by Trent Evans
Martin didn’t respond, instead turning his attention back to his well-disciplined wife, laid bare upon the spanking bench before everyone. He stroked her hip gently, tapping the thick length of the strap against her buttocks as if to measure his aim. Brooke stilled, surely knowing what was coming.
One stroke, then another, even harder this time, splatted against her martyred bottom, the last blow drawing a tight shriek from the woman. Lacey, standing in the corner between a wooden filing cabinet and a tall armoire, jerked at the sound of Brooke’s anguish, her own bottom still glowing an angry rose after her stiff paddling at Troy’s own hand only minutes earlier. Troy would never tire of looking upon his wife’s generously curved bottom currently bared to the onlookers courtesy of her floral-patterned sundress bunched in her hands at the small of her back, her white panties at half mast, stretched across her slightly spread thighs. He thought, even from this distance, that he could just detect the hint of glistening moisture between the close-lipped labia quite visible at the juncture of her pale, shapely legs.
Laying the strap upon the crest of his wife’s swollen, inflamed bottom, Martin caressed her gently, bending over her bound form and whispering to her, the faint sounds of her soft weeping drifting over to the men seated at the table. Once he’d calmed her, Martin snatched up the strap and brought it back to the table, laying it neatly upon the table, fixing the watching men with a bright, toothsome smile, his well-groomed dark hair shiny with pomade. Rolling the sleeves of his white dress shirt back down muscled forearms, Martin nodded back toward his still-bound wife.
“I’m afraid we need to sneak out early, gentleman. Brooke and I still have an engagement to keep this evening.”
“You really didn’t tell her?” Von asked, leaning back in his chair, a wry smile curving his lips. “You’re a cruel bastard, Martin.”
Pulling on a fitted suitcoat the color of slate, Martin shrugged, buttoning his cuffs. “There’s a lot to be said for keeping these women on their toes. We’ve still got plenty of time for dinner — it just won’t be as early as she might have guessed.”
“And she’ll be taking it on a roasted backside too.” Keenan said, his eyes glittering.
Martin took up the strap, handing it to Keenan. “Appreciate letting me borrow it. Need to get one made for Brooke one of these days. I’m sure Amy doesn’t like sharing it with the others.”
“Amy will share anything if I tell her to,” Keenan said quietly.
The men glanced over at Keenan’s wife, laid atop the broad plane of Troy’s office desk. Her hands, bound in heavy metal cuffs at the middle of her back stirred only slightly, as if she were lost in thought. Her bottom was decorated with a veritable storm of thin red lines painted over smooth buttocks flushing a congested pink, the aftermath of the stiffest birching Troy had seen meted out in quite some time. Between those punished cheeks, the rectangular base of a very thick polished steel plug could clearly be seen.
Troy had been positive such a large toy could not possibly fit into Amy’s tight bottom, but the men had watched in aroused silence as Keenan proceeded to prove just how well he’d trained the woman who was both his wife, and slave. The man had been as patient as he was relentless, working Amy’s well-lubricated anus until the plug finally sank fully home, her breathing reduced to panicked pants.
A mute buzzing sounded and Von dug in the pockets of his slacks for his phone, cursing as he stared at the screen, his thumb flicking quickly through the texts.
Troy and Keenan watched Martin lead Brooke from the room, the man giving them a deeply satisfied smile as he ushered his wife before him, the woman transformed from weeping penitent to the elegant beauty she was, her dress restored to the classy attire of a woman about to go out on the town. Only Brooke’s stiff gait betrayed the no-doubt still throbbing buttocks rolling under the form-fitting black dress.
“Cori giving Lee trouble again?” Keenan chuckled. “I knew it. She’s too old for him.”
Von winced, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “They can’t make it. She’s refusing — again. Lee said she and her friends joke about the Sessions — they call it the ‘Spanked Wives Club.’ I think it’s time she goes before a full Session — but that’s up to Lee. We’ll talk about it later.” With a sigh, Von looked over at Troy. “You asked me here even though Celina didn’t need to come to this week’s little, uh, get together. So what’s the big deal? Spill it.”
