I watched Chloe’s frightened face, as her huge gray-green eyes peered up from her mat, looking hallow and scared—she belonged in church.
“I thought you said she was trainable,” the other man’s gruff voice thundered quietly through the cellar, when she didn’t respond.
“Oh, she’ll behave. She doesn’t know any other way.”
That seemed to be enough to get Chloe moving—like she took it personally that she wouldn’t behave—even if behaving, according to the trainer and this master, was flaunting your private parts like you were begging to be fucked. She turned over, raised the little dress she was wearing, a skin-tight thing that made her look more emaciated than she really was, and showed them her behind.
She had a pretty ass, a little meatier than the rest of her, heart-shaped when her legs were together, with cute, shaved pussy lips standing right out for anyone to see.
The man fingered her slit, running his big fingers over the same softness that I wanted to kiss and suck. He stopped at her vagina and pressed his thumb into the tight opening. “I was told she was a virgin,” he said.
“Seems so,” the trainer answered.
The big man liked that fact, continuing his inspection of her, pulling out his thumb and a pair of fingers massaging the opening of her rectum.
My whole body quivered, especially my bumhole, as I watched her frightened body quake. I wanted to hold her, kiss her, tell her it was really okay, that nothing these brutes did to her mattered for anything. I’m sure she wouldn’t have heard me, she was in her own private hell.
“Like this, bitch?” the big man asked her.
“Yes, sir,” she strained to answer with the right words, her voice tiny but clear—she had practiced hard to pull that off. Earlier that day, I listened to my trainer spend two hours teaching her how to speak without crying, stuffing her emotions into the bottomless well where they’d get lost, along with her pride, her self-respect, her innocence.
Pissed me off to see her so cowed, but she was easily resigned, taking the man’s fingers and, after a time, realizing that it didn’t hurt so much.
“Rub yourself,” he ordered, while playing with her ass and pussy. Obeying him, she reached around with one hand and started to fiddle with her pussy lips, tentatively. I imagined she’d never come, but then maybe I was wrong… scared as she was her body was responding sexually, her ass grinding a little as if she was turned on. “That’s it, baby, let that sassy cunt come,” the big man urged her.
I could feel her orgasm, like it was rising in me at the same time. I could hardly contain my desire to flatten out on the bed and come myself. The stranger kept up the massage, digging deeper and deeper into her maiden territory and the upper valley where he broadened her bottom hole. I could see the end coming and was afraid for her. This would be her first time in the ass. Sure, they might have been priming her cunt as well, but virgin cunts like hers were too valuable for simple scenes like this one. If they were going to break in her pussy, they’d do it with an audience, with lots of ceremony and some old fart paying big bucks for the privilege. You think about it… they probably kept the Virgin Chloe around for that reason alone. Most of us who get roped into this messy business have been a lot of places by the time we’re eighteen, nineteen. We’ve had sex, been raped, run afoul of the law, and had our minds and bodies toughened by our crimes. While we can take the grief, the awful truth, for a girl like Chloe, who had spent her life waiting for romance, saving herself for a proper marriage, the right time and place to give her tight little secret to a man, this wicked world would be a nightmare; this night, hell.
Seeing the size of the big man’s dick, I figured she’d be better off with the thing in her cunt than in her ass—even if it would break the flesh and make her bleed. But who was I to dictate anything. She was feeling something good, her little behind happy. Maybe she was getting beyond her fear and finding something that pleased her. While the big man worked her ass, making her ready for his cock, her hand continued to work her clit.
I loved the rhythm, I loved the drama, I wanted to be in the center of their sex, but instead, I remained in my cell watching, being a voyeur like my trainer, who hugged the wall, waiting for the scene to play out to its predictable end.
“Keep playing, honey,” the big man’s mocking tone seemed to have its own effect. Made me feel cheap and used; I loved its depravity. Chloe obeyed every word he spoke, feeding on her feelings, getting so excited that when he finally removed his prick from his pants, she hardly whimpered when he shoved himself inside her ass and began to ride her behind like a bull. “Keep playing,” he repeated, as his thick voice wrapped us all in an erotic stupor. She fiddled hard. I could see her struggle with her body and herself. Wanting and not wanting. Forcing herself fingers, and not forcing them at all. The mean dick pummeled her tiny, heart-shaped ass, creating an opening so wide that I wondered if it would ever go back to normal. When he started to groan in climax, the girl gasped, but didn’t come. The big man didn’t seem to care; he planted himself deep, hung on tight and shoved to hilt. Just watching, my come-juice seeped down my leg, as the powerful spasm punched my belly. I gasped faintly, holding back, sure that no one heard me above the sound of the grunting brute.
When he finally withdrew from Chloe’s ass, he pushed her to the cellar floor on her knees and made him clean his dick with her mouth. “Suck like you’ll make me come again,” he snapped off the order. I think he was half serious about coming again, he might well have had another waiting.
