Six

SIX

Veronica woke with a pleasant soreness between her legs, and a less pleasant soreness on her hip. The previous day’s emotional and physical roller coaster came crashing back to her like a bad hangover. The last words Luke spoke to her the night before still hung in the air.

She couldn’t stop thinking Please be kind to me. Please help me survive this. Like a mantra over and over in her head, as if he could hear her if she thought it enough. As if he might care.

He couldn’t let her go now, not with plausible deniability. She struggled to find a way to give in to him, to erase her mind and just be her body, which seemed to know instinctively how to please him and submit.

She thought back to the day before, lying in the grass after he’d branded her, the feeling of bliss like everything was right with the world. Everything and everyone was in its place. Everything was as it should be. Life was a rich, interwoven tapestry of which she and Luke were only tiny threads. Nothing was a big enough deal to fight over. When you became everything and everything became you, what was there to dispute? Everything just was. She wanted to go back to that moment and live there.

As she showered and made breakfast, she tried to find that quiet space inside herself that didn’t cling and claw and fight and scream, that just drifted and merged with the clouds. That just ate and breathed and slept and fucked and everything in between any of that was just noise.

At breakfast, she was still trying to find this place when Luke said her name.

“Ronnie, come here.”

She looked up, the flood of fear she’d pushed away coming back in full force. It wasn’t what he said. It was the way he said it. That voice. It was ruthless and unrelenting. Anything said with that voice would bring her the greatest pleasure, the greatest pain, or the greatest humiliation. Most likely all three. She wanted to run from that voice and never look back. The only problem was that while she was running, she was likely to circle back and run toward it again—his inexplicable pull on her was that strong.

She scooted her chair back and went to him. His hand, ran over her bottom through the sundress she’d put on.

“Are you wearing panties?”

The men stopped eating, forks clanging against plates as they fell. They looked at her, waiting. It didn’t appear odd to them that the question was being asked. They just wanted to hear the answer.

“Yes, Sir,” she said, finally killing the stutter. It could still come back. It was early yet.

“That disappoints me. Take them off.”

What was the point? Nothing she did would ever be good enough. She’d never be Trish, even if she followed his orders to the letter every moment for the rest of her life.

Where had that come from? She pushed past the urge to fight him on the panty issue and turned to go inside.

“Take them off here.”

If she begged him, he’d only humiliate her worse. He might punish her. Just give in. Whatever he wants. Just do it. He’d said the first week or so was the hardest. Had it been hard for Trish? Even if he hadn’t taken her against her will? Was it something Veronica would have had to push through either way?

She wanted him. She wanted to live out every filthy fantasy she’d ever had with him, but she couldn’t get past the fact that she hadn’t come here freely. She almost had. In that park when she’d been so desperate for anything to make her life better and he’d given her one more chance to go with him, what if she’d just gone, with no ropes or terror?

What if she’d taken the work as just a matter of course? What if they’d agreed that room and board was sufficient pay for a few household chores and meal preparation? What if he’d seduced her and she’d fallen under his spell? Would it really be easier to go down the dark and gnarled path he was taking her down?

“Veronica...” His voice had taken on that edge again. It was the way he sounded only a few moments before consequences.

She balanced with one hand against the table and lifted the dress to reach the top of her panties and took them off without thinking it through. She was about to go back to sit down—a wildly optimistic choice—when his hand covered hers, stopping her.

A look passed between him and the guys, and as if they’d done this all before, they stacked the plates at the far end of the table, where the extra chair sat. Trish may have decided on six chairs to keep the table even, but each day, that last empty chair at the end of the table felt like the place for the ghost of his former lover.

Luke grabbed Veronica’s wrist and pulled her closer, so that she was half lying on the table on her stomach. He dress was scrunched around her waist, displaying her lower half to the men. Jake got up from the table and made his way over to her. He was the only one of them who hadn’t yet seen her in some state of undress.

He ran his fingers over the welts the belt had left. “Poor thing,” he said. “What did she do to deserve this?”

“She kept me waiting.”

“Let me borrow her for a little while. I’ll soften her up for you. She just needs someone to be gentle with her. You’re too intimidating. Remember how Trish was at first?”

“No. If you’re soft, you just teach her to manipulate.”

Veronica gritted her teeth, willing herself not to scream at them for talking about her like she was a lamp or chair or not right there, leaned over the table on display.