“Wanted to talk to both of you, actually.” Troy said. “It’s about my friend, Hunter.”
Lacey’s head snapped around at the mention of his best friend’s name. She peered back at him from her lonely corner, color high in her cheeks, her lips quirking hopefully despite being forced to display her naked, punished bottom to the men in the room. When it came to all things Hunter, Lacey was always… more than interested.
“I think I want to have Hunter out for a visit, at least for a few days — maybe longer.” Troy met Lacey’s dark, intent gaze, smiling at her. “See where things go.”
Chapter 1
The woman’s lush, round buttocks twitched at the sharp sound of the can’s pop top snapping open.
“Hunter — it’s your deal.” Von sipped his beer, the bright overhead light glinting off the aluminum.
“Ah, sorry.” Hunter cleared his throat. “Big blind to you, Von?”
Von’s dark blue eyes narrowed, but a smile played upon his lips. “If you weren’t spending so much time staring at my wife’s ass you’d know the answer to that question.”
Troy, sitting to Hunter’s right, shook his head, chuckling. “Rookies.”
Hunter dealt the cards, trying to ignore the heat at his cheeks. “Kinda hard to concentrate…”
“Do you want me to send her away?” Von’s eyes glittered.
“I didn’t say that.”
Hunter set the deck down, checking his hole cards. A two of clubs and a seven of hearts.
Fuck.
“Told you,” Troy murmured, not looking up from the two cards he held in his hand. “After what I saw when Hunt was over for Christmas, I knew he’d be a fit.”
Von glanced at Troy with a quirk of an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that. Boy hasn’t even so much as dipped his toes in, and he’s already jumpy.”
“You didn’t see him with Lace.” Troy gave Hunter a wink. “He seemed to have the way of it.”
Von dropped two fives into the pot. “You find somewhere to stay yet?”
Relieved at the change of subject, Hunter still had to will himself not to look over at the naked woman facing the wall at the far end of the darkened living room.
“Right now, I’m at the Redwood. The one right there on the highway?”
It was a surprisingly well appointed and — thankfully — quiet little motel just off the White Valley Canyon highway, the main drag that snaked through the community of White Valley, Washington. Troy had told him how beautiful White Valley was, but his friend’s words hadn’t even come close to doing it justice. The first time Hunter had come to visit Troy in his new town, the community had reminded him of a cross between a Norwegian fjord and a sleepy hamlet nestled against the broad, green flank of a mountain in the Austrian Alps.
Von grunted. “Figured you’d be staying with Troy until you found something more… permanent.”
“I tried, but the asshole turned me down cold.” Troy laid down the Flop, pointing at Hunter. “Your bet.”
“I’m just here for a week or two.” Hunter dropped a fifty into the pot, despite only having a pair of sevens.
Those are lucky numbers, right?
“Week or two?” Von looked at Hunter the way a father might look at a naive child. “You’ll change your tune.”
Hunter flipped over the Turn card. A two of hearts. Things were looking up.
“You gonna ask?” Troy grinned. “I know you’re dying to, Hunt.”
“Ask what?” Hunter said, already knowing.
Troy lifted his chin toward the silent woman twenty feet
away.
Shit.
Von didn’t look up from his cards, but Hunter knew the hulking man was paying keen attention.
“So… why is she standing there like that?”
“Like what?” Von lifted his gaze to Hunter’s.
Hunter lowered his voice to a murmur. “Well, naked, for starters.”
“You don’t like what you see?” Von laid an elbow on the table.
“No, it’s not… that.”
Hunter would be damned if he’d be caught commenting on the shapeliness of Von’s wife’s ass. It didn’t mean such shapeliness wasn’t noted — or affecting him. His cock had stirred to life the moment he’d seen her silently emerge from the hallway and take her spot facing the wall. He’d never seen a woman actually… do that.
But it seemed part of him liked it. A lot.
