Valley of Surrender Series - Vol.1

by Trent Evans

  “Do it.” His hand clamped her upper arm. “If I have to help you, you’re not going to like it.”

  Bound as she was, there was no graceful way to do it, so she simply fell over onto her side. Once on her back, she was mortified to find her arms, pinned beneath her, elevated her hips off the mattress, serving up her sex for whatever Troy had in mind.

  His palm slapped her thigh. “Spread them.”

  Blushing, she dropped her head to the mattress, staring at the dark wood blades of the ceiling fan spinning lazily above her.

  “More, as far as you can. I want to see that cunt.”

  She splayed her legs until she felt the stretch at the tendons of her inner thighs, the movement of air cool upon her exposed, wet folds.

  His hand stroked the straining muscles of her thighs. “Feel any pinching at your arms? Numbness?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Good. You’ll tell me if you do.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  This too was different, for usually on Maintenance Night, if he fucked her, it would be from behind. She would be pounded mercilessly until he came, her climax neither sought nor considered. He believed it helped drive home the fact that she was being punished, not rewarded. Though she did wish she could orgasm on those occasions, she’d remembered thinking, as she’d groaned under his bruising, deep thrusts, that it wasn’t exactly punishment she was feeling.

  At the sound of his zipper lowering, she raised her head, watching him from between the pale mounds of her breasts. He slipped the last few buttons of his shirt, his intent gaze locked on her proffered sex. Troy was ex-military, seeking his law degree following his discharge, and though no longer quite the muscular mountain of a man he was straight out of the service, he was still powerfully built.

  His broad shoulders rippled as he stripped the shirt off. His torso tapered pleasingly down to a lean waist, a strip of dark hair diving down his defined abdominals into the open fly of his slacks. He twisted somewhat as he pushed the slacks down his thighs, the heavy erect cock and curve of testicles outlined by his underwear. The motion revealed the bright spray of small scars along his side, starting just under his arm, a random pattern of them down to his hip. Mementos of an IED.

  She laid her head back, taking a deep breath. Even the soft texture of the comforter below her made her stripes sting, and she wondered if the pain would prevent her from reaching orgasm. If he allowed her an orgasm at all.

  Why do you lie to yourself? The pain makes it even better.

  The mattress dipped as he knelt between her outstretched legs. A hand molded itself over her bare mound, the heel of his hand slickening itself against her swollen, wet slit.

  She jerked her head back up as the hot, hard length of her husband’s cock slapped down on her inner thigh. The glint in her husband’s dark eyes made her shudder. “I’ve been thinking about this all day long, Lace. All day.”

  His thumb played through her folds, slicking back the hood of her clit. She sighed as he played the broad head of his cock back and forth over the hard, aching nodule.

  “Oh, God, Troy!”

  “All I could think about was your ass as I caned it. The marks, your tears.”

  Troy slid into her, and she arched from the mattress. He drove deep from the start, his hand capturing a breast in a firm grip. His hips snapped against her repeatedly, building immediately to a rough, frenetic pace. She could feel her juices running down, slickening the cleft of her ass.

  He pressed his weight down upon her, grinding himself against her clit repeatedly. She was already close, the need to free her arms both insanely strong, and strangely arousing.

  His mouth slammed down on her lips, his tongue forcing its way inside. She kissed him back with fierce urgency, sucking on his tongue. His teeth nipped her lips, her tongue. He planted quick kisses all over her cheeks, her chin. Then he moved down to her exposed neck, kissing and licking away the salt of her sweat. She moaned as he drove into her, rotating his hips as he did so, frictioning her clit even more.

  “Oh, fuck. Harder, harder!”

  This was what she was waiting for, to feel the unrestrained male animal, the primitive drive to conquer, to possess his woman. She grunted as he drove into her even harder, the smack of their flesh as loud as the spankings he was so fond of giving her.

  You’ve got to tell him, before it gets too far.

  The sensation spiraled higher and higher, the exquisite rightness of his cock deeply penetrating her, finding the core of her, claiming her for himself. All for him.

