by Trent Evans
It would mean being with someone in addition to Troy.
A triad.
Such arrangements were notoriously thorny, fatally susceptible to jealousy, possessiveness and miscommunication. The two couples she knew who’d actually tried it had eventually broken up over it. The whole idea was dangerous — and likely to fail. Even if the attraction was there, she knew that wasn’t enough. Was it pure delusion on her part to think it could ever be acted on?
Could she really submit to them both? It seemed hopeless, that she could have them both — two dominant men.
So, why did she continue to fixate on it?
Because he needs you. He needs this — maybe even more than you need him.
Troy touched her cheek. “Lace, what is it?”
She shook off the foreboding, the fear whispering at the back of her mind. She could do this. She had to do this.
The only question was how.
“I… can’t tell you. Yet.”
“Okay. Then maybe you can convince me why I shouldn’t spank you for holding something from me. You know that’s not what we do.”
“It’s not that. I’m… I don’t know the answer yet.”
“It’s about Hunter and Sara, isn’t it?” He frowned, his fingers clutching hers tight at his thigh as he looked away. “I wish he’d… fuck, not my call.”
“You wish he’d what?” She sat up then, ignoring the way his eyes fixed upon her dripping breasts, her nipples hard as steel.
He grunted, his mouth twisting. “I wish he’d fucking get rid of her. What kind of goddamned best friend thinks that?”
She hugged his knees, her breasts pillowing against his hard, hairy shins. “The kind of friend that cares about him. That loves him.”
“I was going to punish you for that, you know — how you feel about her.”
She shivered, but managed a smile up at him. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten.”
“I never forget an opportunity to redden that sweet ass of yours, bad girl.” A finger touched her lip. “To tell you the truth though? I didn’t disagree with you. I didn’t then — and I don’t now. Is that what you’re afraid to tell me?”
“No… yes. I don’t know! Please, just… I need more time to figure out what it is. Or if I’m being a fucking idiot.”
His brilliant eyes betrayed nothing then as he watched her, his lips quirking once as if he might say something. He shook his head, smiling warily at her, then stood up, his erection jutting over her in a way that made her mouth go dry.
Lowering himself to straddle her chest, he pushed her back down, the water sloshing over the lip of the tub. He grasped her breasts, and her breath caught as the hot, hard length of his penis settled within her cleavage, the big head at the base of her throat. He squeezed her flesh around his shaft, already beginning to thrust slowly.
“I’ll relent on punishing you this time. But you’re going to be very diligent in showing me how grateful you are for my leniency.”
She grinned up at him, her heart beating faster, gasping as his cock thrust even harder within the embrace of her soft breasts. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter 15
The last thing Lacey had expected to see was the silver Mercedes pull into her driveway.
Sara.
The woman never came to her house unaccompanied by Hunter. In the years she’d been married to Hunter, she’d never dropped by alone. Not once.
Lacey wiped the sweat from her upper lip, the sweat pouring down in the unusually warm sub for the very end of October. Dressed in a snug black tank top and ratty cut-off jeans shorts, she wasn’t exactly prepared for company. But the leaves needed to be mowed.
She suppressed the urge to flee inside the house as the tinted driver’s side window slowly lowered.
“Hi, Lacey.”
She was dressed in a cream-colored suit, a slim gold necklace nestling in tastefully presented cleavage. Her over-sized dark sunglasses lent her an air of fashionable aloofness, the thin line of her ermine lips doing nothing to dispel the impression. Her hair and make-up were normally perfect, but the first thing Lacey noticed was the fact the woman’s tresses were loose, hanging limply along one shoulder where they’d been gathered into a messy braid. It was the only thing out of place.
“Hey, Sara. You… didn’t expect you. Hunter in there with you?”
“No.” There was a not quite submerged note of sourness in the word. “Just me this time. I… he left something here last time we dropped off Hayden and asked me to come pick it up after work.”
“Oh sure, that’s no problem.” Lacey stripped off her yellow leather work gloves, draping them over her shoulder. “What was it?”
“I… actually it’s not really important. There is something I want to ask you though.” Sara lowered her sunglasses slowly.
Something was wrong.
Sara’s eyes were slightly bloodshot, puffiness just below them. She’d either come off a recent bender — or she’d been crying.
“Sara… are you okay?” She walked to the car, leaning a hand against the pillar along the front of the window, silently hoping she didn’t stink. “What’s up?”
Sara’s gaze sharpened, the sunlight catching the hint of tears in the gray eyes.
“Do you dress up when Hunter stops by too?”
Lacey’s mouth fell open. “Um, I don’t think I know what you mean.”
But she did, Sara’s eyes dropping pointedly to the way the tank top fabric, soaked in sweat, displayed her prominent, hard nipples to perfection.
“Can we stop with the bullshit?”
“Gladly.” Lacey hated retreating so quickly into defensive mode, but a comment like that was the same as a slap across the face. And they both knew very well it was meant to be.
“I’m sure you know what’s happened. He tells you everything, doesn’t he?”
“I don’t know what you mean. We’re friends.”
