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Beyond the Black Curtain

Page 12

by Hayley White


  Ever gasped as he drew back.

  “Do you want to whip her?” Stroud asked quietly.

  Brooke gazed intently at Ever’s upturned face. He touched her lips. “No,” he said, suddenly pulling Ever forward. He unzipped his pants briskly and sat on the edge of the coffee table, bringing Ever down to her knees between his legs.

  The character of Brooke’s penis was well in keeping with the rest of him – large, imposing and ripe for action. Without hesitation, Brooke pushed Ever’s head down, compelling her to open her mouth and receive the eager protrusion to the hilt. He held on to her every minute, directing her movements with both hands gripped in her hair. Ever felt humiliated and somewhat awkward, but Brooke’s decisive action was preferable to the anxiety laden silence that preceded it.

  At one point, Stroud passed behind her and Ever wondered if he intended to somehow join in. She quickly forgot about it when Brooke came with remarkable force, the hot liquid spurting into her throat. She wrenched back, gagging ungracefully. Stroud, with an edge of foresight, had gone to the service table and now tossed down the white towel for Ever to spit into.

  Brooke was incredulous. “What’s this? Does she always do this?”

  “A small failing,” Stroud explained.

  “I wish you’d told me,” Brooke said, snatching the towel from Ever’s hands to wipe himself.

  “She’ll never get away with it again,” Stroud said.

  “She won’t now,” Brooke rejoined.

  Ever was bowed in mortification. It was a sorry beginning.

  Brooke zipped his pants and jerked Ever to her feet. Gripping her arm with one hand, he reached for the buttons of her blouse with the other. One button. Two. Ever’s hand flew up, enclosing the remaining buttons in her fist. Brooke seized the hand and, in wrenching it away, the last two buttons came loose. Ever began to resist in earnest as Brooke wrestled the blouse away from her.

  By now they were both panting and Brooke seemed genuinely incensed as he danced the resistive Ever around behind the couch. He bent her over the back of it as he secured her wrists behind her with a rope he took from the drawer in the service table. He then unzipped her skirt, yanked it down to her ankles and reached back into the drawer for the crop.

  Brooke’s blows fell quick and severe. Ever wailed in the face of the onslaught, incapable of controlling her responses as she had in the past. She had actually begun to weep by the time Brooke finally broke off and pulled her upright.

  “Now, do we have some kind of understanding?” he asked, still breathless.

  Ever gave a small nod, but Brooke was not finished yet. His harsh breaths echoed in her ears as he took her around, pushed her to her knees and shoved her chest down on the seat of the couch. He knelt behind her and Ever tensed in preparation for another struggle as he attempted to pry her legs apart.

  “Ever,” Stroud said softly, which was all she needed to remind her there were two dominant men in the room. Stroud might be acting as mediator, but he was master. He’d have certain expectations. Without his approval, things would not have come even this far. His house. His friend. His slave...

  Without looking in Stroud’s direction, Ever allowed Brooke to separate her legs. He spread her with both hands and Ever clenched, thinking the sky would fall in. He ran his fingertips swiftly down the cleft.

  “Stroud, I want—” was no sooner out of Brooke’s mouth than Stroud was on his feet.

  The drawer in the service table opened and shut again. Something passed over the back of the couch. There was a snapping sound and Ever braced herself for more punishment from the crop. Brooke’s crop, as she was coming to think of it. She felt the touch of ice against the cleft, which she quickly took as forewarning of internal explorations – and Brooke seemed little interested in her vagina.

  Stroud’s hand was on her head the first time Brooke penetrated her ass. This she remembered. He had placed it there the moment before and it was the only thing in the wide world that prevented her from bolting. She held her position, trembling, as Brooke probed her with his hand. The play intensified as he freely ventured into both passages, concerning himself most with the one he started with. Ever clenched her jaw against the possibility any expression of her feelings should escape and be heard.

  Brooke’s hand withdrew momentarily and Ever hoped perhaps the ordeal was ended.

