Valley of Surrender Series - Vol.1

by Trent Evans

  Time and a place, Lace.

  “She really didn’t say a thing? You’d think… well, you’d think most women would have wanted to do nothing but talk about it. I’d say… hell, I know that more than a few women would say it was a dream come true to find out their hubby was a closet Dom. They’d be creaming their panties over it.”

  “I’m not a closet Dom. I just… like to call the shots in the bedroom.”

  “Does that label bother you?”

  It was a surprise to hear him backing away from acknowledging out loud what he so obviously was — or at least what interested him.

  “I don’t like labels.”

  “So, that’s a yes.”

  “That’s an I-don’t-know-what-the-fuck-I-am. Other than an idiot.” He cursed something under his breath. “The stupidest thing? Right before I said it, there was this little voice, this tiny thought at the back of my mind.”

  “There was?”

  (It was mine.)

  “Yeah — it said: ‘Don’t do it, Hunter.’”

  “Ah, shit… maybe she just needs to cool off, think things over?”

  She hated this, hated the words that said the exact opposite of what she knew was right for him. Sara never setting foot back in that house would be the best thing that ever happened to Hunter — even if it cost him a broken heart.

  There were cures for broken hearts. And sometimes they were found when — and where — you least expected them.

  Yes, like in my arms — and between my legs.

  Lacey!

  She clapped her hand over her mouth then, squeezing her eyes shut, sure she was going to hear Hunter’s shocked gasp over the phone. But there was nothing, only the sound of the rain pattering on the top of the car as the sky began to open up. She yanked at the door handle on her truck, and slipped inside, the door shutting her within the quiet of the vehicle with a muted thunk.

  “I’m gonna try to get her to answer her phone. This is… I’m gonna get this fixed. I don’t know how, but I’m going to. I just… wanted to tell somebody.”

  It touched her in a way she didn’t expect, that he’d chosen to confide in her first rather than Troy. But she pushed that aside. There would have to be time to think about that later. Now, he needed her — and he needed to not be alone.

  And he wasn’t the only one.

  “Look, come over. I’m just leaving the store. Troy should be home in a few minutes. We were going to go out, but I’d feel better with you at the house with us, okay? I’ll cook you guys up some steaks. You and Troy can get piss drunk and reminisce on the simplicity of life before women or something. I won’t even laugh at you.”

  A quiet chuckle sounded from the other end of the line, and the tension in her body loosened ever so slightly.

  “That sounds pretty good, actually. But yeah, I don’t think that’s—”

  “No arguments. Get your butt over here.”

  “Shit… okay, I’ll see you in a few. Thanks, Lacey.”

  “I’ll crack a beer for ya.”

  Then she hung up, smiling, her hand on her chest, relieved he wasn’t being stubborn about this. Military men could be notoriously difficult when it came to dealing with such things as feelings. So often, it was easier to just keep things close to the vest, to internalize it. To tough it out.

  But Hunter didn’t need to tough it out. He had his best friend, Troy.

  And he had her.

  Chapter 10

  “Strip those clothes off.”

  The gruff words floated down to her as she knelt at the foot of the bed. She hadn’t even heard him walk into the bedroom. How long had he been standing there, watching her silent, kneeling form?

  Rising, she didn’t turn to him. He hadn’t ordered her to, but more than that, it felt, right… proper. A subject disrobing before her ruler, a supplicant laying herself bare for her dark, cruel god.

  He waited for her as she unbuttoned her blouse with trembling fingers. He was impatient, she knew, though he made not a single sound. It always behooved one to obey with haste on a Maintenance Night. She shimmied her hips as she pushed the denim down, taking her panties with it, drawing everything off as swiftly as she could. The familiar heat of her blush bloomed on her cheeks as she bent over before him to extricate her feet from the tangle of clothing.

  Then, she was naked, shivering in the cool room, exposed, vulnerable. The very thing he wanted her most to be, to know that nothing would shield her, that he denied her all ability to hide.

  There was only her abject submission — and his rich enjoyment of it.

  “Lace your fingers behind your head.”

  Her hair was cool and silken against her hands as she submerged them in the thick locks, her elbows locked and spread wide as she knew he required.

  He gave her bottom a playful slap. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The murmured response was unneeded but she gave it anyway. Purely for his enjoyment.

  Familiar — and fear-inducing — sounds came to her as she waited, her anxiousness building by the second.

  The whisper of something heavy moving across the carpeted floor. The thunk of her husband rummaging around in the walk-in closet. The pleased sound he was wont to make, that rumbled from the depths of his chest as he found something he knew he was going to like.

  And that she was going to hate.

  It was never good when he was looking for something in there. For, unlike other couples, Lacey’s closet held much more than her clothes — mentionable and unmentionable. It held the tools of her subjugation as well.

  At her side once more, he took hold of both of her hands in one of his, a strand of her hair searing as it caught in the clench of his grip.

  His voice was smooth and rich, warm at her ear. “We both know why you’re being disciplined today, but just in case I’ve missed anything, do you have any misbehavior to confess?”

  Tell him.