“Why don’t you just take him?” Sara’s lips pulled back from her teeth as she spit the words. “Why go through this idiotic Kabuki dance? You’ve so obviously got a thing for him. You’ve been undermining things between he and I from the beginning. Admit it.”
Lacey had to suppress the urge to take a step backward. “I’m not admitting anything that isn’t true. I — we — have been here for you guys anytime you needed us. Nothing’s changed as far as we’re concerned, though I gotta admit, I’m not liking you pulling this shit. It’s a little out of left field, to be perfectly honest.”
“What shit? Speaking the truth for once?”
“Look, Sara, maybe we should just go inside and ta—”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She hid her bright gray eyes behind the opaque lenses once more, but not in time to stop a tear sliding down her cheek. “I don’t know what it is you think you’re doing, but Hunter and I need friends — not fucking home wreckers. Leave him alone!”
Before Lacey could say a thing, the window was rolling back up, the Mercedes backing out of the driveway.
Lacey stood in her front yard, hands on her hips, watching Sara go, her heart in her throat even though at that moment she wanted to tear the woman’s eyes out.
Something between Sara and her husband had obviously gone sideways.
Yes, they both realize the fact she’s completely incompatible with Hunter.
The woman’s words stung, there was no denying that, and as the brisk breeze kicked up, Lacey stood silent in that yard for a long while, replaying them over and over again. They’d hit a little too close to home. Her defensiveness was simple reflex — and it was a shield against what might sounded uncomfortably close to the truth. What if she really had been undermining their relationship all along, subconsciously or not? What kind of woman did that make her?
If you had a brain in your fucking head, you’d start using it — and stay as far away from those two as you possibly can.
It would just play into Sara’s hands though, wouldn’t it? Confirm her suspicions?
The only rational thing was to just let it blow over, recognize that the two were having problems, and just be there — for either one of them — if they needed them. That really was what friends did, and at least she hadn’t let her little fixation blind her to that.
“You need to cool off, Lace,” she murmured, beginning to rake the leaves again, the task not coming close to distracting her from the doubts and fears crowding her mind. Whatever she’d done, whether intentional or not, Sara had picked up on it. Was the women seeing the truth of the situation — and seeing Lacey for what she really was?
How could Sara possibly know that deep down, the only woman Lacey thought was good enough for Hunter... was Lacey herself?
Chapter 16
She gazed up the bed at the knot of rope around the crossbar of their headboard. He rarely used ropes, preferring to discipline her while she was unbound, forcing her to comply with her punishment by staying still.
The rope groaned and creaked as she pulled at it. He hadn’t left so much as an inch of movement, her arms extended before her along the bedspread. Her hips, as usual, were canted high up in the air, her naked body laid bare across a mountain of pillows.
A heavier, longer section of rope ensured her feet, the thick cuffs at her ankles bound tightly together, were bound just as securely.
She felt like nothing more than a human sacrifice, helpless against what was to come. It shouldn’t have excited her, but the evidence of the effect on her was already wetting the pillows below her seething pussy.
He watched her from somewhere behind her. Her husband enjoyed staying out of her line of sight, the long wait for the fall of the rattan made even longer by the fact she couldn’t see what he was doing.
Imagination was a torment all its own.
“This is your fifth session, Lacey-girl. Can you recite to me what you’re in for today?”
It was a cold, rainy November evening, the gloomy late autumn night made more so by what she knew she had to look forward to. The cane hurt so much!
Yet it was the one implement that made her hot and wet just at the sight of it. The love-hate dynamic she had with it had only deepened with time, with each successive appointment with it.
And Troy, for his part, had seemed to grow even more fond of it as time went on. Much to her chagrin.
“Today is… the cane. Sir.”
He palmed each of her buttocks in turn, squeezing, kneading, shaking each one individually, as if to limber it up for what was to come.
“And what do I expect of you while you’re caned, bad girl?”
“I’m to count each stroke.”
“And?”
What do you mean, and!
“Lacey, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your comportment while under discipline? Maybe I haven’t been whipping this sweet ass of yours often enough.”
“Soft! I’m to stay… soft. Keep my bottom soft.”
“For?”
“For your cane, sir.”
The words made heat flood up her neck. Her position thankfully allowed her to hide her blushing face.
“That’s right! Good girl.” He gripped one of her buttocks hard, right under the softest undercurve. “I’ve decided you’ll have twenty-four.”
“Troy!”
“We can add a gag, if you like.”
She shivered. “No… sir. I’m sorry.”
“No, but you will be.”
The rattan, cold and deadly, stroked across her bottom, gooseflesh breaking out under its touch.
“Ready?”
“Y-yes,” she whispered.
“Then say it.”
“What?”
This was a new humiliation for her. Troy was always looking for new twists, novel ways to deepen her subjugation to him during maintenance sessions. He always wanted more… and if her seething pussy was anything to judge by, she always wanted him to take more.
You’re hopeless.
“Tell me that you’re ready. That you want me to punish you.”
