Valley of Surrender Series - Vol.1

by Trent Evans

  Suddenly, barely slowing down, Ford jerked the wheel to the right, and Falon yelped, feeling as if her stomach had floated up into her throat as the big truck dove down a narrow asphalt driveway, the angle so steep it actually pressed her up against the shoulder strap of her seatbelt.

  He brought the Tahoe to a stop where the driveway terminated at a gravel turn-around in front of a large house, the structure seemingly built almost against the hillside itself, the highway curving up and away, far above. A well-kept lawn the color of emerald swept from the porch farther down a gentle slope, ending at the rounded gray rocks lining the banks of the river perhaps forty feet below.

  The home itself, two stories clad in white and gray siding, with a great rough hewn wood entryway, was completely hidden from the highway, tucked away as it was below the precipice of the road. They were far enough down the hill that not even the road noise drifted down to the property. The only sound around them once Ford cut the ignition and opened his door was the low, soothing murmur of the river itself.

  She didn’t have long to savor the beauty of the place though, Ford’s big hand wrapping around her upper arm and yanking her out of the truck.

  “Hey!” she said, stumbling, silently thankful once again not to be wearing that hated ankle chain. Maybe if she played her cards right he’d let her out of the cuffs too. He couldn’t keep her bound forever.

  Keep telling yourself that.

  The interior of the house was nothing like she’d expected from a single man. The place was spotless, and aside from a huge brown upholstered couch, tall leather stools at the kitchen’s island, and a TV so massive it took up nearly an entire wall in the living room, the place looked almost empty.

  Ford shut the door, throwing the deadbolt with a heavy thunk that made her heart sink. It sounded like a lock that would require a cannon to break through.

  Cops.

  Down a long hallway, the wood floor creaking under their feet, Ford paused to unlock a white door at the end, swinging it open and flicking on a bright back of warm incandescent lights illuminating a staircase leading below.

  “Give me your hands,” Ford said, unclipping his keyring from the dark leather gun belt. She gladly held them out to him, eager to finally be freed. The metal slipped from her sore wrists then, and he guided her down the long flight of steps, the risers making even more noise than the wood floor in the hallway had.

  “You won’t be needing these down here,” he said behind her as they descended the stairs into the cool basement.

  “Oh, thank God—”

  Then Falon froze, her heart stopping.

  Dangling from the exposed rafters were two lengths of silver chain, complete with thick leather cuffs.

  Ford crossed his arms, a gleam in his dark eyes. “I think you know what I’m going to ask next, don’t you?”

  Chapter 12

  Hunter had to give it to the town. Every time he thought he’d seen it all, thought the place couldn’t surprise him — it proved him wrong. Big time.

  As soon as they’d secured her trembling limbs above her, he and Troy had closed in around her, an impromptu — and possessive — protective ring. She seemed okay, if a little dazed — and definitely tired. Her hair was matted, and sodden with sweat, pink marks from her cruel bonds streaking her skin in seemingly random patterns. Her eyes were big and bright, her pupils dilated, her lips a plump, deep scarlet the likes of which Hunter had never seen on her. Though her breasts were blotched and marked — the aftermath of her ordeal — her nipples stood hard and dark, perhaps themselves inflamed, but nevertheless prominent, a testament to the strength of her emotions, the depth of her arousal.

  Her sex, unfortunately, seemed somewhat inflamed from the relentless saddle strap, her labia puffy and pink, her clit an almost angry red. Troy had confirmed that such an effect was not only normal, it was part of what made the saddle strap so effective — the memory a girl was left with once finally released from its cruel embrace.

  Thankfully, the cuffs affixed to the chains were of a very supple leather, no doubt a mercy on Lacey’s increasingly abraded wrists. Fatigued or not, she was theirs, and they made sure she realized that. As the auction commenced, they couldn’t help but touch her constantly, fondling her, and admiring her, turning her this way and that to look upon her and handle her body. A few bidders moved close, perhaps intent on looking her over themselves, but most of the other women — who weren’t accompanied by two glowering, pissed off looking men — received the lion’s share of the attention.