  “Not tonight,” Stroud replied to some unvoiced question and Ever could only assume she’d been saved from some further degradation Brooke had in mind.

  “However...”

  There was a terrible pause.

  “Since Brooke was good enough to come and spend time with you, I think you owe him an expression of thanks...”

  Ever’s breath caught.

  “Don’t move. Don’t say a word. Just tell me...”

  They kept her in position, each with a hand still resting on opposing ends of her anatomy. She was absolutely compromised, but she wasn’t afraid. Not afraid enough to need to run. The situation was controlled. She was controlled, if she consented to be. It wasn’t easy but it was not unpleasant.

  She felt the tip of Brooke’s erection press against her vagina. But how? He’d come only moments before. How could he be ready again so soon?

  Doubt was pointless. Reasonable or not, Brooke was ready. Ever yielded with a sigh of assent. She wanted it. Wanted him. Whichever it was. Whatever it meant. She even hoped it would hurt – and it did.

  Stroud’s hand withdrew and, once again, it was only Brooke. He penetrated her with swift determination, plowing deep and hard. Never before had Ever experienced an advance more demanding than this and, although sufficiently aroused to accept the initial penetration smoothly, it took all her energy to withstand the power of his repeated thrusts.

  “I’ll hear an apology from you before I come again,” he said, his voice roughened, and Ever’s immediate reaction was to beg forgiveness at once. But something... the numbing bite of the rope on her wrists... or Brooke’s bruising grip on her hindquarters... or the thrust of that broad cock, forcing her open... so wide open... Some one or combination of factors ignited a fresh spark of rebellion in her.

  She bit down on her lip and every utterance that threatened to escape. Brooke continued slamming her and forced air blew out through her nostrils in rhythm to their savage coupling.

  “Apology,” he insisted but Ever stayed mute, soaring on a surge of strange new energy.

  “Apology!”

  Ever squeezed her eyes shut. I can do this, she told herself. I can deny him this. I can.

  “Apology!” Brooke demanded once more, driving as deeply as he could and holding for that one instant before release.

  Pain shot into Ever’s abdomen and all the way down to her feet.

  “I’m sorry!” she shrieked as Brooke stabbed again, the initial pulses throbbing within her strained cavity. “Oh my God,” she gasped, “I’m sorry!” and she was weeping again.

  As before, Stroud was on hand with the towel, this time for Brooke. He untied Ever’s hands as Brooke wiped off and, when she felt the towel pushed between her legs, Ever slid back off the seat of the couch and pressed the cloth against her aching groin. Brooke stood up and moved off.

  “Ever, go to the corner,” Stroud said.

  Ever backed away from the couch and crawled to the corner where she knelt, head down, the towel still gripped between her legs.

  The men went to the kitchen and, on the way back, Stroud paused to hand Ever a glass of water. He stroked her head with a gentle smile and continued on to the couch where he and Brooke sat, conversing. Ever ignored their voices. She didn’t want to hear any comments they may exchange about her or what had occurred. She steeped herself in exhaustion and relief, in an ineffectual attempt to sort out her jumbled emotions.

  Brooke had fucked her. Bound her and, with Stroud watching, raped her like a slave girl. How satisfied he must be feeling.

  The men spent the next hour or so ranging freely between the living room, t
he study and the kitchen. Ever knelt and stared at the floor.

  At last Stroud and Brooke resettled on the couch, their drinks refreshed. Ever thought she could do with a drink herself – something stronger than water – but she wasn’t game to ask.

  Eventually, a natural silence fell between them, two comfortable friends. Ice tinkled. Stroud’s lighter clicked.

  “How quiet she is,” Brooke remarked into the relaxed pause, then, more loudly he said, “Your legs must be aching,” and Ever’s heart faltered.

  Unwilling to speak out of turn or become the center of attention, Ever kept mute.

  “Ever?” Stroud elicited softly.

  “Yes,” she replied in that almost whispering tone she adopted under circumstances like these. “I suppose...”

