once you have trained her.”

What in the blue fuck am I doing?

The carriage whip was surprisingly light in his hand, the weight all in the grip, and he flicked her buttocks with it. She jerked in her harness, paused a moment, then leaned forward, pulling. It was then that Derek realized the cart was much heavier than it looked. He definitely wasn’t the only counterweight in case she fell.

He clicked his tongue, then shook his head, feeling like an idiot.

She’s a woman, you asshole.

But there
was
something about this, as she got the cart moving, the vibration of the track transmitting itself through the frame of the cart. He watched her round buttocks shudder with every step, the muscles of her long, gorgeous legs standing out as she strained within her traces. It was almost as if he could put her identity, even her humanity, aside, and just luxuriate in watching her, in controlling her, in using her, simply for his pleasure, for the selfish joy he felt in reducing her to a mode of transport. A (very beautiful) beast of burden.

For the first time, he really understood what her objectification meant, and though he’d probably hate himself in the morning for it … he liked it.

Oh yes, he liked it very much indeed.

She’d managed to get the cart up to surprising speed as she neared the first turn of the track.

He pulled back on the left rein, not sure how much force was needed to make her feel it, and not wanting to hurt her. He saw her head turn slightly at first, then she looked straight ahead, turning left. He quickly found that he had to give little pulls on the left rein rather than one steady pull, as she tended to drift toward the inside edge of the track — and the railing. So, rather than one smooth curve, it was more like several, somewhat ragged jogs to the left. On the far side of the track she seemed to get her feet under her more and she sped up a little more as they straightened out, the straps at the traces squeaking a little at the vibration from her gait. There was less dust than he’d feared, since he sat so close to her, but a huge cloud of it rose behind them. He glanced over at Kurt and Lino, the two men watching intently. He wondered if they envied him at that moment.

Watching the swaying of her hips, the rolling of her buttocks, a sheen of sweat making their curves glisten in the sun, he wouldn’t blame them one bit.

Glancing down at the crop in its holster, he wondered how and why anyone would ever need to use it on a … ponygirl. She pulled obediently enough, though he flicked her ass once more with the whip anyway. Each time he did, he felt her lurch forward as if she might flee the sting, or perhaps obediently trying to wring more speed from her pumping legs. He found the effect delightful whatever the reason, as she bent slightly forward in the traces, her buttocks opening just enough to get quick glimpses of the strap bisected sex between her thighs.

“Second turn, Breanna,” he said, not sure if she could really hear him over the noise of the wheels on the dirt. “Can we run it smoother?”

Easing the left rein back once more, this time she was able to negotiate the turn better, only needing to be straightened once to keep her off the inside rail. As they rounded the turn, heading back toward Kurt and Lino, he could hear her breathing hard around the bit, the wind whipping her blonde ponytail into the air. He snapped the whip against her ass again, for no reason other than he could.

You’ll be lucky if she even talks to you again after this, dude.

He’d just have to take the risk — this was just too fun.

“Okay, okay, Breanna. That’s it,” he said, pulling on both reins. The momentum of the cart was hard for her to stop at first and she stumbled a bit, but she was finally able to bring it to a halt just past the two men.

Kurt clapped, his grin bright in the midday sunshine. “A natural! You weren’t bad either, Derek.”

Lino caught the reins in his hand, holding them close to her head once more. His hand stroked the whip marks on her bottom. “You must do more, Mr. Derek. She can go faster. You hardly used whip.”

She jerked her head against Lino’s grip, trying to turn her head toward him, and he shook her in admonishment, throwing her off balance, making her take a small step. Lino snatched the crop from its holster, and measured the crop across her buttocks. She froze, her bottom clenching around the thin strap bisecting it. The crop snapped down once, twice, each stroke leaving a white line across her flesh, which instantly reddened.

“Holy shit. Take it easy, man!” She whined against her bit as the welts swelled, almost before Derek’s eyes.

“No, you must expect more from filly. She must never, never resist her grooms, her Masters. When she does, she will be punished. No exceptions.” Lino’s crop tapped the haft of the carriage whip Derek still held in his hand. “You will learn to use more. Do not go easy, Mr. Derek. Ever.”

Kurt stepped close to her on the opposite side from Lino. He bent and inspected the swollen, darkening weals across her ass, a fingertip tracing one of them. He straightened and murmured something in her ear. She nodded, hanging her head.

“She knows what she did was wrong,” Kurt said, giving Lino a nod. Then he waved a hand at Derek. “Now get your ass out of that cart. It’s my turn.”

They took turns driving her round and round the track, Lino occasionally walking along the inside rail yelling instructions or admonishing Breanna, his accented speech liberally laced with Spanish vulgarities. More than once, Derek had made a mental note to look up a word or two.

After each run, they compared her performance, and looked over the marks their whip strokes had left on her increasingly well-wealed bottom, Lino barking at her to stand still as they inspected her.

Once Lino had been convinced they’d had a good enough introduction to driving her, he’d led her back to what Derek still thought of as the Maypole, attaching her to a lead and forcing her to march round and round in that exaggerated, tit-bouncing gait once more. Kurt and Derek watched as she completed the endless circles, sweat pouring from her body, Lino much more liberal with the lash than they’d been as she’d pulled them in the carts. Soon though, Lino brought her to halt, unsnapping her lead from the pole and bringing her back over to them.

“This is your last night at farm, yes Mr. Kurt?”

“It is,” Kurt said, his gaze not leaving the rapid rise and fall of Breanna’s big breasts.

Her eyes, largely downcast since her ordeal on the track, met his for a moment, her cheeks flushing, then she looked at the ground once more.

“I must attend to other duties,” Lino said, handing her lead to Kurt. “You need time alone with her still. Filly needs time to become used to two grooms … or two Masters.”

“Where are you off to?” Derek tried to ignore the crazy urge to snatch the lead from Kurt’s hands.

“This is large facility, Mr. Derek. Lino always busy man.” The Spaniard flashed a smile, his straight, white teeth contrasting against the dark Mediterranean skin tone and curly black hair.

“Other duties?” Derek lifted an eyebrow. “Kurt?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Kurt turned to Breanna, fondling her breasts, grinning down at his harnessed, bitted wife. “We’ve got … work to do, too.”

For probably the thousandth time, Derek wished it were his hands squeezing those gorgeous, pale globes.

“You could try the trail, Mr. Kurt.”

Kurt looked from Lino back to Breanna, his expression sobering. “I don’t know. Maybe too tired?”

“She still has energy.” Lino tipped his chin up in Breanna’s direction. “She will obey, if she’s left no choice — tired or not tired.”

Lino touched the back of his hand to Breanna’s cheek, the gentle gesture incongruous with the stern sentiment of his words. “Obey them,
fulana
. Do not disappoint them — or me.”

Her eyes closed with a shiver, yet oddly, pressing her cheek to his knuckles, she nodded.

Lino shook Derek’s hand. “You be here next week, Mr. Derek?”

“I … don’t know.”