by Trent Evans
Troy shrugged. “My date machine here. I don’t know how she remembers it all, but thank Christ she does.” He pecked Lacey on the cheek, and she beamed, despite still holding her tank top up and exposing her breasts to anyone who cared to look their way.
“Jesus, forty eight? Good genes, I guess.”
“You should see the pictures of her from a few years ago. She used to be a reporter, I think. Something on television, anyway. The camera liked her — and so did Lee.”
Keenan returned to the stage, climbing the stairs and taking his place behind the lectern again. He cleared his throat and nodded at the man who walked up the stairs next. It was a tall young man with quite narrow hips and broad shoulders that seemed to stress the fabric of his navy suit as he strode up and stood next to Keenan. The man had eyes only for the woman standing twenty feet away, his intent gaze fixed upon her, his square jaw and the firm set of his lips bespeaking a man of drive, of focus.
And right now, that focus was solely on Cori Strickland.
“No… way. Seriously?” Hunter rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, not sure if he was feeling disbelief or a rapacious anticipation. Perhaps a little of both.
“That’s Lee.”
“Christ, Troy. You’re kidding, right? He could be her fucking… kid.”
“Looks younger than he is, but yeah, I suppose, technically, you’re right.” Troy glanced at Lacey indulgently. “How old is he?”
“He’s twenty nine,” she murmured.
“Lee has agreed to come up and join us on this stage for one reason,” Keenan said. “Because I think it would be instructive for a few of those in the audience.”
Hunter’s face heated with a blush, and he wondered just who Keenan might be referring to. But the man didn’t look in their direction, instead closely watching the interplay between Lee and his defiant wife.
Along with every other fucking person here.
Cori’s brows furrowed. “Lee… please, this is—”
He held up a hand, shaking his head. “No, Cori, this needs to happen. I told you if you pushed the issue that I’d make sure you finally understand the truth of things.”
Lee’s voice was remarkably strong. Confident, instead of arrogant; firm, rather than cruel. It belied his years. Hunter wondered if that wasn’t the only thing about Lee that belied his comparative youth.
“What do you think the problem between them really is, hmm?” Troy cradled his chin on his hand, his elbow on the armrest between he and Lacey. “Any tidbits you feel like sharing with us, girl?”
Lacey’s breath grew shakier by the second, Hunter’s hand inching lower, the tips of his fingers just teasing the top of her slit. He caught Troy’s gaze then, watching the man’s expression closely. Troy’s eyes scanned down Lacey’s body, purposefully, pointedly, the message clear. Then he looked at Hunter again. Rather than reproach, or caution, or even uncertainty, Hunter saw only one thing in his friend’s eyes.
Eagerness.
“It’s… the age, ahhhh, difference… jesus,” Lacey whispered as Hunter’s touch slipped through the soaked folds of her pussy, curling two fingers inside her, the swollen clit a hard, prominent bud against his palm. Troy played with the erect point of her nipple as once more he turned his attention to the drama unfolding below them on stage. Hunter had to remember to breathe as he tested her wet heat, as he realized that this too was another threshold, another turning point, another door opening in… whatever it was that was happening here.
Perhaps it shouldn’t have mattered, but to him, somehow, it did.
Relax and enjoy this, asshole.
Lee and Keenan conferred together, quiet discussions and murmurs rippling through the watching crowd. Troy swiveled his head on his hand, looking at Lacey and Hunter both. “How about a little wager then? Hunter, take a guess as to what the real problem is between Lee and Cori. If you’re right, then you get to pick what happens once we leave this room.” He fixed Lacey with a stare, his gaze growing cooler. “And if you’re right, Lacey-girl, then I get to choose.”
Lacey panted, her hand wrapping around Hunter’s forearm as he eased a third finger into her soaked pussy. Thrusting them gently inside her, the wet sounds her sex made were so loud, Hunter wondered absently if the people seated a few rows down from them could hear it.
He found he really didn’t care anymore.
“W-why don’t I get to… choose?” Desperation and need warred within her trembling voice as she spoke the words.