  Now he’ll torment me with words, Ever thought to herself. But that wasn’t what Brooke had in mind. A moment later he got up, rounded the coffee table and sat down, almost where he’d been before.

  “Ever,” he called and, finally, she lifted her eyes.

  Brooke gestured her over with a small movement of two fingers. Ever’s eyes quickly checked Stroud who gave a single nod.

  She rose and approached Brooke, stopping before him.

  “Kneel,” he said, so Ever lowered herself before him.

  It was unspeakably difficult to take that apparently insatiable cock into her mouth again but she did it. He seemed to respond favorably and Ever clung to her shaky belief that she could perform to everyone’s satisfaction.

  It was just as this complacency set in that Brooke broke the routine, abruptly pulling Ever off to gain his feet. He gripped her hair and jerked her head back so that he appeared almost as a monument above her. She was afraid she’d failed again.

  “Open your mouth,” he said.

  Ever hesitated.

  “Open it.”

  Ever slowly unlatched her jaw and, with his fingers, Brooke urged it down as far as it would go. He’d decided to complete the act himself, holding Ever beneath him to serve only as his receptacle.

  “Don’t move,” he cautioned and Ever didn’t as his hand began to work.

  A younger man, caressing himself and viewing her thus, might have succumbed quickly and sloppily. But Brooke had reached maturity. An angry, virile man who enjoyed control, he came in his own good time, shooting every drop into Ever’s opened mouth with admirable precision.

  “Taste it,” he demanded, his eyes still glazed with passion.

  Ever relaxed her strained jaw and lapped Brooke’s offering from the roof of her mouth.

  “Swallow,” he said and Ever swallowed.

  A victorious grin cracked Brooke’s face. “Obedient girl,” he murmured, loosening his grip on her hair. “Bring me a damp cloth.”

  Ever checked with Stroud and left immediately for the bathroom. She turned on the tap to run hot while she sought a suitable cloth and, once organized, moved smartly back to the living room. Brooke almost winced upon contact with the cloth which was unexpectedly warm.

  “Please,” Ever entreated Stroud, “may I be excused a moment for toilet?”

  “Go ahead,” Stroud assented.

  Brooke handed the cloth back to her with a look and Ever quickly withdrew to the bathroom and closed the door. She tossed the cloth in the sink and twisted on the cold water tap. She rinsed and re-rinsed her mouth, but she could still taste it. She stood, clenched against the counter, gulping down redigested sobs, rigid with rage.

  Brooke was so difficult, so much more powerful than he realized. He’d not hurt her at all with this last assault and yet she felt violated. She wanted to scream and lash back at him.

  With shaking hands she rinsed the rag, squeezed it out and somehow got her runaway emotions under control by reminding herself she had, after all, ultimately succeeded tonight.

  Both men were standing when she returned to the living room. Ever felt newly disarmed, certain she appeared as naked emotionally as she was physically. Stroud called her to him, placed a hand on her head.

  “It’s been a long evening. I want you to bid Brooke good night and go up to bed,” he instructed and Ever was confounded by the emotional switch she experienced as Stroud made her kneel, once more, and her lips met the back of Brooke’s offered hand in submissive homage.

  Ever thought she wouldn’t sleep a wink that night. She climbed into bed, aware that the storms inside her had subsided. How strange it was. She was utterly becalmed. And how odd to be lying between Stroud’s sheets with the smear of Brooke’s scent between her thighs.

  She was sound asleep by the time Stroud made it upstairs.

  ***

  In the morning, Ever’s skirt and blouse were draped over the brass seaman’s trunk under the bedroom window. The two bottom buttons of the blouse were torn out, leaving irreparable holes. Stroud caught her looking at it as he emerged from the bathroom.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, unintentionally startling her. “I thought Brooke might tear it. There’s a replacement in the closet.”

  Ever nodded slightly, her attention reverting back to the ruined garment.

  “You surprised me last night,” he said.

  “You’re not the only one,” Ever replied softly.

  Stroud chuckled. “Well, you certainly gave Brooke a run for his money.”

