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

by Trent Evans

“Just follow my lead, Breanna.” Derek leaned in close as he adjusted the ties at her hips, ensuring the traces were attached tightly. “It’s just you and me now, on the track. Ignore everything else.”

  The whites of her eyes shone above her bit, her nostrils flaring with each breath. The wind lifted the silky blonde of her ponytail, the coolness of it beading her pink nipples into even tighter prominence.

  Derek took his seat, every second seeming to slow, his senses heightened, his cock so hard he was sure the fly of his riding pants would burst. Breanna stood still, only her hair moving in the breeze, the muscles of her strong, smooth thighs trembling visibly. He took a moment to drink in the view. Her sleek, bare ass was a perfectly presented offering, with no impediment to either his gaze or his whip. He plucked the crop and the long, thin riding whip from the holster, taking up the reins in his other hand. He tapped the jet black of the crop’s flapper against the curve of her buttock, letting her know what he was looking at, ensuring she knew she could hide nothing. The strap between her cheeks was tight, bisecting her form, separating and emphasizing her buttocks, keeping her standing tall and straight. The knowledge of what was ensconced deep within her, courtesy of that saddle strap, sent a fresh surge of lust through his veins.

  He looked to his left, Elaina’s elegant lines wriggling and struggling against the bonds holding her tight.

  Lino, reclining in his own sulky, flashed Derek his conspiratorial smile. “The oil is working now. Ms. Elaina will run like wind.”

  Elaina whimpered around her bit, the tail projecting from above her ass sweeping its dark horsehair back and forth, as her hips rocked and shuddered.

  To Derek’s right, Genna could be heard sniffling, Brayden whispering to her once more, his hand stroking her nape, his other gathering up her reins and draping them over her shoulders. Brayden took his seat, the tall man stretching his legs, his heavy boots resting on the metal bar of the footrest. He shook the reins against Genna’s shoulders, and cooed to her in a soft, low voice. Her round, plump buttocks seemed congested, the stripes decorating them bright below the black leather of the broad girth brutally constricting her mid-section. Unlike the others, she wore thigh high woolen stockings, the effect leaving the twin moons of her buttocks bare, bright, swollen targets, certain to be rendered even more swollen by the kiss of the whip.

  “Ready.”

  The murmur of the crowd to their right, silenced, the only sound the whisper of the breeze.

  The pistol-shot surprised him, the noise deafening, seemingly right at his ear. He gave the reins a sharp slap against her shoulders, and the long carriage whip licked out, snapping against Breanna’s hip. She froze for a fraction of a second, then those legs pulled, the sinews of her hamstrings standing out in stark relief at the backs of her thighs.

  The skir of leather and the noise of the wheels in the dirt rose all around him, dust quickly obscuring most everything. Breanna’s strong legs brought them up to speed swiftly, even faster than she’d been on the track when they’d trained her, adrenaline no doubt adding to the impetus provided by the quick strokes of his whip. For just a moment, he watched her gorgeous buttocks rotate and shiver, the globes flexing then bounding as her legs pounded the track ever harder, the sound of the wheels growing louder by the second.

  Somewhere close to him, he heard the growl of Lino’s voice, then the sharp report of the whip snapping Elaina, a clipped, pained grunt her only reply. The dust cleared for a moment, and he could see up ahead. Simona, as expected, had already pulled out to a commanding lead, her muscular legs pounding with the speed and precision of a well-tuned machine. Johan’s whip arm swept forward occasionally, the thin cord of his carriage whip scoring Simona’s firm, pale buttocks. Elaina matched Breanna’s pace, stride for stride, the two sulkies running at a dead heat.

  Derek, squinting his eyes against the dust, chanced a look at Genna and Brayden off to his right. The girl was steadily losing ground, her big breasts bouncing wildly in the loose web of straps containing them. Tears gleamed on her flushed face, her bright teeth clenched hard to the bit. Brayden exhorted her with his deep voice, wordlessly encouraging her with clicks of his tongue, but tellingly, the whip in his left hand only occasionally tapped the cord against her already martyred bottom. Each time, the stroke made her rear up and surge forward for a few seconds, then her pace would slow once more, falling back yet further.

  They passed the first turn, Breanna stumbling only slightly, a piece of grit flying up and stinging Derek’s cheek.