I doubt that it was the first time Chloe had taken a prick in her mouth—she seemed to know what to do—but even so, she gagged as he stuffed himself down her throat. Her gagging pleased him, perverse bastard that he was. He held her fair hair in his fist, her mouth to his groin and his dark nest of hair, smiling all the while. She did a respectable job, but eventually choked and spit him out coughing. The man laughed. “You think you’ve had enough, honey, you’re just getting started with me.” Thankfully, he didn’t press himself further—at least not with his dick. But what happened next made me cringe even more. “Squat, bitch, and do what you should have with me in your ass.” She didn’t understand what he wanted, and peered up at his grim face with a pitiful one. “Look like a sad mouse all you want, my little bride, you’ll give me what I ask for, or I won’t leave.”
It was almost sick hearing the term he used for her.
Tears making rivers down her cheeks, Chloe moved from her knees into a squat and started playing with her wet pussy. He held her hair, and occasionally slapped her face to encourage her forward.
I had a straight shot eyeing her open slit: the juice, her fingers, her fat clit and the fast moving motions that started to take effect. Yep, she was aroused in a terrifying sort of way. Was this what she needed to get off, I wondered? Degradation, the belly laugh, the unmasked scorn? I watched the painful struggle for some time, as the masturbation ebbed and flowed. One minute, I thought she was seconds from getting off, the next, the sensations seemed to die. Finally, the man sat on a chair in front of her, still holding her white-gold hair in his fist, though now he was better able to slap her tits and face and belly when he wanted to spur her on. He accepted a flat-ended riding crop from my trainer and paddled her pussy some seconds before he forced the masturbation again. She hated but accepted the pain, like she accepted everything else, this timid angel. Her face twisted in agony, she suddenly startled everyone, finally coming with a faltering cry. Her body was drenched with sweat, her hand covered with her own love juices, and her expression for one brief moment looked womanly and content.
“Lick the juice off your hand,” the big man ordered her once the spasms died away. Again, she did as she was told, again humiliated. He reached down and pulled her pussy hair, making her shriek a little and swoon. “Hush,” he ordered.
She clamped her mouth shut tight, bit her lips together and endured the harsh ending to her small triumph.
When he rose
to his feet, he turned to my trainer, saying “Seems she has a ways to go.”
“She’s hardly started,” he reminded the man.
“True. But, I have plans. I need her ready in a month.”
“And she’ll be ready,” the cowboy nodded. “Trust me on that.”
There was a half smile, then an abrupt turn. He didn’t look at Chloe, but turned his back on her and leered into my cell. He laid me away with a smirk that made my heart skip beats, and saying, “Don’t worry, slut, you’re not my type.”
I sat stunned while my trainer locked the cell and started to leave. I didn’t expect him to bother with me, since I’d been on his blacklist a day and a half. Still, he started toward my cell to turn the knife in my gut a good half turn. “Don’t think I didn’t know you came, slut. You won’t behave yourself, I’ll put you in a chastity belt.”
It took another day to recover from that afternoon.
Later, when I had the chance, after I took a licking from brined birches and my skin felt like a blast furnace, I got my chance to talk to the trainer about Chloe. My brain was so full of questions that I had to say something or I might have burst. He had no obligation to explain a thing to me, but—unlike the old man—we had this curious bond, and when I really wanted something from him, he seemed almost powerless to deny me.
“He called her his bride?” was the first most important question.
“That’s right,” he replied.
“They’re married?”
“Two days ago, the day he brought her here.”
I looked back at him in disbelief.
“He brought her here to have her trained, remade in the image he designed. She’s moldable, and not unwilling, being the kind of woman who needs a man to tell her what to do.”
“She willingly married him?”
“For the most part. The ranch has been a shock to her system and she’s a little skittish. But she’ll adjust—or stay here until she does.”
I still couldn’t believe what he was telling me. “What kind of marriage is it that brings a woman to this place on her wedding night?”
The cowboy shrugged, like he couldn’t imagine it himself. “He’s a man who wants certain things, and we can make them happen without a fight. She’ll eventually see us as her enemy and her husband as her friend. It’s a scam, but it works. When we’re done, she’ll give him everything he wants. She’ll take his cock like a whore and love it, she’ll suck women, and expect to get beaten daily. She’s not going to have an easy life with him. He owns her like he owns any possession, and will treat her with little respect. But what you may not see is how much she wants it, Evie. Sure, it’s not exactly romantic, but she’s free to go if she wants. She may look like she hates it, but there’s something inside her that needs the nastiness to make her feel alive. You could take a lesson from her.”
“She’s free to go and she won’t leave?!”
“Some women don’t know how to do anything but submit. Women like Chloe.”
“And women like Evie fight,” the words so easily slipped from my tongue.
“Yes, and women like you fight.”
“If they are so easy, why don’t you pick the Chloes of the world to make into your sluts?”
“Because, I find women like Evie much more fun for the fight,” his lip turned up at the corners, smirking.
He’d been tying my hands and my feet to opposite bedrails, so I couldn’t get myself off. Finished with the bondage, and his answers to my questions, he looked at me so smugly that I could only hate him—and that I did passionately. I couldn’t beat his system, I couldn’t escape it, and for that I only had contempt for him. In the opposite cell, Chloe was still curled up, in hiding, suffering from a rigorous beating, her back and butt streaked with red welts. And she could leave? Maybe so? But then, why did they have to lock her cell? Why was everything a struggle?