“Then what is it?” Von set his cards down, sipping from his glass of amber-hued single malt. “Because this is just the start, my friend. A taste. If this is too much”—Von flicked a glance at Troy, doing it in a way Hunter couldn’t help but see—“then maybe this isn’t a fit after all?”
“He is, Von.” Troy fixed his friend with a look somewhere between sober and icy. “I brought him here. I know him. With what he’s been through? With how I saw him handle Lacey? You’d know it too, if you paid any fucking attention to what I told you.”
Von was silent for a moment, regarding them both, a long, deeply tanned finger tapping the rim of his glass. “No time like the present then, is there?”
Troy grunted. “What about the game?”
“Fuck the game,” Von murmured, already gazing out at the bewitching sight of his wife waiting in the darkness, the deep shadow rendering her ass into a hint, a suggestion of twin, pale moons. “Celina. In here, please.”
Hunter’s mouth was as dry as his cock was hard, the naked woman padding — rather reluctantly, he thought — across the room, and into the circle of warm yellow light cast by the crystal fixture over the card table.
Her buoyant breasts swayed a moment as she took her place at her husband’s arm, looking down at Von, her big brown eyes reflecting either excitement or fear — or both.
Von’s gaze dropped a moment to the lush growth at the apex of her soft thighs.
“Still letting her grow it out?” Troy said, looking upon her displayed charms without an ounce of bashfulness, his gaze frank… and with more than a hint of lustful avarice.
Celina’s cheeks colored at the words, but she remained silent, her eyes locked upon her husband.
Von sipped from his whiskey, then set the glass down, his gaze not leaving his wife as he spoke. “I like it that way. I think it actually makes them even more embarrassed to display their pussies, if you can believe that.”
“You always did like that part of it,” Troy murmured, reaching over to Hunter, sliding his cards across the green felt of the card table.
“Getting in their heads is when the real fun starts,” Von said, his voice almost a whisper.
This wasn’t much different from what Troy had let him experience at Christmas last year, but sitting there, mere feet from Celina’s gorgeous form had Hunter more than anxious. He didn’t know what he struggled with more — wanting to touch that soft, olive skin or take a walk in the cool evening air. Hopefully, that would at least calm the steel bar currently twisting in the confines of his jeans. Looking at the coral color of the woman’s large — and very erect — nipples wasn’t helping matters.
Not one bit.
Von looked over at Hunter. “Troy’s explained to you what’s going to happen tonight?”
Hunter nodded, a lump in his throat.
“We don’t need to go over this,” Troy said, rolling his eyes as he slipped the deck of cards back into its case. “He and I talked about this — at length. He knows the rules, what’s expected, what might come next.”
“I need her to hear that,” Von said, turning his gaze upon Troy, tipping his head toward Celina. “You’ll have to humor me on this one. It’s not like it’s your wife that’s standing here with her naked cunt on display, is it?”
“Not this week, anyway,” Troy murmured, his smile an almost predatory flash of white teeth.
Um, what?
“We don’t bring strangers into this very often, and if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. All the way.” Von looked at Hunter once more, the deep blue of the man’s eyes suddenly going cold, flat, as a shark’s might just before delivering the fatal bite. “So, I need to hear it from you, Hunter. Do you understand what this means once we take this first step? Once we go far enough, there’s no going back — even if you wanted to.”
“I’m ready,” Hunter croaked, the pulse in his neck pounding in time with the throb of his aching cock.
This was really happening.
“Good.” Von looked up at Celina, reaching for her, spreading her long, slender fingers across his broad palm. “Did you bring the Infractions Ledger then?”
Chapter 2
Squinting against the warm afternoon breeze whipping down the sun-drenched valley, Ford held the slim silver phone up in the air. No bars.
God damn it.
He needed to call her before she got here. It definitely was not a good day to have the media in town. Though if it were up to Ford, no day would be a good day for the media to be snooping around White Valley. It would only cause trouble, and Ford was one who believed in not rocking the boat, if at all possible.
Especially in his town.