  “You doing okay, Lace?”

  Her eyes scanned the crowd, the haunted look he saw in her gaze something that both aroused him and concerned him. Maybe the Walk had been too much for her?

  It had almost been too much for him.

  “I’m all right,” she murmured, meeting his gaze, her simple, warm smile loosening the tension in his chest, even as it made his cock jump. He wanted to see that same beautiful smile as she knelt before him.

  Soon enough, horndog.

  But could he be so sure he’d get that chance?

  Troy leaned a shoulder against one of the rock-solid supports for Lacey’s frame, pointing at the man in the black suit running the show, the one with the unsettlingly intent gaze. Hunter couldn’t remember the guy’s name, but in his mind’s eye, he kept thinking of him as Mr. Intense. It fit.

  “See that tablet he’s got? He’ll take the bids there — they have this elaborate algorithm set up on the website they use.”

  “They need a fucking algorithm?” Hunter shook his head, stroking a palm down Lacey’s ribcage, the bumps of each rib pleasing to him as his fingers passed over them, even as she shuddered under his touch. Perhaps that only enhanced the experience for him.

  “You’d be shocked how many bids come in. There are a lot of men who plan their entire calendars around these things, trust me.”

  After the lurid spectacle of the past few hours, Hunter had little trouble believing such a thing.

  Hunter wasn’t sure where to look, the concentrated display of subjugated femininity — most especially their girl — almost too much to take in at once.

  Troy stepped behind Lacey, and she tensed, trying to follow him with her eyes.

  “Face forward, bad girl,” Troy murmured as he gazed down upon her now well-marked bottom. She quickly complied, looking down with a wince.

  Hunter might once have expressed misgivings about his desire to add more to those marks, but even his short stay in White Valley appeared to have washed away such qualms. The fact was, he couldn’t wait to get her home — and back under his thumb.

  Possessive bastard.

  Dozens of men, couples, and even one or two single women, meandered through the forest of bound females, looking at them from every side, testing the offered flesh with a pinched thigh here, a fondled breast there. All around them now, the moans and soft cries from the captive women were more or less continuous, the prospective bidders becoming bolder — and ever more demanding — by the second.

  Troy came around from behind his wife, stepping to her side and planting a soft kiss upon her temple. “Be good,” he whispered, and she closed her eyes, nodding quickly, her bottom lip drawn between perfect white teeth.

  God, she’s beautiful.

  And she was all theirs — assuming they were successful in getting her down from that godforsaken hill.

  “See, what’d I tell you?” Troy said, lifting his chin toward the scene developing three frames down from Lacey’s.

  Troy had guessed that certain of the applicants would garner more attention than the others, and he’d been dead right. Though all the women were practically surrounded by onlookers, bidders, voyeurs and people simply curious, two women in particular were the focus of even more scrutiny.

  Celina, and even more so, Josalyn.

  The younger men seemed to gravitate toward both of them, Josalyn in particular, her body handled and inspected almost continuously. Von stood at a distance, as if n
eeding to make sure Celina was safe, but not wanting to impede any onlookers who might seek to get a closer look at his curvy, bewitching wife.

  “How’d you know?” Hunter said, shaking his head.

  One lanky young man, who looked like he couldn’t even be twenty, was holding both of Josalyn’s great white breasts in his hands, huddling them together like one might when comparing two melons at the market.

  “I think I know who might win her today,” Troy said. “I don’t think it’s any of those twerps drooling over her now either.”

  “What makes you say that? They look ready to fucking mount her right here in front of everyone.”

  Another man had already slipped two fingers deep inside the voluptuous captive, her head falling back with a gasp as he worked them within her slowly, his other hand taking firm hold of the dramatic curve of her hip.

  “Josalyn’s husband. He’s kind of a shark. Made more than a few enemies in his time.”

