Her Troika (46 page)

“Why are they clapping?” Derek asked. “I’d have expected boos with this crowd.”

Kurt gave him a wry grin. “They aren’t all barbarians like you and I, Derek. They’re applauding the finish, even though she’s hurt.”

“Brayden was gentle with her,” Derek said, watching the big man crouch behind the wincing Genna, his hands working the muscles of her hamstring. “If he’d ran her as hard as Lino or Johan, they’d still be out there on that track.”

“Smart of him,” Kurt said with a nod.

“Merciful,” Breanna said in a soft voice, looking on. “He treats her well, you can see that.”

Kurt turned back to her, giving her a small shake of the head. “Quiet, girl. You’re not supposed to speak during a race, remember?”

Her brow furrowed, then she lowered her head as much as her collar allowed.

Derek saw what Breanna was talking about though, the way Brayden cooed at Genna even as his painful massage of her injured hamstring continued, pausing to stroke her hip, before kneading the muscle again.

“Derek, if we can get her away, do you want to take her over to the viewing pens?” Kurt’s thumb stroked Breanna’s chin. “The far side of the track is where they usually display the fillies. Gives the bettors a little bit of a stroll and a chance to stretch their legs.”

He’d seen them along the edge of the dirt, but thought they’d been for something else, perhaps partially assembled frames for a structure. They were roughly rectangular wood frames, each about ten feet high. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the upper cross bar of each frame now swung with chains, the bright metal catching sunlight as the links swung in the breeze.

“What do you mean ‘get her away’?” Derek pointed. “The frames are a hundred feet away. I think we can manage it.”

“You’ll see.” Kurt’s finger slipped into the ring at the front of Breanna’s collar, curling around it possessively. “The winner gets to decide what happens.”

“To what?”

Derek thought he already knew the answer though. He’d watched Johan glancing their way, seen the way the strict South African looked at the gasping and squirming Elaina as Lino untied her from the traces.

“To the losers,” Kurt said, frowning. “Technically, Johan could do anything we wants with them.”

“All of them?”

Kurt nodded, sliding a rueful glance at Derek, before looking back at Johan. The muscular man strode up the track toward them, the sweating Simona in tow on her leash, her chin up, eyes full of pride.

“The
lecker
is faster than I thought, Kurt.” Johan gave Breanna a rapacious grin, his green eyes flashing. “Not bad for a first race, man.”

“Get on with it, Johan,” Kurt rumbled. “Let’s hear it.”

Both Kurt and Derek stepped close to Breanna, shoulder to shoulder in front of her. Derek didn’t like where this was headed.

“Would’ve been nice to have been warned about this, asshole,” Derek whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t know about it until George mentioned it,” Kurt replied, tilting his head toward Derek. “Kinda hard to update you while you’re racing. Dick.”

Johan looked across the track, then met Kurt’s gaze. “The frames’ll do for her. George’s slave too.”

“Genna?” Derek knew it wasn’t his business, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel sorry for the sorely used girl, no matter how alluring the marks across her buxom bottom may have been.

Jesus, Derek.

Johan chuckled, waving a hand toward the moaning, exhausted girl still standing as Brayden worked her injured leg. “That one’s done up for the night, I think. The lad looks like he’ll fix her though.”

“What about Simona?”

Kurt rubbed his chin. “She get a ribbon pinned on her?”

Johan pulled Simona’s leash up short, nuzzling the hair at her temple with his nose. She closed her eyes with a triumphant smile around her bit, leaning into him.

“I think the bettors deserve a better look at her too.”

“Here, I’ll take her with Breanna,” Derek said, offering a hand as he took hold of Breanna’s collar.

Johan’s gaze leveled with Derek’s. “Simona goes to the stocks instead. She won, but she’s run faster times. Maybe I’m going soft on the old girl.”

Simona gasped, her eyes wide, white teeth clenching the bit.

Kurt sighed, extending an arm toward the stocks at the center of the track. “Right over there, Johan. Need a hand?”

Johan winked back at him as he dragged the reluctant Simona into the field inside the bounds of the track. “Plenty of eager
broeders
in the crowd who’ll be glad to help.”

Chapter Thirty Three

D
erek’s hand’s worked fast as he bound her to the frame. Breanna gasped, trembling as he loosened the cruel saddle strap, easing the phalluses from within her heated depths. He wiped them on her thighs as she blushed, lowering her head. The breeze blew cool on her sodden folds, her flesh throbbing anew, her clit so hard it felt twice its size. She hoped he’d touch it, even just once, but he’d left her pussy bereft, leaving her to her sweet suffering, her clit pulsing in time with the whip marks still throbbing across her ass. She tried to meet his gaze as he parted her legs, heavy chains attaching to her boots, the stance displaying her dripping, lonely cunt to all who cared to look. Then he grasped her hair by the ponytail, pulling her head up, his gaze meeting hers for the first time.

“Are you okay? Anything hurting?”

“No, Sir.”

Please touch my pussy, please, please, please.

Still, he said nothing as he stared at her, dropping a chain from the upper crossbar of the frame and latching it to one of the rings of her collar. As he hauled down on the chain, the collar pressed uncomfortably, but tolerably, against her windpipe, making her lift her chin to alleviate the pull somewhat. He tied off the chain, pulling on it to make sure it wasn’t too taut, then stood back, his blazing eyes never leaving hers.

“I hate to leave you like this, girl, but I need to talk to Kurt.” Derek gave Breanna’s companion in bondage a gallant nod. “I trust you two will keep each other company?”

“Yes, Sir,” Elaina said, nodding back as much as the strictures of her own bindings allowed.