Troy let go of her nipple and smoothed a palm across her cheek, presenting it to his wife’s lips. She quickly kissed it, her eyes closing as she did it.
“It’s tough to be mine sometimes, isn’t it?” Troy grinned over at Hunter. “Ah, the sweet injustice.”
Then Troy looked back down at the stage as Keenan and Lee appeared to come to an agreement.
“Time to see what the future holds for us.”
* * *
Lacey worried she was in danger of flying apart — in front of everyone in town.
Between the harsh pinching and twisting of nipples grown much too sensitive from the cruel attentions of her husband, and the devastatingly adept fingers of Hunter, she wasn’t sure how much longer this torture could go on before she screamed out her release.
But she knew it would go on, it must go on — because Troy wished it.
Keenan tapped his papers against the side of the lectern, waiting patiently for the crowd to quiet.
“We have a serious charge up before the Session today. Lee is sending up his lovely wife for General Defiance, and refusal to recognize his authority over her.”
The crowd was so quiet the sound of Lacey’s own breathing was like a freight train in her own ears.
“I never heard a guess from you, Hunter.” Troy glanced over, looking down pointedly at the fingers buried to the last knuckle deep in her sex. “Last chance on that wager.”
Hunter’s mouth fell open, then he winced. “Maybe a… spending disagreement?”
“That’s a shrewd guess, my friend.” Troy winked at his wife, her nipple throbbing once more under the cruel attentions of his iron hard fingertips. “He just might have you beat, Lacey.”
Please, God.
The thought of Hunter beating her conjured an entirely different image in Lacey’s mind than her husband intended.
Or did it?
Of course, she’d never stopped thinking about that sweet December night. How she’d cried so many hot tears, how much being able to give Hunter such a special gift warmed far more than her scorching bottom.
Troy had — as men are wont to do — minimized the meaning, the emotional implications of what they’d done. Hadn’t they discussed it initially as simply a hot fantasy? But what had it become once fantasy had become reality, once she’d seen how much it had affected that sweet, adorable man who happened to be her husband’s best friend.
Had any of them really been prepared for its effect on her?
She wondered if Troy would ever have agreed to something so crazy, had he known how much it would stay with her, haunt her.
Maybe she hadn’t been the only one haunted by that wonderful night?
Then Keenan continued, stepping out from behind the lectern and walking slowly toward the waiting Cori as he spoke to the crowd.
“The reason the esteemed Cori Strickland stands before you today is a complicated one, but rather than get into the minutiae of it all — that’s really something I trust Lee can address, uh, later — I think the Session should hear the gist of it.” He turned to Cori, fixing her with a basilisk gaze. “In her own words.”
All color drained from the face of the auburn-haired beauty, her mouth working soundlessly as her startled gaze scanned the dark gallery before her. Then she seemed to gather her strength, straightening her shoulders, her jaw firming.
“I—I don’t know what you’re referring to. This is between myself and my husband.”
Keenan swept an arm toward the gallery.
“What say you, Session?”
A deep rumbling voice sounded from somewhere down near the stage. “Did you not take your vows to love and obey your husband — in all things?”
Color flooded up Cori’s cheeks again, and Lacey felt herself blushing sympathetically. She remembered well the additional vows she’d recited at her own wedding, the ones that had the women in the audience aghast, and more than one man in the audience grinning.
She couldn’t even imagine what they’d make a woman say at a marriage here in White Valley.
Cori finally managed a response. “Yes, I spoke the vows, but that—”
“Did you mean those vows?” the anonymous spectator continued. “Or were you simply saying what you knew your husband — the man who loves you — wanted to hear?”
“I would never do such a thing!”
Lacey knew better though. She’d heard the stories about Cori’s defiance. She always wondered how such a difference in ages could possibly work. Even though she knew it was a very common fantasy for a younger man to take an older woman, whether as a one-time fling or as his wife, it didn’t seem to matter. Every man she knew seemed to take pleasure in the idea.
Biting her tongue to suppress her pained groan, Lacey grabbed Troy’s wrist as his strong hand squeezed her left breast past the point of pain. As her breath whistled between her teeth, he did it again.