Jake still stroked gently over the welts, eliciting a small whimper from her. She winced when he pressed a finger inside her ass.

“We don’t have time right now,” Luke said. “There’s too much work to do. Tonight we’ll play with her.”

“All of us?”

“Yes.”

Jake removed his finger, and Veronica let go of the breath she’d been holding. Then he smacked her over the still-painful welts and pulled her dress down.

She spent the rest of the day fretting over what all of them playing with her meant. Just when she was trying to test what would happen if she didn’t fight him, Luke had to go and introduce new things.

Lunch went off without a hitch, the men too wrapped up in the day’s chores to mess with her. She waited on them, and brought them their food, and cleared the table when they went back to work. She checked on the garden and made a note to tell Luke about some holes in some of the bell pepper leaves. She’d fed the chickens and done laundry and cleaned the house.

Around five thirty, Luke came in with a package wrapped in white paper—meat from one of his cattle. “It’s stew meat,” he said, putting it on the bottom shelf of the fridge. “Make shish kabobs for dinner, for all of us on the grill. The skewers are in the top draw on the left side of the stove, and here’s the list of the veggies to pick from the garden for them.” He passed a piece of paper to her. “The only other thing you need for your part is pineapple, and Robert’s gone out to the store to grab one and the other things we need. Don’t look so terrified. We’re just having a little party tonight.”

* * *

The little partyturned out to include party trays, S’mores, a big bonfire, and a lot of alcohol. The more they drank, the more worried she got. The shish kabobs had been a hit, and nothing dirty had happened yet except for the occasional grope, but she could tell they were just getting warmed up. The grill had been brought to the far end of the yard where the bonfire had been started. For S’mores and ambiance, Robert had said after his second beer.

Music played on a battery-operated boom box nearby. Bales of hay had been pulled around the fire to sit on, and before the alcohol had flowed too freely, Jake and Luke had brought out a large wooden cross that looked more like a giant X the way it sat, except that it was leaned back a little, not straight up and down. They’d secured it into the ground with stakes. A large pile of rope sat beside it, which gave her flashbacks to the night Luke had taken her. She shook the thoughts out of her head.

Will sat beside her, his hand rubbing her thigh underneath her dress, exciting her in spite of everything. He wasn’t bad looking. Nobody here was as rancher-of-the-month hot as Luke, but nobody was a troll, either. “You look scared, honey.”

“Of course I’m scared.” She was about to be the centerpiece in some kind of orgy. Veronica didn’t think straight men routinely liked to get naked in front of each other. It must be why they were packing away so many beers. “I don’t like this with alcohol. Luke is already scary enough. I don’t need him drunk.”

“He can hold his drink. Don’t worry. He’s not a mean drunk. If anything, as nervous as he makes you, you’ll like him this way.”

Speaking of the devil, Luke swooped in, then. He pulled Veronica to her feet and swung her around to the music. “I’m tying you up, sweetheart.” His tone was light, but still somehow scary.

She didn’t quite believe Will’s description of drunk-Luke as less intimidating. The only one who wasn’t drunk was Will. He must be the designated driver—or the one designated to pull the others off her if they got out of hand. Physically, he was strong; they all were. They had to be for that kind of work, but was he strong enough to protect her if she needed it? And would he?

“Why isn’t Will drinking?” she asked, needing to confirm her hope.

“Safety. If you need to be cut out of the ropes for some reason, do you want to trust I haven’t had too much to drink to do it without slicing you open?”

At least Luke could hold his drink enough to have that rationale.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” he asked. “I need you loose and relaxed.”

“I don’t drink. Not since my freshman year of college.” It had taken exactly one year to realize why drunk was only fun the night before.

Wheels were turning in his head, but Veronica had no idea which wheels. Was he going to hold her down and force her to drink out of a funnel? He could make her drink if he wanted her drunk.

“Put your arms over your head like this.” He raised his arms to demonstrate, which made him look ridiculous. Yeah, he was a bit silly drunk.

She rolled her eyes but did it, and he pulled her dress over her head. There was a bite in the air that caused her nipples to harden, but the bonfire so close kept the worst of the chill away.

Luke’s mouth closed over one of her breasts, sucking on it while Robert watched with a leer on his face.

“We should milk her,” he said.