  Wear googles next time, dude.

  He shook his head at the notion that there’d even be a next time. Then he gave Breanna a solid stroke of the whip across her ass, and she squealed.

  Down the far straightaway they thundered, Simona extending her lead, and Genna trailing further and further back. As they rounded the second turn, heading back toward the crowd, Derek looked over at Lino. The Spaniard grinned, holding up his crop, and yelled over at him.

  “Now, you see! Yes?”

  Oh yes, I see all right. I see why I can’t ever do this again.

  He tried to put all that away though, and just enjoy the moment, knowing that even if he could never bring himself to do this again, he’d always have the memory of it.

  As they rocketed past the crowd, cheers rang out, the faces a blur as they ran past, their pace increasing even further. He could hear Breanna’s breathing, fast but even, her knees still high as she’d been taught, the regular clop of the boots beating the sand like a twisted, pleasing metronome.

  A bell sounded behind them, the signal of the last lap. He’d known this would only be two laps, this being the inaugural race, more show than competition. But he’d also read what some of the other facilities on the circuit featured, and the breadth and scale of the events both awed and aroused him.

  But you’ll never experience those, Derek. This is it — and it should be.

  Reaching the first turn again, he whipped Breanna on the left thigh as he pulled on the left rein. She remembered her steps, crossing her right foot over with each stride as the track turned left, leaning into the curve and keeping her center of gravity over her left leg. She stumbled slightly as they straightened out, slewing to the right a bit as she was once more upright, Derek hauling on her left rein to help her keep her feet.

  “Good girl,” Derek yelled out, not even sure she could hear him over the din of the wheels and the pounding of her boots. For a moment, he wished he could see her face, see if his exhortation had an effect on her. See if she smiled around her cruel bit.

  A crack of the whip rang out to his left, once twice, and third time, and he could just make out the pained moan of Elaina as Lino whipped her.

  “Faster, Ms. Elaina,” Lino crooned, his pleased tone of voice almost a sing-song. “If fulana beats you, then I beat you too.”

  A strangled sound came from around Elaina’s bit and she put on a burst of speed bringing them slightly ahead.

  Simona and Johan had opened up such a lead, that they were already entering the second turn, far ahead of Derek and Lino.

  A feminine cry sounded behind them, and Derek looked back. Genna limped heavily, the sulkie slewing side to side, her footing tangled and jerky. Brayden pulled on the reins and her head strained back, her boots digging into the sand, bringing the cart to a sliding, stuttering stop. Brayden was getting out, reins in hand, as the dust cloud behind Derek’s cart obscured any further view. He turned back to Breanna, watching her ass shudder and bounce as she ran. As they entered the last turn, he could feel the pace start to slacken slightly, Breanna’s breathing growing more ragged. He clutched the crop and laid two crisp strokes across her right buttock, the flesh jiggling at each strike, two red lines flaming instantly. Her bit attenuated scream tightened his balls, even as he cringed slightly, afraid he may have hit her too hard.

  The cart surged forward though, even as she leaned into the turn, and they closed the distance between them and Lino’s cart, their wheels almost tou
ching as Elaina stumbled to the right. Lino’s whip flashed out, scoring Elaina’s hip and licking around her pistoning thighs, eliciting gurgling cries from the mature filly.

  You mean ‘mature woman’, right?

  Derek smiled at that, lashing Breanna again across her upper thighs, making her squeal. “Pull harder, Breanna! Don’t lose them.”

  He wondered how Kurt could do this, could watch him mercilessly drive her around the track. The painful throb of his constricted cock answered that thought, as he imagined the eroticism of the sight, if his role were switched with Kurt’s, watching the gorgeous Breanna struggle in her traces, her big breasts bouncing in time to her pounding strides, the stripes of the whip bright against her pale, round bottom.

  Around the last curve they went, Lino whipping Elaina repeatedly now, keeping her right with Breanna. The crowd up ahead roared as Simona made the finish, Johan leaning back in his seat as he pulled on the reins, his blond hair blowing in the wind.

  Derek whipped Breanna’s buttocks three times in quick succession with the carriage whip, the thin cord leaving a tracery of curled marks atop the two angry bands of hurt the crop had left. This time the result was different; though she jerked with a pained grunt at each stroke, her speed didn’t increase. There was simply nothing left.