  Ever glanced up. “You’re not angry?”

  “No. Just surprised. I’ve never seen you act that way.”

  “I know,” Ever sighed, replacing the blouse on the trunk.

  “Ever,” Stroud beckoned in a gentler tone. “Come sit down.”

  Ever moved to the bed and sat beside him.

  “Can you tell me?”

  Ever kept her eyes on her hands which were knitted together across her bare thighs. “I don’t know... I was so furious.”

  “An effective defense against fear. You were afraid.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s only natural. A new situation. You’re still pretty much a novice. It’s one reason I wanted Brooke to meet and work with you.”

  “Things escalated so fast.”

  “You could have called a halt.”

  “It didn’t occur to me. I wanted to obey.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes, but not only that...”

  “You wanted to see how it would be with Brooke,” Stroud suggested.

  “Yes.”

  “He arouses you, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, but he makes it so difficult. I didn’t want to disappoint you... anybody, but he just made me want to fight him.” She looked up, her eyes troubled. “It’s not supposed to work that way, is it?”

  Stroud smiled. “Sometimes it does. You need friction to start a fire. No conflict, no spark.”

  “But there’s no conflict with us.”

  “Isn’t there?” he asked, surprising her. “Sometimes the conflicts are of an internal nature. In other relationships, the dominant must prove himself by prevailing over resistance. In some relationships, that’s the only formula that works.”

  Ever was silent. These were new and alien fruits for her to digest.

  “Brooke is a sexually aggressive man,” Stroud said. “He needed to meet a woman who would not submit to him out of pure reflex. A quality woman with life experience and enough self will to know when to protect herself. You. I would not have introduced Brooke to anyone else. Very few women would understand.”

  “Really,” Ever huffed softly.

  Stroud stroked a lock of Ever’s hair back behind her ear. “Brooke’s violence is still experimental,” he said, “like your submission. For now it makes a good match. He doesn’t yet know how to choose a partner, but I think, one day, he will love very deeply.”

  Ever’s eyes were on her hands again. “Our relationship doesn’t hinge entirely on Brooke’s development, does it?”

  “Not at all,” Stroud assured her, then more gently he said, “You really ran the emotional gamut last night.”

  “That’s an unders
tatement.”

  “How do you feel now?”

  “Tired.”

  “Apart from that.”

  She looked up with a small smile. “Happy.”

  Stroud returned her smile. “Good.”

  Ever sighed. “Some adventure.”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Brooke came three times.”

  “I guess you arouse him, too,” Stroud said, which pried a chuckle out of her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Because she couldn’t bear to throw it away, the single white rose Stroud had given Ever was still in the bud vase on her bedroom dresser. The petals were yellowed but the rose had been arrested about half way into the final bloom, leaving a classic formation that dried to elegant perfection. Only two petals had dropped and they still lay on the dresser top where they’d fallen. At that point, it looked as though the rose would maintain its frozen pose for as long as it remained on the dresser, undisturbed.

  The rose was as beautiful to her like this as it was the moment Stroud gave it to her. And although Ever cherished it, somewhere along the way she’d forgotten about it. A day, or two... a week? She’d failed to notice that, at some point, the stem near the bloom lost its tension and collapsed. It struck her odd, since the necks of heavy budded flowers did not usually snap this late in the drying process when most of the weight had evaporated away.

  Yet, there it was, and Ever stared in muted shock, failing to understand how she could have missed the tragic moment of this belated disaster. Perhaps it had been inevitable, but it was so unexpected. There was something almost ominous about it, like a warning that had sounded while her attention was diverted, and she had not turned back quickly enough to see the crisis coming.

  ***

  The sense of separation between Ever’s two existences was jilted when Brooke discovered her on the street one day in early February. The wind was blowing and the sky threatened rain.

  It was an odd encounter, both of them walking in their routine daily lives – their lives outside their unusual acquaintanceship. Brooke might not have noticed her at all under the large, nondescript canvas duster, had he not been so preoccupied with thoughts of her since their introduction.

 

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