  It was past time, but she wasn’t even sure what it was she should tell him.

  The truth, for starters.

  “It’s… got to do with Hunter.”

  “Oh?”

  The word was a mere murmur, but the tone said his interest was more than piqued.

  “Yes… when he called me. Told me it didn’t go well.” She swallowed down a surprisingly strong surge of shame. “I was… glad.”

  “Glad that he called you?”

  “No.” A deep breath had her entire body quaking. “I was glad… that it didn’t go well.”

  For a second there was silence so profound that if it weren’t for the steel-hard fingers clasping her hands, she’d have thought she was suddenly alone in that room.

  “You’re going to have to tell me more, aren’t you?”

  “I-I shouldn’t have thought it. I don’t even know why I did. I just couldn’t help it.” She looked down, embarrassed at her selfishness. “I feel bad about it. I… thought you should know.”

  “You’re a good girl for telling me.” His fingers squeezed her hands still harder. “But you know what this means for you.”

  Her stomach sank. “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s a small thing — but it’s still a thing.” A pause. “Hunter is our friend, and he loves his wife. The very least we can do is hope he’s able to make the life he wants for himself. Even if it’s with someone you don’t particularly like. So, you’ll have to be punished for that, along with the maintenance you’ve already got coming today. Do you agree?”

  Her cheeks flamed hot, and she nodded in silence.

  “Still, I’m proud of you for saying something, even though you know it’s going to cost you.”

  “Yes, sir.” There would be no mercy, but she did feel better, knowing she’d at least pleased him with her honesty.

  That’s not even close to the whole story, and you know it.

  But it would have to do. For the time being.

  “Let’s get this cute ass of yours warmed up then, shall we?”
>
  Her stern husband didn’t wait for her response, the first smack landing so heavily that it drove her hips forward, the hot pain making her gasp, nearly causing her to lose her balance.

  “Stay still,” he growled, laying down loud, hard slaps across one cheek, then the other, and back again, the feeling of being spanked while standing something she wasn’t used to. It wasn’t the first time, of course, but usually it was a couple slaps, and then it was on to something else, a preamble, an appetizer.

  This was a real spanking.

  In mere seconds, she was hissing between clenched teeth, her heart in her throat, the heat in her bounding, punished cheeks rising toward an unbearable scorching. His hands were so hard!

  “Stop tightening.”

  “I’m sorry!” she blurted, willing her ass to loosen, the searing pain clawing deep. He waited, an alluring menace at her side. His dark eagerness to continue was palpable.

  She managed to obey him, her trembling bottom relaxing once more.

  Another harsh slap caught her left buttock under the soft, vulnerable curve, the wobble of her flesh so mortifying it eclipsed the hot pain of the blow. “There! Good.”

  A series of thunderous smacks followed, and she was left crying out at the end of it, the first shaming tear meandering down her cheek, hot saltiness at the corner of her mouth.

  There would be more tears before the day was out, she was sure of that.

  “That should do it for now.” His strong hand fondled her sizzling flesh. “Good color here already. Does that big bottom of yours hurt?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, her voice a mere squeak, her fingers clenched tight at the back of her head. The temptation to rub the aching heat away from her buttocks was already almost irresistible.

  And her discipline was only beginning.

  “Good. Off to a decent start then.”

  The cool words had her trembling with dread, even as the furnace between her thighs was stoked still higher.

  Her blood froze though as the little black rubber whip was dropped atop the mattress before her. The rubber stung badly indeed. She feared it perhaps more even than the cane. And there was one particular use her husband delighted in when it came to the evil implement.

  Oh no.

  “Turn around.”

  Closing her eyes for a moment, she obeyed, already knowing what she was likely to see.

  When she’d first seen it, she’d nicknamed it The Bar, a moniker which had stuck ever since. It was a simple contraption, little more than a heavy square base of varnished oak, with two uprights spanned at waist height by a narrow, padded cross piece. Its dark leather gleamed, well-worn in a pattern that perfectly matched the span of her thighs.

  “You know where I want you. Over your bar. Tight.”

  She shivered a little as her hips found their familiar spot. The wood creaked softly as she draped herself over the top, pulse pounding behind her eyes, her hair brushing the floor below her.

  A big hand touched her hip. “Thighs apart. Good. Spread your cheeks.”

  “Troy—”

  “Do it.” Her reticence was amusing to him, she knew, but she was also well aware there was only so far she could take it.

  There was nothing worse than exposing her ass to him though, the embarrassment so strong, she felt it might turn her inside out. Which was probably why he made her do it.

  Through her legs, she could see him standing behind her, waiting, loving the process of bending her will to his. Making her do even the most mortifying things, simply because Troy demanded it.

  “Lacey…”

  She gripped her blazing, sore buttocks, a slow whine escaping her lips as she drew them apart, her face flooding with heat as the cool air heralded the full exposure of her secret opening to her disciplinarian husband.

  “So beautiful,” he breathed, the pleasure in his voice making a smile come to her lips, even as every second of her debasement was pure torture.

