by Kitty Thomas
“Japanese rope bondage. He learned it a few years ago. If he’s doing the fancy rope work, you’re going to be there for awhile,” Robert said.
Robert wasn’t kidding. Half an hour later, Luke was just finishing up the knots. He’d wrapped ropes intricately around both of her arms, keeping it as loose as possible around the sunburned areas. On her legs he wasn’t so lenient. Then he tied ropes around her upper torso, and her breasts. The constricting nature of that much rope tied with that much time and complexity made her panic.
“Shhhh,” Luke said, stroking her hip. “Deep breaths. This is why I wanted you relaxed. Will can cut you out fast if necessary.”
“I have a problem,” Veronica said, once her breathing was back to normal.
“Yes?”
She flushed and lowered her voice. “I have to pee.”
Luke started to laugh.
“I’m serious. I really have to go.”
He shrugged, unconcerned with her discomfort. “So pee.”
Her eyes widened. “I hope that’s a joke. I can’t just pee.”
Luke’s expression darkened. “You can and you will. We are far from finished with you and there’s no way I’m undoing all this work so you can take a piss. It’s just pee. Do it.”
She shook her head and glared at him, her lips set in a firm, defiant line. “I can’t.” There was no way she could be exposed like that and pee in front of them. It was too degrading and awful.
Robert, who was proving to be the most dangerous instigator of the group, came closer. “This, I have to see.”
Within a couple of minutes, all four of them were standing around her, arms crossed, amused looks on their faces—just waiting for it.
“I’m not doing it,” she said.
Despite the alcohol that had lightened his mood, Luke’s face was stern. “Ronnie, what did we say about you making an effort and seeing how much nicer I could be?”
“I don’t care. Be mean, beat the shit out of me, but I’m absolutely not doing it. I’d rather die.” She didn’t really mean that, she only said it because she didn’t think he’d do it, at least not the killing part. He was too giddy with all the perverted things he could make her do to end it all now. The big box of videos he had of Trish said it had been a long time since he’d done all of this, and he wasn’t about to end the party now.
“You’ll do it. You won’t have a choice.” Luke turned to one of the guys, “Jake, go get the bong out of the shed.”
Veronica jerked her head up at that. They had a bong? When did they have time for recreational drug use? She’d seen the amount of work they had to do, though they did seem to sometimes stop about a half hour before dinner time. Still, she’d never smelled it on any of them.
“You’re getting her high?” Jake asked.
“Oh yes.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose? If she’s too stoned to care, it’s less fun.”
“I’m only relaxing her enough so that she’ll let go, not enough to kill the impact on her.”
Jake disappeared behind the hay bales and came back ten minutes later with the bong, ready to go. Luke lit it and held the mouthpiece up to her mouth. Veronica preferred to be a little stoned for this, so she chose not to fight him and inhaled.
“Okay, that’s plenty, maybe a little too much.”
She relaxed. She knew they’d succeeded in their goal when they let out whistles and catcalls. Then she felt the hot, wet stream trickle down her leg.
When she realized what she’d done, the tears started sliding down her face. Luke moved in next to her ear. “Don’t let them get to you. They’re just fucking with you. They’re drunk as hell and won’t remember it in the morning.”
The small gesture caught her off guard. “What about Will?”
“Well, you know about him and Frieda. He’s probably the freakiest fucker here. Nothing fazes him, so don’t worry about it.”
Robert came up with the water hose and Veronica cringed, afraid he was going to hose her down like some prison movie, but he was only cleaning her off with a light mist.
Luke seemed to have sobered up as he approached with that predatory look in his eyes. Despite the discomfort since he’d tied her to the wooden beams, and despite the other men looking on, her mouth watered when he unzipped his pants. However sober he appeared, he had to still be buzzed if he was casually dropping trough in front of the others.
“Beg me to fuck you, sweetheart. I want the guys to hear how sweet you sound when you beg me.”
Veronica’s heart beat harder, and the relaxation that had hit her with the marijuana faded as everything came into hyper focus. If she didn’t do as he requested, he might beat her and then force her. She needed to feel at least the illusion of consent. It was impossible to fight him with the ropes tied so tightly around her, especially outnumbered as she was.
Her real choice wasn’t whether she would consent or not. The real choice was whether she would try to separate herself from the event, try to hover outside her body or if she would connect and feel and accept what these men would do to her. The latter was a terrifying idea that every cell in her body bucked and rebelled against, but the former... if she separated she might become so lost she never found herself again.
Veronica closed her eyes and forced the words past her lips. “P-please, Sir, fuck me.” When she’d said it, the throbbing need began between her legs.
“In front of my men? You dirty slut. Do you like being watched, Ronnie?”
“I-I don’t know.”
It wasn’t as if the idea of his ranch hands in some kind of circle jerk around her hadn’t entered her filthy mind, but she hadn’t thought they’d actually act it out. She wasn’t sure she could handle the reality when she couldn’t control the outcome.
“Do you want to find out?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
Luke looked back at Robert. “What did I tell you? Do you trust my judgment now?”
Robert tossed back another beer. “Sure, boss. I trust everything you say right now.”