“You know what?” Troy leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. “I think you’re a little too free with those hands, bad girl. So, I want you to pull that tank top down under your tits, then put your hands behind your back.”
“Troy, please. I’m sorry—”
She squeezed her eyes shut, her nipple throbbing angrily as he pinched it yet again. It felt swollen to twice its size already, and she had no doubt he was far from finished with molesting her poor breasts.
“Quiet, Lacey.”
She pulled down the left side, then he batted her hands away, lowering the right side until her breasts thrust obscenely forward, the stretched fabric of her top like a sling beneath the globes, supporting and lifting them, as if presenting themselves for whatever her loving but cruel husband — and his surprisingly enthusiastic friend — decided to do to them.
“There, that’s better, girl.” Troy tapped her shoulder. “Now. Behind your back. That’s right. All the way down between the seat back. There you go.” He slapped the underside of her breast gently, making it bounce. “You’re a good girl, when you decide to be.”
“Christ,” Hunter muttered next to her. Though she tried to keep her eyes straight ahead as she knew Troy would expect, she could still see the way Hunter stared down at her proffered breasts, her clit stirring under the firm press of his palm as he continued to plunder her sex with his thick, questing fingers.
The wetness of her pussy mortified her almost as much as her public exposure, her moisture running freely down her perineum, no doubt staining the cushions below her by now. She only prayed Troy wouldn’t notice it — lest he have her back here on another day, making her take to her knees to scrub the shameful residue of her lust from the upholstery.
Hunter’s other hand took hold of her right breast then, and she moaned, his gentler touch so different from the cruel grip of her husband’s. She knew though that she needed both — the harshness and the tenderness. Perhaps that need spoke to something deeper within her, something she’d known she’d needed all along, yet hadn’t had the courage to hope for? Time would tell, but now, she did have that hope, though she still wasn’t sure she’d be able to fully articulate the hows and whys of it. Or even if she needed to.
Like so much in her exciting marriage to Troy, it just was.
She’d never suspected the true possibilities of what might lay ahead until this morning though. And as she sat there, her bottom lip clenched between her teeth, trying to stave off coming like a wanton whore in the grip of these mens’ deviously effective hands, she looked forward to what might be, placing her trust once more in Troy — and in Hunter — that whatever happened, would be right.
And even if it wasn’t, she knew they’d be able to figure it out.
Together? You’re getting way, way ahead of yourself. Just stop.
“Why don’t you tell us the real reason you’re here, Ms. Strickland?” The voice was a new one, cultured, rich, with a not quite submerged accent she couldn’t quite place. “If you make us go through this charade, we might be forced to render judgment solely on the basis of you wasting our time.”
The voice paused as Cori swallowed, the woman licking her lips as if trying to combat the huge case of dry mouth Lacey knew for a fact was common for any of the victims unlucky enough to stand before a Session.
Lacey’s own first time being called up to account before one of the Sessions — though admittedly one of the smaller, informal ones — was seared into her memory, as indelible as the memory of her first lover — yet something far more sexual, dark, lurid, and frightening.
Cori finally spoke. “I… I don’t think he’s always… right. About things.”
Keenan coughed at that, holding his fist to his mouth as murmuring rippled through the crowd in reaction. Then he held up a hand, the throng growing silent.
“The Session does not expect a wife to follow her husband blindly. That is not healthy, nor what the covenant of White Valley is about at all — but you are to voice any objection with respect, deference, and humility. If I were to ask your husband, would you say he’d confirm you displayed any of those qualities, let alone all three?”
For the first time, Cori appeared to stumble, her glance shifting to her husband, and for one instant, Lacey saw what she’d felt herself, standing before her own lord and Master.
Guilt.
“No…”
Cori knew she’d failed Lee, though Lacey suspected the woman’s pride prevented her from verbalizing it — yet.
Lacey had little doubt that before this morning’s session had concluded, Cori Strickland would be singing a decidedly different tune indeed. There was no room for pride when hauled in front of a Session.
Lee made his way over to his wife, pacing behind her, his gaze intent, Cori looking over her shoulder at him, her eyes following him as best they could.