  Troy drew silent a moment as Josalyn began to wordlessly plead, her cheeks a flaming red, the tall youth now sucking hard upon each deep, red nipple in turn as he gazed up at her, his partner now thrusting hard with his fingers between her trembling thighs.

  “That’s… allowed?”

  “Pretty much as long as they aren’t fucking them, the bidders can do whatever they want — as long as the husband doesn’t object to it, of course.”

  “Is that her husband there?” Hunter noted a well-dressed man keenly taking in Josalyn’s travails. He stood just outside the throng gathering around the helpless woman, his salt and pepper beard closely shaved, emphasizing the granite jaw, the set of his lips was as neutral and cool as his eyes, shadowed under prominent dark brows.

  “That’s him. Ken Williams. He was actually one of her investment clients once — that’s how they met.”

  “Jesus, you’re serious?”

  Troy nodded with a wry grin. “Guess he decided she was going to do a helluva lot more for him than pick stocks.”

  Hunter watched as Josalyn dropped her head, panting, as yet another young man worked his fingers vigorously into the deep crevice between her broad, pale buttocks, slapping her bottom lightly as he spoke to her in hushed tones.

  There was a pretty nasty dust-up between Ken and one of his competitors,” Troy said, continuing as they both watched. “I think he’s involved in container shipping or something like that. Anyway, that competitor happens to be a resident here too. I think I saw him in the crowd earlier.”

  Hunter whistled low, glancing at Lacey. Her head was craned over to the right, her gaze fixed upon the same tableau of degradation down at Josalyn’s frame. “You weren’t kidding about the money here, apparently.”

  “Dude, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” Troy stroked Lacey’s hip gently and she leaned into his touch. She sighed softly, but her eyes never left Josalyn.

  Hunter could hardly blame her.

  “That’s kind of… one of the reasons the Walk is so popular. It’s not all just bouncing tits, and crying, tormented submissives, and industrial strength voyeurism.”

  “Not just those things,” Hunter said with a chuckle. “Fuck me, this place…”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time the Walk was used to defuse tension — or even seal a deal. In this case, I suspect a certain man’s wife might be serving a week with her husband’s rival.”

  Hunter raised an eyebrow. “What, like a peace offering?”

  “Or a calculated act of revenge?” Troy shrugged. “I suppose we’ll never know. I don’t think for poor Josalyn though, the reasons are going to matter that much. She’ll be under someone’s lash shortly, regardless.”

  Hunter scanned the rest of the captives, his eye falling upon the tall, young woman he’d noted that morning, her blonde hair sporting those striking blue and pink streaks.

  A broad-shouldered man, dressed in a pale blue button down and gray slacks watched her intently. His eyes never left hers, and she appeared loathe to even dare look away from him. Perhaps a head taller than her, his arms were folded tightly across his chest. He was utterly still, the firm set of his thin lips and the deeply cleft chin betraying nothing. The only sign of the emotion he might have felt at that moment was the prominent bulge at the front of his slacks, and the brilliance of his gaze.

  He watched her intently, never even touching her, all the communication he needed seemingly conveyed by those blazing eyes, that simmering, molten sexual connection all could feel simply from watching the two of them together.

  “This was Candice’s wedding gift to him.”

  “Who? That dude?”

  “That’s her fiancé,” Troy said. “She agreed to this — to go through this before their wedding.”

  “Why would… that matter?”

  Hunter, of course, was baffled at the idea — he was virtually positive he’d rather gnaw his own leg off than have his fiancée exposed to an entire town like this. After the wedding might be a different story — following the honeymoon, of course.

  But as far as he was concerned, if he ever got engaged again, that woman was his… until he decided he was ready to share.

  The heated connection between the two was undeniable though, Hunter’s cock beginning to ache again. If anything, the ordeal of the Walk might make a submissive woman even keener to please her husband, her future Lord and Master. He had no way of knowing that, of course, but still, he wondered.

  Then the crowd finally thinned, only a few onlookers still reviewing the presented female flesh.