  His fingers pinched her aching nipple savagely, and she yelled at the hurt, clenched down upon his rutting cock even harder. “You like this. All of this Lacey.” He grunted as he lunged back and forth within the clutch of her sex. “You play the innocent, but I know better. I can feel it. You love it.”

  His face hovered just above hers, and she felt lost in his dark, brilliant eyes as he took her. She was his, forever, in all ways. His jaw clenched and his eyes shut. “Close!”

  He drove as deeply as a man could, and stayed there, grinding against her. So deep! She felt the spiraling take off and she tensed, the sensation too much. It overtook her, all sound and color, touch and smell crashing together in an incredible white storm of pleasure.

  With a guttural groan, his hips spasmed against hers, bucking once, twice, a third time. She felt his seed flood her pussy, bathing her in his essence, staking his claim to her once more. She cried out his name repeatedly as he came. Her husband, her man — her Master. She’d never thought of him as a Master before, but as he plumbed the depths of her pussy, her overwhelming lust melding with, enhanced by, the pain of her punishment, she knew that that was what he’d become. He would control her, direct her — own her.

  His.

  She smiled as Troy’s spasms subsided, his heavy, male body crushing her into the mattress. She pressed soft kisses to the hard muscled contours of his shoulders, the base of his neck. They were both drenched in sweat, the fan doing nothing to quench the fires of their lust for one another.

  She wriggled slightly beneath him and he raised his head. “Can’t breathe?”

  “Arms.”

  He rolled off of her, pulling her over with him. He had her arms released within seconds, his hard hands massaging the abraded flesh, as she flexed her fingers. She could feel a slight tingling in their tips, but otherwise they seemed fine.

  Lacey hugged herself close to his warmth, curling her legs upon his lap. He held her for a moment, his chin stroking against the top of her head. She squirmed on his lap, her ass feeling tight, swollen.

  Troy turned her so her back was to him, and she looked back at him wondering what he was doing. It was time for her favorite — what came after her punishment. His gentle touch, the soft words spoken against her skin. It was the perfect end for her Maintenance Nights. His loving attention was his signal to her that she’d been forgiven, her sins washed away.

  But he wasn’t doing any of that this time. He pinned her wrists behind her in an iron grip, moving her off the bed, the wet length of his semi-erect cock sticky against her throbbing, striped bottom.

  “Troy — wait. What are you—?”

  “Be still,” he said, his hand raising her chin. “I want you in the corner.”

  Lacey sighed. She could do this. Yes, it was horridly boring. Yes, the idea of her bright red bottom peeking back at him from the darkened corner held its own unique form of embarrassment. But it could be worse — a lot worse. Maybe he just wanted to admire his handiwork?

  He guided her to the dreaded corner, making sure her toes were as close to the floorboards as she could manage.

  “Closer. Put those tits against the wall.” His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, her wrists still held at the small of her back. She scrunched in closer, her soft breasts pressing to the angled planes of either wall

  “Get that nose in there, girl.”

  She obeyed, feeling the kiss of the textured paint on the tip o
f her nose. There was little light in the far side of the bedroom, and it was remarkably dark in the small, close world of her corner.

  He moved away from her, but she left her hands clasped behind her back, knowing he required a clear view of her punished cheeks. The stripes from her caning ached, the swollen tracks feeling like stiff bars across her ass. The cuts across her thighs hurt particularly badly as a bead of sweat would occasionally break and run down the back of her leg, the salt stinging the abraded marks even more.

  She heard drawers open and close, the springs of the mattress whispering as he sat on the bed. For perhaps a minute — or maybe it was five minutes (her perception of time seemed to always be a little off while she served her corner time sentences) — there was only the sound of her breathing in the dim, quiet room.

  She’d always wondered why he liked this. The punished, meek woman, her aching buttocks turned to him, displaying the pleasing results of his handiwork, the marks of his ownership.

  Scratch that — she was sure she knew exactly what he was thinking.

  What she could never understand though, was what caused the intense urge in her to do whatever she could to get out of her hated corner. She would gladly fuck him again, choke on his hard cock as he plunged it down her throat, and welcome the spray of his hot seed over her face. She was quite sure she’d do anything he asked, if he would but release her from her voluntary prison of obedience. The heat of her soaked pussy told her a simpler, baser answer: she just wanted more — more touching, more orgasms and more pain. All of it was preferable to standing alone, forlorn, in her position of penance.