Luke stepped out of his pants, and Veronica licked her lips. He was hard and ready, but he still lazily stroked his cock, watching her. He finally filled her inch by agonizingly slow inch. He trapped her gaze in his as his hand dug into her brand.
“Ow!”
A slow smile. She wouldn’t have guessed a rancher would know anything about the art of subtlety or innuendo, but the pain and grip on her hip hadn’t been accidental. When he entered her, he wanted her to remember which one of them she belonged to.
He stroked gently over his mark. “Shhhh,” he murmured, trailing wet kisses over her neck. He began to move in a languid pace, dragging out her torment, while his men chanted and egged him on in the background. Mortifyingly she’d gotten wetter when he’d gripped his mark and hurt her, the tinge of masochism coming out to betray her just like her cunt had.
Robert got impatient. “Hurry up. I want my turn.”
“You’ll get your turn. You might want to stay sober enough to get it up.”
“Fuck you, Luke.”
He just laughed and continued to piston in and out of her. Veronica had moved past the embarrassment point. The boom box had run out of batteries and died, leaving only the crackling bonfire and the chirping crickets. The night felt unreal and ancient, and when she looked up, the stars seemed to beckon her to join them. It was like the day before when she’d lain in the grass, floating on the endorphin rush from the branding.
Whatever was happening wasn’t about doors and misogyny and rights and indignation. It wasn’t about which gender made more money or if men objectified women too much in bikini contests. It was pure, raw animal lust that reached inside her and flipped something low in her gut.
He gripped her hip again, jolting her out of the state she was in, dragging a whimper from her throat and her attention back to him.
“Who do you belong to? Whose mark do you bear?”
“You... y-yours,” she pant
ed.
Then for the second time with him, she came. The men shouted and whistled and catcalled, adding to the surreal nature of the moment. Luke pulled out and finished by hand, leaving a trail of cum dripping down her stomach.
“Next!” He pulled his jeans back on and zipped up, then went to sit on a bale of hay, his dark eyes never leaving her.
Robert stalked her, purpose in his gaze. A tear slid down Veronica’s cheek and she closed her eyes. A calloused thumb brushed it away.
“If you don’t want me, I won’t fuck you, darlin’. I’m not a rapist.”
Was Luke? Yes, no, maybe... but... it hadn’t felt that way while he was inside her. She’d chosen to be there for the experience instead of disconnecting, and she felt more high from the rush than the drugs they’d given her.
Had there been a single moment in which she hadn’t wanted Luke’s hands on her? She’d been afraid he might kill her or hurt her, but afraid he might fuck her? She couldn’t remember. She might have protested his ownership of her, but her body had known its master the moment he’d gotten close enough for her to get a whiff of his aftershave.
Veronica’s attention snapped back to the naked, erect man in front of her, so strong and muscled and tan, with sun-bleached streaks of blond in his longish hair. Then she remembered he was waiting for some sign of consent.
“Really? Y-you wouldn’t just t-take me?” She wasn’t sure she believed the nice-guy act. Maybe he was setting her up for punishment.
Would Luke be angry if she refused his friend?
Robert shrugged. “Luke just pays me, and we’re friends, but he doesn’t own me. I want you though. I really want you.” He stroked her side, then his fingers drifted down her hip and between her legs.
Neither her mouth nor her body protested when he slid one finger—and then two—inside her, pumping in a slow, easy rhythm. His mouth found the side of her throat and he kissed her softly there.
He whispered in her ear. “If you don’t stop me, I’m going for it.”
She didn’t stop him. But she didn’t come, either. Nor had she been as wet as she’d been with Luke.
When Will’s turn came, he didn’t ask, he just took like he had the right to her because Luke had granted it. She came bucking uncontrollably against him. The same pattern followed with Jake. Though Jake was gentle, making her come against his fingers before he ever penetrated her with anything else, he hadn’t asked for permission.
Her eyes went to Luke to find a dark, satisfied smile on his face. Did he know Robert was the only one she hadn’t come with? Did Robert know? Was he offended? Was she going to be punished for it?
A look passed between Robert and Luke that she couldn’t decipher and didn’t know if she wanted to. A manipulation had happened, and Luke had proved his point.
The guys ignored her now, drinking and talking amongst themselves as if she were no longer there as the fire died down.
Veronica’s arms and legs were sore from being tied up so long. Luke took a warm, wet wash cloth and washed her, then he untied her. When he was finally finished, her arms went around his neck, too tired and weak to grip very hard, and he helped her back into the house, leaving the others behind.
Neither of them spoke as they went up the stairs. Veronica’s head was too full. Even if Robert and Luke had orchestrated it as some sort of fucked-up object lesson, it still troubled her. The men who had taken without waiting for an invitation had made her come. The one who’d shown consideration and asked permission, hadn’t.
Her lack of protest after the option had been granted with Robert, had been a tacit consent, but it had amounted to pity sex. The kind she’d had with every is this where you want me to touch you? man she’d been with in the city. She hadn’t said no to any of the others, including Luke. Perhaps that was a kind of tacit consent as well, but if she’d said no, even if she’d cried and panicked, she couldn’t be sure if any of them would have stopped.