“Oh, Troy, please…”
He simply waited, and she knew if she resisted much more, he’d make this even more unbearable.
“I’m ready. P-please punish me.”
THWIP
The sound was one that filled her with dread, just a split second before it filled her ass with fire.
“One!”
“Good girl.”
A tap of the rattan just a breath below the swelling weal.
She gasped as it struck, the pain melding with the previous mark, the throbbing even worse.
Her breath came in great gusts as she waited for the third stroke. She couldn’t believe it already hurt this badly.
THWIP
“Ah, Christ…”
“I wasn’t aware he was a number. Forget something?”
Fuck!
“Three, sir!”
“And you forgot to count the one before that, didn’t you? That one won’t count. So, which number was the one you just had?”
“Two, sir,” she said, miserably.
“Be strong, dear. These will be tight.”
She called out the next six strokes, her voice rising an octave with each meeting of vulnerable flesh to merciless rod. On the last, she cried out, sweat beginning to break out on her back at the hollow of her throat.
His rough hand tested the marks, squeezing, rubbing, a thumb and forefinger pinching deep at the base of one cheek, shaking it to and fro to encourage her to relax the muscle.
“You’re tightening up.”
“Sorry, sir.” Her bottom was a solid mass of fire now as the cane pressed to the join of buttock and thigh. He laid six more strokes in that most sensitive of spots, making her scream at each one. He waited a full thirty seconds between each one. She knew he believed in the miscreant feeling the full effect of each stroke.
“Halfway there, dear.”
He stroked a hand from her wealed backside, up her back to the nape of her neck, squeezing proprietorially there as he bent over her from the side of the bed. “Bottom hurting?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice cracked horribly, her eyes threatening to overflow with tears.
Only halfway?
“I need a little relief too.” He stood, letting her see him as he pulled his black t-shirt off, the muscles of his torso flexing and rippling as he did. The warm light in the room highlighted the pale constellation of scars along his side as he threw the shirt onto the bed. He undid the button fly of his jeans, retrieving an already very hard cock.
“Look what you’ve done to me, Lacey,” he said, his voice a pleased rumble above her. His veined, strong hand took that glorious penis in hand, and he stepped closer, waving the angry broad head before her.
“Kiss it.”
He kept it away just enough to force her to strain to reach it, grinning down at her as she bestowed the lightest of feather touches of her well-bitten lips to the weeping slit at the tip of his cock.
“You’re a good girl.”
“Yes, sir,” she said into her arm, blushing at how badly she wanted to take him into her mouth, a blessed distraction from the agony of her ass, her servicing of his tool degrading or not.
He disappeared behind her.
“I wonder…”
Fingers investigated between her sodden labia, tickling her clit, then thrusting inside. She sighed as he thrust once, twice — adding a second finger, and pushing still deeper.
“Just as I thought.” He patted her stinging bottom. “Quite the hot little whore I’ve got here stretched across my bed tonight.”
She whimpered against the bedspread.
“Lucky me.”
Her breath caught as the heavy head pushed aside her flesh, driving deep immediately. He sank into her until he was pressed hard to her cervix, his fingers idly playing with her fiery weals as he took up a lazy, unhurried movement within her.
“Oh… please, sir.”
He pulled his penis from her just as she began to squeeze down
upon him.
“We’re not done yet. This pussy — no matter how wet and hot it is — isn’t going to save you from the rest of your punishment, slut.”
She tensed as the slim rattan touched her already well-wealed ass. The tram lines burned and ached, her fingertips numb from feverishly gripping the bedspread.
Tap-tap-tap.
“Stay very still.”
Tap.
“Loosen them, girl.”
“I’m trying, sir!”
The cane whistled in, a half stroke that still singed her flesh, making her grit her teeth. It wouldn’t count, but it still hurt.
“Try harder.”
“Come on, Lace. Relax them!
By the time she’d received her second half of hellish strokes, she’d lost count of the number of extras she’d earned from clenching her buttocks, He was a complete tyrant about clenching. His belief — one borne out by her own bitter, agonizing experience — was that it was far more painful, the strokes imparting far more of a lesson on soft, relaxed bottom cheeks. At the end, her voice was hoarse from screaming out the final count of twenty-four, tears freely flowing down her cheeks, her lips sore, bitten hard.
“Now, I want you to stay very quiet for me, bad girl. Lay nice and still and obedient.”
His cock probed her cleft, then nosed into her slit, sliding deep on her long, lost moan.
She bit into her arm as the bed began to creak under the long, deep thrusts, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh rising with each increasingly eager plunge.
“I’d like to keep you like this all the time,” he growled behind her, slapping her ass occasionally as he moved within her dripping sex. “Naked, bound, helpless. I’d only stop to feed you. Bathe you. Use you. Then you’d be back here, crying, weeping under the cane. You’ve never looked more beautiful, Lacey girl, than you do with my marks on this big round bottom. Crying your tears for me. Your cunt dripping for me.”
“Oh fuck,” she moaned, her body rocking below him, his thrusts threatening to press the breath from her body. “Please, sir! I need… I need to come. Please!”