He held up the phone again, raising it higher, hoping even those few extra inches would let him get some kind of service. Cell reception was notoriously bad; the steep cliffs that dove down to the churning foam of the White River snaking through the canyon was a topography not exactly conducive to mobile phone signals. It was only one of the reasons his department still used radios.
He’d pulled his truck over on one of the viewpoint gravel turnouts that lined the highway as it winded its way up the mountain valley. He hoped the precipice over the cool, rushing water would allow him to get at least one short call out.
The staccato din of a passing eighteen-wheeler riding his Jake brake momentarily deafened Ford, the roar of the big semi receding as it coasted down the hill toward town.
He took a deep breath, extending his arm almost straight overhead. “Come on. Just one bar.”
“Problem with your phone, Sheriff?”
Well, shit.
Ford spun around, already knowing who it was. “Ms. Moore… I didn’t hear you drive up.”
The pretty blonde cocked her head, glossy pink lips quirking. “Imagine that? Me sneaking up on a cop.”
He held his phone out, as if it were a disobedient puppy found piddling on the carpet. “Was trying to call you. Damn service is so bad out here.”
“Price you all pay for living in alpine Heaven, right?” Her hand plunged into the dark leather bag slung from her shoulder. The wind rippled the hem of her knee-length navy skirt as her fingers danced on the screen of her tablet computer. “Am I here on the wrong day? No, this is right.” She turned the screen toward him. “Tuesday, as we agreed.”
“We need to reschedule.”
“Why is that, Sheriff?”
Ford rubbed the back of his neck, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Just… not a good time, Ms. Moore. Maybe I can call you when I can work you in to the schedule for an interview?”
A lock of hair the color of spun gold danced along her smooth jaw, her smile beaming. “You’re not doing anything now, are you? Maybe you could just talk to me right here?”
“No.”
“Trouble in paradise?” Her smile dropped a few watts, but didn’t disappear altogether.
“Look, Ms. Moore—”
“Falon, please.”
Ford cleared his throat. “Falon. Can I be honest with you?”
“I wouldn’t want anything else, Sheriff.”
He looked away from the hint of the sun-kissed c
leavage revealed in the open neckline of the woman’s crisp white blouse. A tiny, pale scar, not much more than a thin line, could be seen just above the hollow of her throat. Her snug blazer did nothing to soften her dramatic curves either, instead seeming to showcase and present her full breasts in all their soft, round glory.
She’s trouble, Ford. Stop thinking with your dick.
“This place,” he continued. “The people here… like their quiet.”
“You’re saying this place is always quiet then? That’s not what I hear.”
“I’m sure you hear all kinds of things, Falon.”
Her smile beamed again at the sound of her first name. She probably thought she had him already, charming him with her beauty — and tits that made his mouth water. She might be right about the beautiful part — but she was sadly mistaken about the rest.
“Why the hostility, Sheriff? I’m just here to get some background. That can’t be too painful, right?”
“I’ve heard that one before. Background becomes in-depth becomes investigative. Then the shit hits the fan. You sure this is the story for you?”
Falon shrugged, hooding her eyes with her hand as she looked down the valley toward the afternoon sun. “I’m not a threat. I’m not here to make your life difficult.” She dropped her hand, and adjusted the strap of her purse, licking her lips nervously. “I… probably shouldn’t say this, but I’m not actually a full reporter. Yet.”
“Jesus,” Ford muttered, shaking his head as he kicked a rock, sending it arcing out over the precipice of the viewpoint.
“Not on air, anyway. Just a producer.” Her slim throat worked as she swallowed. “Look, Sheriff. I’m trying to… impress my boss. I need this — something. Can you help me? A harmless producer girl here, asking for a tiny favor?”
Now she was charming, though he wasn’t sure she meant to be. Perhaps pity was an alternate tactic taught in J-school? It didn’t matter though. It wasn’t going to work either.
“There’s a very particular… way of life followed up here.” Ford tucked his hands in his back pockets, hoping to convey an ease he didn’t feel. “The people who live in White Valley love it, and they’re protective of it. They’re not particularly keen on strangers rolling in and asking questions about things they’ll never understand.”