  “I love you like this.” His voice was close, right behind her, and she jumped in surprise. “After I cane that gorgeous round ass of yours, I get to watch your marks swell. I get to watch my cum leaking down your trembling thighs.”

  He pressed a kiss to her naked shoulder, resting his hands on her flaring hips. She wanted to press her ass into his hands, but she knew he forbid it. It was rare for her to spend her corner time unmolested. He usually touched her; he would speak to her in those low rumbling tones, while she pressed her face obediently into that dark join of walls.

  “What do you think about while you stand there? Do you wonder what I see? Wonder what I’m thinking about?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You’ll go on wondering then, girl. Nothing I say could compete with what your imagination can conjure up.”

  Lacey caught her breath as she felt something rub across the curve of her buttock. Then the hot hardness of him slapped against her ass. He alternated cheeks, smacking her sore ass with his cock. She tried to follow it, her hips moving almost imperceptibly.

  Troy gave the soft flesh of her thigh a hard, deep pinch, making her inhale in a long whine of breath. “Stay still. You don’t move from your corner until I tell you. You know this.”

  She cried out as his hand smacked her bottom four times in quick succession, the pain forcing her onto her toes by the final blow. Her weals throbbed urgently again, the nerve-endings reawakened, the pain rekindled in her backside.

  His lips were on her skin once more tasting the salt of the sweat that ran down her spine, his soft sensual lips following the gentle bumps of her spine. His hands reached around her, playing over her belly, his palm cupping her mons possessively. The self-control it took for her not to buck her cunt against that hand was truly Herculean, the thought of more spanks being applied to her already blazing backside lending her the strength she needed. Barely.

  “I love this cunt. So wet, so needy. So mine.” His hand gently squeezed her mound, and she moaned. She could feel her pussy moistening further.

  “I’d love to flog it tonight, Lacey, but I have something else in mind.”

  “Yes, Sir.” she whispered, hoping the relief in her tone wouldn’t be misinterpreted as disappointment. She wasn’t sure she wanted to examine the possibility that it was both.

  His hands left her, the burning length of his hard cock pulled away. “Corner time is over.”

  She turned, reaching out for him, her emotions raw. She needed him to hold her, kiss her. Then she really, really needed her husband to fuck her.

  Apparently, Troy had other ideas.

  “Did I say you could turn around, girl?”

  “But you said…”

  He smiled at her, the warmth of the expression not reaching the hard, dark gaze. “Yes, well, some things are changing about our arrangement.”

  She stole a glance at him before turning back around, her pussy spasming at the mouth-watering glory of her husband’s naked body. That large, erect cock and heavy testicles had Lacey picturing herself dropping to her knees, taking him deep as he guided her efforts with a tight fistful of her dark hair.

  “Do you trust me, Lacey-girl?” His breath was hot on her neck, teeth nibbling on her earlobe. “Do you trust me not to take you too far?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. What was he up to? This was completely different from their normal routine. She didn’t know whether to be scared or excited about it because new usually meant more pain.

  So where’s the bad part, slut?

  “I can’t hear you,” Troy said, slapping her ass. “Speak up.”

  “Yes, Sir.” she blurted, wincing. Her bottom felt like she’d sat on hot coals, his smack just fanning the flames higher.

  “Good.”

  She froze as he brought the strip of cloth over her eyes. “Troy — what are you doing?”

  “Quiet!” He slapped a broad palm on the side of her thigh, and she yelped. He cinched the cloth tight at the back of her head. Other than a thin strip of light at the very bottom of her field of view, she couldn’t see a thing. His fingers entwined in her hair, pulling her head back roughly. “Unless you’re giving me the word, or answering a direct question, you keep your mouth shut, girl.”

  She almost said it; it was on her lips. This was farther than they’d taken this ever before. This was more than just a spanking.

  She nodded as best she could against his tight hold on her hair.

  “That’s better.” He released her hair with a short, sharp shake.