  Mr. Intense raised a hand to the milling, murmuring crowd. “Quiet. Quiet, please! We have the results.” He walked toward the women, standing before the semi-circle of frames still holding captive the exhausted, trembling applicants.

  “Before we proceed, we speak the Close, as is our custom.” The man’s keen, hard gaze swept from woman to woman, the crowd growing utterly silent as he did so. “You applicants, you nine of the Walk. You’ve completed your obligation to us, the community, the body that keeps you, protects you, and binds you. Before you fulfill your last duty in the household of those holding rightful temporary dominion over you, know this.” He glanced at the gathered crowd. “All of us, everyone, even me, are proud of the fortitude, the obedience, and the devotion to duty you’ve displayed today. Though you may kneel to one or many of us, though you may bend to our will, though you may languish under our lash, all of you are what makes White Valley great. All of you are more precious to us than any mere possession. You are White Valley… and you are loved.”

  The unexpected warmth, appreciation, even fondness Hunter heard in the man’s voice threw him for more of a loop than almost anything he’d witnessed thus far that day. There was so much more he had yet to understand about this place, about the very special way of life it supported — and supported it.

  Then Mr. Intense’s gaze grew cooler, his lips twitching, slyly betraying the lust every man on that hill felt at what they’d witnessed. “And now, Applicants, your final sacrifice. As part of the silent auction, your obedience, your devotion, and the service of your bodies has been purchased by the highest bidder. Forthwith, you shall be taken into the household of your winning bidder, and during your time there you will be subject to him in all things. As is custom, there are only two rules during your service: you may not be permanently hurt, nor may you be impregnated against your wishes.”

  “Impregnated against their wishes?” Hunter said in a whispered hiss. “What the fuck?”

  Troy gave him a quick shake of the head, replying out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll tell ya, later. Down-the-rabbit-hole type shit.”

  Then the man announced the women’s names, one by one, their winning bidders stepping forward to claim them. The winners varied in age and sex, most of them men in their thirties and forties, though one Applicant was claimed by an attractive couple who, though both still quite fit, appeared well into their fifties.

  One of the applicants, a slender young woman with sh
ort black hair, and sullen eyes darkened by thick jet kohl was taken into custody by a statuesque mature woman of perhaps forty, her wavy platinum blonde hair set off by her cobalt blue suit and knee-length skirt. The Applicant went quite pale when she realized whom she’d been purchased by, but when her wrists were released from the overhead shackles and once more bound behind her back, she dropped her wide-eyed gaze, apparently resigning herself to her fate. The girl allowed herself to be led away, easily enough, the blonde woman’s hand clamped like a vise around the doomed captive’s arm, the onlookers murmuring as they watched them go.

  “Who is that?” Hunter whispered. She looked like she’d stepped out of a boardroom meeting and right onto Promontory Hill.

  “Don’t know her name,” Troy said. “She’s newer though — and I don’t think she lives here full time yet.”

  Before Hunter could say anything further, Mr. Intense barked out Josalyn’s name, and every person on that hill suddenly grew silent.

  A shorter, quite muscular man, with dark olive skin and short hair so black it had an almost cobalt sheen, stepped forward. He wore a dark brown suit that matched his complexion perfectly, the cut of the cloth showing off heavily muscled shoulders, the pants snug around the bulging thighs and calves.

  “He’s a fucking wedge,” Hunter muttered.

  “I’ll be damned,” Troy said, barely stifling a chuckle at Hunter’s quip. “That, my friend, is the rival I told you about — Nick Petrossian.”

  Ken and Nick spoke in low tones for a moment while her husband released her bonds, Josalyn’s eyes going wide, betraying an almost panicked disbelief. The two men shook hands then, the trembling Josalyn receiving a kiss from her grinning husband as a parting gift before he walked toward the stairs that would lead him back off Promontory Point. Ken took one last look back toward his wife, meeting her gaze, and gave her a slow, purposeful nod.