  Lino’s brutal whipping of Elaina carried the day, as she crossed the line just ahead of the now gasping and stumbling Breanna. She sagged in the traces, her feet dragging in the sand as Derek pulled her to a stop, the noise of the crowd all around them. He stepped out of the cart and Breanna dropped to one knee for a moment, then struggled to her feet, her breathing coming fast and hard now, the sweat pouring down her flanks.

  “That’s a girl,” Derek whispered as he stroked the hair away from her forehead, wiping the dust, and tears, and sweat from her cheeks. He stood close, cupping her face in his hands and smiling at her. “You did great! So fast!”

  She mumbled something, but the bit frustrated her. He reached behind and unhooked, extricating it from between her teeth. She licked the inflamed corners of her mouth, then met his gaze, her eyes still brimming with tears.

  “Thank you, Sir. I’m sorry … I didn’t win.”

  “Win? Are you kidding me?” He cocked a thumb back at Johan and Simona, several members of the crowd clapping the South African on the back, other hands feeling of the mute, bitted Simona’s buoyant charms. “I don’t think anyone could’ve beaten that girl. You did great for your first race.”

  “I did?” Her brows rose over those beautiful blues, and Derek wanted to kiss them.

  “Of course! I’m so proud of you.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “And he’d never say it, but if you look up in those stands, about the third row up, you might find someone else who’s just as proud.”

  He watched her scan the stands, then her eyes lit up as she spotted Kurt, and she beamed that million watt smile that never failed to send his heart racing. They watched Kurt make his way down, shaking hands with a few people as he did, his dark gaze always coming back to the bound woman waiting for him on that dusty track.

  Derek pressed his lips to Breanna’s sweat-sodden hair, and closed his eyes, trying to commit all of this to memory. The way she smelled, the way her hair felt against his skin, the dark eroticism of racing her, the objectification of this beautiful, capable woman. He knew already that he’d miss all of this terribly, an ache that would take so long to heal from. But he also knew it must be done, no matter how much it hurt.

  “Thank you, Derek,” Breanna whispered. “Thank you so much, Sir.”

  He pulled back and simply looked at her, giving her a smile he hoped hid the pain tearing at him inside. Then he stepped back just as Kurt strode up.

  Kurt stood over her, looking down into her eyes, his nostrils flared, the muscle at his jaw bunched. “You raced … well, Breanna.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  Kurt flicked a glance at Derek, then he moved around her, undoing the traces, his palm cupping the curves of her buttocks as she hissed, her brows furrowed at the pain of even a soft caress of her well-wealed backside.

  “We’ll get something on those marks later, girl,” Kurt said, pulling her from the traces and raising her chin. “First, it’s time for the Review.”

  “Review?” Derek didn’t remember hearing about any of that.

  “It’s a tradition at the other tracks,” Kurt said, shrugging. “There’s enough regular bettors here that they’d feel cheated if we didn’t follow it here too. It’ll be expected.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The crowd gets to review the fillies and talk with the drivers and Owners. A glad-handing session, I guess you could call it.”

  “Isn’t that what the little parading thing was before the race? Show off the goods?” Derek smiled at the blush that darkened Breanna’s cheeks.

  The sound of the crowd changed and all eyes turned back down the track. The tall, broad-shouldered Brayden was leading a badly limping Genna by her reins. He’d taken her out of her traces, his other hand pulling the cart behind him. As they crossed the finish line, muted applause sounded through the crowd.

  “Why are they clapping?” Derek asked. “I’d have expected boos with this crowd.”

  Kurt gave him a wry grin. “They aren’t all barbarians like you and I, Derek. They’re applauding the finish, even though she’s hurt.”

  “Brayden was gentle with her,” Derek said, watching the big man crouch behind the wincing Genna, his hands working the muscles of her hamstring. “If he’d ran her as hard as Lino or Johan, they’d still be out there on that track.”

  “Smart of him,” Kurt said with a nod.

  “Merciful,” Breanna said in a soft voice, looking on. “He treats her well, you can see that.”

  Kurt turned back to her, giving her a small shake of the head. “Quiet, girl. You’re not supposed to speak during a race, remember?”