“What say you, Session?” Keenan strode back to the lectern, professorial once more. “All who vote for punishment for failure to obey her husband in all things? For defiance of his wishes? All in favor, say ‘aye.’”
The space boomed with those deep male voices again, Lacey jerking, startled and turned on all at once by the sound.
“Proceed, Mr. Strickland,” Keenan said with a solemn nod. She was sure every cock and clit in the room was at attention now, anticipating what was about to happen.
Hunter withdrew his fingers from Lacey’s sex then, as she watched Lee unbutton his wife’s blouse. Troy slipped his hand between her legs, cupping the heat of her swollen, throbbing pussy in his palm, patting it gently, possessively.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Troy said, his voice low and strained. Lacey longed to reach over and mold a hand over the prominent bulge of his genitals, part of her pleased that she wasn’t the only one suffering the torment of denial at the erotic spectacle before them.
Lee drew the white blouse over Cori’s shoulders, then down her arms, his wife already blushing brightly.
“So, who won our little wager then?” Troy’s finger traced the soft, wet seam of her labia, circling her clit once, twice, a third time, making Lacey swallow down another moan.
God, I can’t…
“I don’t think Keenan really said either way, did he?” Hunter’s voice was thick as he wiped his fingers off on Lacey’s thigh, the scent of her copious arousal wafting up into her nostrils, mortification at her wanton lust heating her cheeks yet again.
A low whistle was heard as Lee unsnapped the plain black bra, Cori’s large, soft breasts spilling forth. Lee whispered something to her, and she slowly drew her hands up, pla
cing them behind her head, her gaze downcast as she blushed positively crimson, a smattering of applause sounding from the gallery. Lacey, despite being well endowed herself, felt a spark of envy at such breasts.
Though perhaps slightly lower on Cori’s chest than they might have once been, they were still magnificent, the nipples prominent and wine dark, despite Cori’s very fair complexion. Lee circled his wife once, reaching out to test the weight of one of those breasts, saying something to his wife that only they could hear, Cori shaking her head quickly. He moved back behind her, and stooped down. The long skirt fell like the curtain of the opening scene of a play, applause breaking out at the naked sex revealed, the reddish pubic hair rich and thick between lush yet firm thighs. Lee stroked a hand down Cori’s rounded belly, making sure she knew the audience could see it. Dressed now in only her heels, he led the mature beauty by the elbow back toward the cross, her hands still laced behind her head, her breasts swaying as she walked, the sound of the heels on the stage floor just audible above the low murmurs of the onlookers.
Troy bit Lacey’s earlobe gently, his breath hot against her skin, his voice gravelly. “Someday, we’re going to have you up there again. And I’ll put you to the cross just like her. That crowd will get to hear your cries, see your tears, watch the bounce of these big tits. We’ll see how red we can make that bottom of yours.” Troy’s gaze switched to the silently watching Hunter, then back to her, his glittering stare pinning her to her seat. “Maybe we won’t have to wait? Maybe you’d cry and plead just fine for an audience of two. An audience with no interest in showing their bad girl any mercy whatsoever.”
“Oh my God,” Lacey breathed, Troy squeezing her mound firmly.
“I think it’s a draw,” Hunter said, and they both looked over at him.
“What?” Troy traced a finger along Lacey’s lower lip, letting her kiss just the tip.
“I mean — it’s a tie,” Hunter said, a sly smile curving his lips. “The wager. Neither one of us won it.”
“And ties go to the house,” Troy said, planting a quick kiss on Lacey’s trembling lips.
Lee had just affixed the last cuff at the top of the cross, Cori’s arms held high and out, in line with the upper arms of the X. Her husband, a large bulge now at the crotch of his slacks, moved around behind her, drawing her back by the hips, until she was bent somewhat at the waist, her broad, pale bottom thrust out behind her. Lee urged her legs closed as he knelt and shackled her ankles with their own thick leather cuffs, her heels neatly together, emphasizing the pleasing line of her smooth legs, the dramatic curves of her hips, and the generous luxurious weight of her buttocks.