No, that was wrong. When she’d had a breakdown in her bedroom the other night over the forced masturbation, he’d stopped and rocked her and comforted her. He’d thought she was Trish at the time, but still, she could reach him. His love for Trish reigned him in. His former lover was now Veronica’s guardian angel.
When they arrived at the top of the stairs, she turned toward her room, needing to fall back into a blank sleep so her mind wouldn’t be so busy and troubled.
“Veronica.”
Her hand was on the doorknob when he said her name.
“Yes, Sir?”
“Come. You’re sleeping with me tonight.”
She shouldn’t have felt a thrill at being invited into his room like it was dinner at the White House, but she couldn’t help it. Her body was eager to please him and didn’t care what her mind thought about any of it. Being invited into his bed to sleep meant he was pleased with her, and as much as part of her cringed and resisted, another part was his.
Chapter Seven
Luke showered while Veronica made breakfast. She was startled when Robert came in the back door. He didn’t appear to have a hangover—a seasoned drinker.
She blushed and turned back to the frying pan. “I didn’t make enough for you. It’s your day off. I t-thought it would only be me and Luke today.”
Luke came downstairs then, wrapped in a towel. He arched a brow.
“I don’t like the plan,” Robert said, aiming his words at the boss. “I don’t want to be the good cop. I want her to come for me.”
Veronica’s breath caught in her throat.
“Let her have breakfast first.”
Her hand shook as she put the food on plates and took them to the table. When she went to get the milk from the refrigerator, Robert eyed the glass jug, and a lascivious smirk lit his face. He hadn’t forgotten the previous night’s conversation. When she glanced over at Luke, his face betrayed nothing. She could still hope he’d forgotten the milking idea and that Robert wouldn’t bring it up. It was too degrading to contemplate. Somehow worse than the branding, even.
“Eat, Ronnie,” Luke said.
It was hard to concentrate on her food with Robert leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for her to finish so he could have the thing he’d probably lost sleep over, the thing he’d probably jerked off in the shower over. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to be aroused over the idea. There was something so wrong with her. She ate more slowly to prolong her unmolested time.
When her plate was clean, Luke said: “Go to the playroom. Take your clothes off, and be in the position for punishment.”
Her eyes widened. “B-but I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Do what I asked. We’ll be up in a minute.”
Veronica bit her tongue to keep from arguing with him and took her dishes to the sink while the men discussed ranch stuff that was far outside her expertise. They were still engrossed in their discussion when she ascended the stairs to the playroom.
Fifteen minutes later, the door opened and the men came in. Luke sat on the leather couch, his legs sprawled open in a casual sort of way. Every time he sat like that, she wanted to crawl over to him and perch between his legs, waiting for permission to give him pleasure. She tried to shake that image out of her head and the arousal it brought with it. Robert stood over her, the tension coiled tightly inside him.
“She’s all yours. Do whatever you like with her,” Luke said from across the room.
She tensed when the edge of a riding crop stroked gently across her bare bottom, followed by a sharp snap against her skin that drew a grunt from her.
“I’m not pleased with you,” Robert said.
She wanted to appeal to Luke. Surely he was the only one who had to be pleased with her. After all, it was his initial on her hip. But since he’d given permission, it seemed Robert’s displeasure was his by proxy.
“If you didn’t want to fuck me, you should have said no. Why allow it to happen and not give me your pleasure? You gave it to the other
s. You withheld with me. Why?”
She remained quiet, unsure if the question was rhetorical and even less sure she could manage a response that wouldn’t just piss him off more.
“Answer him, Ronnie. You need to say it out loud. We both want to hear it.” Luke leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees.
“I couldn’t come,” she said, her eyes shut.
Robert circled her, allowing the crop to trail along her exposed flesh as he went. She shuddered each time it moved to a sensitive spot: between her legs, over her ass, across the brand. “At least I got to be there when you were marked.”
Any hesitation the ranch hand might have felt over helping brand her had dissipated completely to leave behind the horny lech who’d go as far as Luke would allow.
“Tell me why you couldn’t come, darlin’.” His voice was low and soothing as if he were trying to calm a spooked mare. But that voice didn’t fool her, she knew the freak that lay behind it.
She was silent for several seconds until the crop came down hard against her ass.
“You better tell him,” Luke said. “He’ll switch to the cane if you don’t. Have you ever been caned, sweetheart?”
She shook her head against the carpet, holding back tears. “No, Sir.”
“I’m told it’s extremely painful. The kind of pain that takes your breath away and makes you want to die until it passes. It would be much easier if you answered the question.”
The crop came down again—harder than the first time—causing her to cry out and grip the edge of the rug. “P-please don’t.”
“Answer! Why couldn’t you come?” Robert asked again. His voice had gone scarier.
“You didn’t make me.”
“Is it the only way you can come? If we make you?”
She cringed at his tone, fearful he’d hit her again. “I-I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Roll onto your back.”
Veronica rolled over, her eyes still shut. On her knees with her forehead on the carpet, she’d been able to stay in a space inside herself, in the room but not totally there. On her back, with no way to shield her facial expressions or hide her tears, she felt more exposed before them.