  Her brow furrowed, then she lowered her head as much as her collar allowed.

  Derek saw what Breanna was talking about though, the way Brayden cooed at Genna even as his painful massage of her injured hamstring continued, pausing to stroke her hip, before kneading the muscle again.

  “Derek, if we can get her away, do you want to take her over to the viewing pens?” Kurt’s thumb stroked Breanna’s chin. “The far side of the track is where they usually display the fillies. Gives the bettors a little bit of a stroll and a chance to stretch their legs.”

  He’d seen them along the edge of the dirt, but thought they’d been for something else, perhaps partially assembled frames for a structure. They were roughly rectangular wood frames, each about ten feet high. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the upper cross bar of each frame now swung with chains, the bright metal catching sunlight as the links swung in the breeze.

  “What do you mean ‘get her away’?” Derek pointed. “The frames are a hundred feet away. I think we can manage it.”

  “You’ll see.” Kurt’s finger slipped into the ring at the front of Breanna’s collar, curling around it possessively. “The winner gets to decide what happens.”

  “To what?”

  Derek thought he already knew the answer though. He’d watched Johan glancing their way, seen the way the strict South African looked at the gasping and squirming Elaina as Lino untied her from the traces.

  “To the losers,” Kurt said, frowning. “Technically, Johan could do anything we wants with them.”

  “All of them?”

  Kurt nodded, sliding a rueful glance at Derek, before looking back at Johan. The muscular man strode up the track toward them, the sweating Simona in tow on her leash, her chin up, eyes full of pride.

  “The lecker is faster than I thought, Kurt.” Johan gave Breanna a rapacious grin, his green eyes flashing. “Not bad for a first race, man.”

  “Get on with it, Johan,” Kurt rumbled. “Let’s hear it.”

  Both Kurt and Derek stepped close to Breanna, shoulder to shoulder in f
ront of her. Derek didn’t like where this was headed.

  “Would’ve been nice to have been warned about this, asshole,” Derek whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I didn’t know about it until George mentioned it,” Kurt replied, tilting his head toward Derek. “Kinda hard to update you while you’re racing. Dick.”

  Johan looked across the track, then met Kurt’s gaze. “The frames’ll do for her. George’s slave too.”

  “Genna?” Derek knew it wasn’t his business, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel sorry for the sorely used girl, no matter how alluring the marks across her buxom bottom may have been.

  Jesus, Derek.

  Johan chuckled, waving a hand toward the moaning, exhausted girl still standing as Brayden worked her injured leg. “That one’s done up for the night, I think. The lad looks like he’ll fix her though.”

  “What about Simona?”

  Kurt rubbed his chin. “She get a ribbon pinned on her?”

  Johan pulled Simona’s leash up short, nuzzling the hair at her temple with his nose. She closed her eyes with a triumphant smile around her bit, leaning into him.

  “I think the bettors deserve a better look at her too.”

  “Here, I’ll take her with Breanna,” Derek said, offering a hand as he took hold of Breanna’s collar.

  Johan’s gaze leveled with Derek’s. “Simona goes to the stocks instead. She won, but she’s run faster times. Maybe I’m going soft on the old girl.”

  Simona gasped, her eyes wide, white teeth clenching the bit.

  Kurt sighed, extending an arm toward the stocks at the center of the track. “Right over there, Johan. Need a hand?”

  Johan winked back at him as he dragged the reluctant Simona into the field inside the bounds of the track. “Plenty of eager broeders in the crowd who’ll be glad to help.”

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Derek’s hand’s worked fast as he bound her to the frame. Breanna gasped, trembling as he loosened the cruel saddle strap, easing the phalluses from within her heated depths. He wiped them on her thighs as she blushed, lowering her head. The breeze blew cool on her sodden folds, her flesh throbbing anew, her clit so hard it felt twice its size. She hoped he’d touch it, even just once, but he’d left her pussy bereft, leaving her to her sweet suffering, her clit pulsing in time with the whip marks still throbbing across her ass. She tried to meet his gaze as he parted her legs, heavy chains attaching to her boots, the stance displaying her dripping, lonely cunt to all who cared to look. Then he grasped her hair by the ponytail, pulling her head up, his gaze meeting hers for the first time.