  She didn’t know what to do. This was a different Troy — a crueler, colder Troy. She knew that in any other situation she’d be incensed. She should be incensed. So why was her clit thrumming, her pussy soaked?

  She felt cold leather wrap about her ankles, and reflexively moved her foot, but quickly moved it back at his warning rumble.

  Lacey pulled at the cuffs, the noise of a chain confirming they were linked closely together. What the hell was he doing? The cuffs made it virtually impossible for her to walk.

  She looked down, hoping to get a glimpse of what he was doing, but the blindfold was frustratingly effective. Manacles were back at her wrists once more, and he cinched them tighter this time. He grabbed her by the hair again, pulling her up onto her toes. He turned her toward the far corner of the room, the place she dreaded most. Even blindfolded, she knew what awaited her there.

  The bench.

  Troy dragged her over to it, Lacey stumbling against the tight hobble, the painful grip of his hand in her long hair keeping her from toppling over. Her thighs pressed against the padded bench, the coldness of the leather making her nipples harden into stones. His hand pressed at her upper back.

  She stood ramrod straight. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breathing increasingly labored. He’d only ever used the bench for spanking or caning her — and he’d already given her a taste of both.

  He pushed harder, his guttural growl so low-pitched she felt more than heard it. She tried to still her body, but her trembling got worse by the second. She’d fantasized about having her limits pushed, flirting with force. Faced with the reality of it however, she wasn’t sure she could do it. She knew Troy would never hurt her, not really.

  But what if she wanted him to?

  Though his steel hard fingers bit into the flesh of her shoulder, his other hand touched her cheek. Just a whisper
of sensation, so slight she wasn’t sure it had been him. But it was enough. He was there with her, taking the journey with her. He’d protect her. Her love.

  She relaxed just the slightest bit, the signal he needed. He pulled at her hair, hard, twisting her head as he hauled her down to the inclined plane of the bench sloping away toward the floor. The position left her legs straight, the angle laying everything open to his gaze, the soft petals of her cunt yawning open, surrendered to her husband’s lust. Her bottom hole clenched as he ran a finger down between her spread cheeks, emphasizing her vulnerability and her obscene exposure.

  Lacey closed her eyes, despite the blindfold, and laid her cheek on the leather.

  One minute, one second, one moment, Lacey. You can do this. You want this. You always have.

  She felt heavy leather pass over the back of her lower legs, just above her bound ankles. Another strap, cinched brutally tight over her hamstrings, pinned her upper legs to the bench. She’d seen the straps hanging loosely from the apparatus, lazily waiting, like venomous snakes, anticipating the embrace of their victim. She wasn’t going anywhere now.

  His palm caressed the roughened, inflamed skin of her buttocks, squeezing the weight of her flesh in his hand. The strap over her thighs galled one of the still raw tramlines from the cane. Her unconscious wiggling of her legs against the implacable grip of the straps didn’t help matters, so she willed herself to stop it. The trembling of her body was another issue entirely.

  She felt him move to the front of the bench, where her head lay low toward the floor, her long hair no doubt a black river pooling on the carpet. He lifted the remainder of her hair from her neck, and cold, stiff leather clasped her there too.

  Dear God, a collar?

  She jerked her head, not even thinking, and his hand twisted in her hair until she stilled, wincing, her scalp burning at the brutal stricture. She felt a tear slip under the cloth of the blindfold, to run crazily across the bridge of her nose. Absurdly, she wished her hands were free so that she could swipe the shaming tear away.

  The collar tightened just a little, exerting a steady pressure on her throat, but not enough to constrict blood flow or breathing. He slipped fingers under the snug leather to ensure it. The feeling of the confinement of her neck was unlike anything she’d ever felt. She knew she was blushing to the roots of her hair, connecting the collar to that of a dog, an owned thing. Though it shamed her, it fired her lust anew. He was staking claim again, taking her to a new place. She never thought bondage would be something that could cause such a powerful reaction in her. Her drenched, seething cunt told her there were new horizons she still could explore. As Troy cinched down the collar with more straps, tying her fast to the bench, it was apparent he was intent on exploring them with her — whether she was ready or not.