***
The next few days, I saw Chloe taken from her cell. I heard her beatings, saw the pain on her face, and the scars on her flesh. I was confused by her. Maybe my trainer was right, maybe she did want it, maybe it was consensual. There was always some kind of contented look in her eyes after it was over.
A week after that awesome show in her cell, we were both taken upstairs to the ranch house main room where a small crowd gathered waiting our arrival. I was reminded of my first nights, when I was trained to serve the fancy dinner, then made sport of at the whipping post and in my cell. But these houseguests were not decked out in fancy clothes; there was no fancy dinner laid out for them to eat. Although, before I even walked in the room, I could feel the erotic air sweep through me like the warm breezes of summer.
Chloe and I had been dressed in tight-fitting lycra dresses, mine white and pale pink—a natural contrast to my brown-toned skin; Chloe’s red, a bright surprise, which made her look sexy and alive.
“Make love to her, Evie,” my trainer whispered behind my ear. His breath on my neck made my body shiver, while his order made me tremble. “Show her how much you want her.”
I wondered if I’d really been that obvious with my interest in her.
Chloe stood in the center of the circle of faces, shivering, casting glances toward the big man, her husband, who was off in corner, not part of the group there to watch. I moved in behind her, closing my eyes, bending my head on her shoulders, running my hands down her sides, to her thighs, over the slight hillocks, realizing the trembling muscle deep inside her flesh. My groin pressed into her ass, feelings its soft cushion make my sex jolt again. Between my legs, pussy juice trickled down my inner thighs. I kissed the back of her neck, the side of her face, the curve of her ear, while feeling each kiss make her tremble more. I ran my hands up to her breasts, cupping each small mound and gently squeezing. Her body seemed to slacken, her head fall back against me. Her mouth parted with a tiny, ‘ah’.
Chloe’s nipples came up between my fingers, so I squeezed them together. Her spasm registered in me, a silent, simple shockwave. I danced my groin into her ass, more madly while caressing her front, pulling the front of her dress down so I could touch bare skin, feel its tender texture and love the warm feel of a woman. I got drunk on the way she smelled. I would think, the way we lived, that we’d be sour with the scent of sweat and piss and cum-juice. But Chloe was like springtime, like the air after rain, the taste of peaches and brown sugar on a summer afternoon.
I turned her in my arms, kissed her face, and, smiling, moved toward her nipples, mouthing each until the little buds in their center were hard knots of pink. So pink. The underlying tone behind her creamy flesh glowed with a rosy hue, almost translucent like the petals of a rose, or the dappled surface of a fine shell, smoothed by the sea. She gasped, wantonly, her hands finally reaching out to grab me, to hang on to my shoulders and my hair, to steady herself. Her body teetered from sharp sensations that burst like an exploded inferno. I sunk to my knees, letting her hang on, and raised the little red dress above her hips so that the stretchy thing was bunched around her waist. Pussy bare, her pretty mound almost attacked me, thrusting to my face. I opened her labia lip and began to suck. Grabbing her around the butt and holding on tight, I forced my way in, my tongue lapping, my lips taking her clit in my mouth and sucking hard. Hard so she squealed, and grabbed my hair a little harder, wrapping it with her fists. Her virgin hole swam with juices, the liquid smearing all over my face. With a gentle rhythm, I thrummed her clit, feeling her body start to shake with orgasm. Having her ass in my hands, I pried the cheeks apart, and in the moment that she came, my fingers dove for her asshole. Wet with her pussy cream, I lubricated the tender spot and had her screaming as she climaxed.
It was over, with Chloe weakened, leaning into me for support. I stared upward at her blissful face, as she opened her eyes and discovered all the faces that were watching her. The shock, the embarrassment made her slump to the floor, burying her face into my shoulder, like that would make them go away. She’d be forgiven, pro
tected.
“Evie, at my boots,” my trainer called to me, while he rapped a cane against the side of his leg. “Bitch, Chloe, bend over and show us your ass.”
The girl panicked, her eyes snapping open, her body tensing against mine. I pushed her gently away.
“Don’t make me beat you here,” he answered her hesitation with cruel force, a voice that made me quake. Chloe abruptly scurried backwards and fell forward, pressing her face to the carpet, raising her ass in the air.
I suspect that they practiced this move in her long sessions. Though I hadn’t personally seen the picture until that moment, I remembered their hours of preparation, how the part of her that fought back would scream, and the part that wanted the surrender would finally shrivel and obey.
“Turn. Let them see you.”
My trainer gently ran his cane over my shoulder, like a gentle caress or a warning caress, or a statement of his power over me. We watched together, as Chloe slowly, keeping to one spot on the carpet, moved in a full circle so that everyone could see her ass, see the way she waggled it for their eyes, see the juices that were still sticking to her shaved pussy lips.
“Evie, beat her,” the trainer suddenly ordered me, as he held the cane for me to take.
I gazed up in disbelief. “Beat her?” I wanted to tell him, ‘no way,’ and run.
“Beat her, or I’ll beat you first and do her myself,” he said as if he had no soul.
The Seller, Buyer, Girl and Her Master Page 9