Derek left with a quick caress of Breanna’s cheek, then she watched him stride away, admiring once again the power in those muscular, compact buttocks his jeans showed to such advantage. She watched him make his way back to the crowd, looking for, then finding Kurt and George, both engaged in conversation with Tom and Kort. Lino, after fastening Elaina to her own frame and leaving her with a harsh slap to her bottom, had joined Brayden in attending Genna, both men massaging her legs. The girl’s head lolled back on her shoulders, but whether from pain or pleasure, Breanna couldn’t tell.

“He adores you,” Elaina said, her voice low and smooth, huskier than Breanna’s own. “I remember that look.”

“What look?” Breanna wasn’t yet used to speech, and she worked her jaw.

“The look of possession, ownership. It comes over them at different times, in different ways. But they all feel it.”

Breanna made a soft sound of frustration. “I should be mortified,
catatonic
, after what just happened. Yet, all I can think about it why he still holds back from me.”

“He didn’t hold back on your ass.”

The flush heated Breanna’s cheeks. “I … well—”

“You don’t need to explain, Breanna. I’ve been there. I know.”

“How? You’re married to George.” Breanna gulped, afraid suddenly that perhaps she’s assumed too much. “Right?”

“Of course, but I’m not sure wife is the correct term anymore.”

“What would you call it?”

Several of the men, all in dark suits, strode across the dirt of the infield toward where Johan stood over a now kneeling Simona.

“I’d call it more like slavery.”

What the fuck?

Elaina gave her a wry smile, turning her head with effort against the stiff collar. “Surprises you?”

“I guess it doesn’t — if I’m honest about it.”

“No reason not to be, dear.” Elaina inhaled deeply, her breasts rising and falling. “These men force us to be. Force us to confront who we really are, don’t they?”

“Yes… I had no idea though.”

“About yourself?”

Breanna smiled. “I’ve known about that since about, oh,
ten
. It’s him that’s surprised me. It’s just gone deeper and deeper.”

“Oh, you mean your husband then? George saw it in him a long time ago though. A natural, really. Why do you think he steered Kurt toward taking the position?”

“What — what position?”

Elaina blanched, turning her head away for a moment, with a muttered curse. “I’ve spoken out of turn, Breanna. I apologize. Wasn’t my news to give. Ask him when he comes back.”

“I’m not waiting until then.” Breanna tried to turn but the way the chain pulled upward on her collar made it impossible. “I want to know what the hell is going on here. What position?”

“I can’t.”

“You
can
.” Breanna softened her voice, her eyes watching a knot of spectators as they drifted closer to where the frames stood. “Just tell me. I won’t say a word. Please.”

“Oh all right,” Elaina whispered. “My bottom can’t be any more roasted than it already is anyway.”

“Hurry, they’re coming closer,” Breanna hissed. The small group was definitely meandering there way now, talking amongst themselves as they walked.

“Kurt agreed to become director of this facility.”

“This is just a farm.”

“Not anymore it’s not.”

“So what does that mean? Quit his job? Move out here?”

“Probably something you should as him, my dear.” Breanna’s voice hushed. “Listen to me now though. They expect us not to talk. Silent dumb animals, remember?”

“I …”

“Breanna, this is important. They’re going to touch you, they may even talk to you — but don’t reply with words.”

“Why not?” Breanna’s pulse pounded harder by the second, the group of spectators now a mere thirty feet away.

“They’ll punish you if you do.”

The thought made her mouth dry up, even as she felt the traitorous uncoiling deep in her belly. What did that mean? Was there a limit to what turned her on anymore?”

“Now,” Elaina murmured. “Silence, Breanna.”

The men, four of them in all crowded close, blocking her view of her husband conversing with Derek and George.

“These are the two who Placed and Showed, right?” The accent was something she couldn’t place, New England maybe, mostly submerged. She chanced a glance up at him. A strong jaw, with a neatly trimmed beard black as night, and eyes that glittered as he looked her body up an down.

“The other tracks could learn from this display,” another said, the smile in his voice. “I can’t recall a race with that many big tits bouncing along the track at once.

Laughter rumbled through the group of men.

“Is this George’s then?” Another man, a quieter voice than somehow unsettled Breanna. Then she remembered him from the little pre-race inspection. He was the one who’d fondled and molested Simona as if she were so much horseflesh, her pleased owner looking on.

A slap rang out, and Elaina inhaled sharply. Then another one, louder, and Breanna looked over. The cruel man was standing directly in front of Elaina, trying to meet her downcast gaze, his hand slapping her breasts left then right, red splotches deepening upon their vulnerable slopes.

“Not much sag at all in this mare’s tits, either. Surprising for the size of them, and for her age.” The cruel man looked back at one of his friends. “Do you remember the retreat last year? That dark-eyed one with the gold rings in her nipples? That smaller breasted one?”

“She one the championship at the Retreat.”

“Yep, that’s the one.” The cruel man turned back to Elaina, pulling one of her breasts up by a pinched nipple, shaking it back and forth as dog might shake a chew toy. “Her Owner let the entire gallery have a go at her after the race, even though she’d won. Took almost two hours for everyone to get a turn. I almost felt sorry for the filly.”

“Looks like Johan has the same idea.” The men murmured, turning their heads to the stocks in midfield.

Breanna couldn’t make out everything, having to peek over the broad shoulders of one of the men. Simona was now surrounded by men, perhaps a dozen of them, a few of them talking and laughing with Johan as he observed, the faint crack of a paddle sounding even from that great distance.

“Now this one. I’ve never seen her before.” The air changed as the man drew close, and Breanna dropped her gaze to his feet, her eye noting the impeccable crease of his gray slacks, the black gleam of the Ferragamo shoes something she was used to seeing in a courtroom rather than on this twisted parody of a farm.

“Kurt’s wife,” one of the men said, pleasure in his voice. “First time competing too, Tom told me.”