  He was practically obsessed with everything about her ass, a fact that was both a turn-on and a seemingly unending source of conflicted embarrassment for her. It was perhaps the one part of her body she fought with the most — and the part she most wished to change.

  Her thighs, and especially her bottom, had always been well-fleshed, and though she felt her ass was far too big — he saw it as anything but. He said her thighs were “lush” and regardless of whether or not she thought her ass was a little too wide, her cheeks a little too soft, he stated multiple times that it was his.

  End of.

  So much did he like her just the way she was, that he once told her that she would be barred from losing any further post-baby weight if it resulted in her thighs and ass growing smaller or less rounded.

  It was something she just told herself she’d have to accept, consoling herself with the fact that her husband constantly lusted after her, taking great pleasure in the use of that particular part of a body he considered to be, essentially, his property.

  The thought always aroused her in a twisted, forbidden way she wasn’t even close to fully understanding. Luckily, her always demanding husband rarely gave her much time to analyze the whys of things too much. They just were.

  His finger touched the sensitive flesh of her anus, and her breath caught in her throat. “Do you remember the letter I left for you? The instructions? What you could expect for each week?”

  Troy’s voice was soft as velvet, but she knew better than to be fooled by it. He was the tiger circling its prey.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me. What happened on week number one?” His hand smoothed over the curve of her presented ass.

  “I — thighs and bottom, sir.”

  “With what, dear?”

  Reciting the details of her subjugation was almost worse than the actual act. Almost.

  “Flogger, sir.”

  “Go on.”

  “Week two was… breasts.”

  “Was it? Use the correct words.”

  She swallowed. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes,” he growled, taking firm hold of one of her buttocks, squeezing tightly.

  “My… tits. Sir.”

  “And gorgeous tits they are, my dear. Are they still sore?”

  “A little. Mostly just…nipples.”

  “Good. I like the thought of you having that reminder of your session all week long.”

  She had the overwhelming urge to hide her head, grateful that the hanging curtain of her hair at least allowed her the illusion of concealment. All week, her poor nipples had been chafing against even her softest bra. She’d given up on one entirely by Thursday, resorting to wearing a thick sweater to try to hide the jut of the painfully hard tips.

  “You forgot something though, didn’t you?”

  Oh shit.

  A whisper of panic rose within her as she went over the instructions in her mind again. She’d done everything he’d asked, even right down to what she’d—

  Clothes.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to — I just forgot today.”

  “How did you fail to follow my directions? I want to hear it from your lips.”

  “I… I was supposed to be naked. I’m sorry!”

  He patted her bottom, a faux comforting tone to his words. “We’ll take care of that. We all forget from time to time, don’t we?”

  “Yes, sir.” She knew he wasn’t going to let it slide though. Troy never, ever, let her off.

  She resisted the urge to move from her position though; that would only make it worse for her. The fact she was holding her own buttocks wide, blatantly displaying her asshole to him as he practically promised she was going to be further punished had her shuddering with dread and embarrassment. He always found novel, subtle ways to indulge his sadistic streak.

  And though she regretted it when it came time to pay the toll, she wouldn’t want things to be any different.

  She needed what he loved to give.

  “And what is in store f
or you this week, bad girl?”

  “A-anal punishment. Sir.”

  Goose flesh spread across her skin at the words, but it didn’t stop the surge of heat between her thighs, the tightening deep in her belly at the dark prospect of what was to come.

  “That’s correct.” There was a soft sound, a whisper of air against her nakedness, as something swung through the air behind her. His palm spread upon the small of her back, his thumb just dipping into the upper cleft of her well-spread bottom.

  “Keep them open. Very wide now.” He slapped her ass. “More than that.”

  She yawned her buttocks still further apart, the thought of what she must look like, the image of her abject debasement, enough to make her softly whimper.

  “Good.” The cold thin leather laid itself down the length of her cleft, the rounded tip tickling the secret entrance between the quivering cheeks.

  “Oh God, please, sir!” He’d only ever inflicted this punishment once before, and though it was many months ago, the memory of the pain was still seared into her memory.

  “Be very still now.”

  Then there was a muffled snapping sound, and a harsh sting across her anus. She yelped, too shocked to do much more.

  He said nothing as he landed another stroke, in nearly the identical spot, the sting a solid line traversing most of the length of her tender cleft. He tapped her gently with the whip, as if to measure the next strike, and she made a tiny sound of protest.

  One he totally ignored.

  Another harsh, stinging line was imprinted between her buttocks, the burning sting so bad, she gripped her cheeks feverishly, sure her fingernails would leave impressions in her soft flesh.

  “Oh, my God!” she blurted, her breathing coming in pants.

  Two more strokes followed, and she burst up at the fifth one, jumping in place, her hips squeaking against the leather as she squeezed her eyes shut.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I— God — I’m sorry. Sir. It’s…hurts!”

  “Which is exactly the intention.” His hand squeezed her shoulder. “Back down now, disobedient girl. You’re not done yet.”

  Miserably, she allowed herself to be jackknifed back over the bar, his hand spread upon her upper back ensuring she’d been folded down to his satisfaction. His fingers played with the dangling length of her hair for a moment, then he stood back once again.