Veronica’s eyes widened and she hoped the men were all too drunk to remember any of this in the morning. She looked for Luke’s reaction. It was a raised eyebrow.

“She’s not pregnant,” Luke said.

“It doesn’t matter. I saw it on a website. All we have to do is give her hormone shots, and keep trying til we get there. She’s already branded, we may as well milk her, too—keep the theme alive.”

“You are a freak,” Luke said as if he had room to talk with his playroom and video cameras, but the look in his eyes said he thought the idea was just the right level of degrading to be hot. “Have you even tasted breast milk? As an adult?”

“I have,” Will said. “When Frieda was pregnant. I got curious.”

“And?”

“It’s sweet. Not bad. It depends on what you feed her, though. It can taste sour if she eats too much onion and garlic.”

“No onions and garlic, then,” Luke said as if he were actually considering it.

Will turned red in the firelight.

Luke noticed. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Will ducked his head. “After the baby was weaned, I made her keep producing milk for me for a couple of years until she finally got fed up with it.”

“What do you think, princess?” He cupped her mound, his fingers slipping inside her. “Survey says, yes. The idea makes our little slut hot.”

She flushed and turned away.

“What do you think, Jake?” Luke asked.

“I think it’s disgusting. I’m not drinking it.”

“More for us, then.”

“You know what they call them?” Will asked, too into the idea to let it drop now. “Milk maids.”

“Hot,” Robert said.

“I still think it’s nasty,” Jake said.

“And we said you didn’t have to participate,” Luke said. “Help me tie her up.”

Jake put down his beer and followed them to the big wooden X. The two men positioned her on her back, leaning to press against the wood.

“Careful with her brand,” Luke said.

“It’s not even touching the beam, she’s fine.”

Veronica’s face flamed as they spread her legs wide to tie them down, exposing her more than she’d ever been exposed for any of them. Even in just firelight it was humiliating. Robert and Will watched from a few paces back. Jake helped tie her up, but once she was secured, he stepped back and let Luke go to work.

“This is going to look like a crack-addicted spider’s web, with me doing this drunk,” Luke said.

“Doing what?” Veronica asked, her curiosity overcoming her fear and embarrassment for a moment.

“Japanese rope bondage. He learned it a few years ago. If he’s doing the fancy rope work, you’re going to be there for awhile,” Robert said.

Robert wasn’t kidding. Half an hour later, Luke was just finishing up the knots. He’d wrapped ropes intricately around both of her arms, keeping it as loose as possible around the sunburned areas. On her legs he wasn’t so lenient. Then he tied ropes around her upper torso, and her breasts. The constricting nature of that much rope tied with that much time and complexity made her panic.

“Shhhh,” Luke said, stroking her hip. “Deep breaths. This is why I wanted you relaxed. Will can cut you out fast if necessary.”

“I have a problem,” Veronica said, once her breathing was back to normal.

“Yes?”

She flushed and lowered her voice. “I have to pee.”

Luke started to laugh.

“I’m serious. I really have to go.”

He shrugged, unconcerned with her discomfort. “So pee.”

Her eyes widened. “I hope that’s a joke. I can’t just pee.”

Luke’s expression darkened. “You can and you will. We are far from finished with you and there’s no way I’m undoing all this work so you can take a piss. It’s just pee. Do it.”

She shook her head and glared at him, her lips set in a firm, defiant line. “I can’t.” There was no way she could be exposed like that and pee in front of them. It was too degrading and awful.

Robert, who was proving to be the most dangerous instigator of the group, came closer. “This, I have to see.”

Within a couple of minutes, all four of them were standing around her, arms crossed, amused looks on their faces—just waiting for it.

“I’m not doing it,” she said.

Despite the alcohol that had lightened his mood, Luke’s face was stern. “Ronnie, what did we say about you making an effort and seeing how much nicer I could be?”

“I don’t care. Be mean, beat the shit out of me, but I’m absolutely not doing it. I’d rather die.” She didn’t really mean that, she only said it because she didn’t think he’d do it, at least not the killing part. He was too giddy with all the perverted things he could make her do to end it all now. The big box of videos he had of Trish said it had been a long time since he’d done all of this, and he wasn’t about to end the party now.

“You’ll do it. You won’t have a choice.” Luke turned to one of the guys, “Jake, go get the bong out of the shed.”

Veronica jerked her head up at that. They had a bong? When did they have time for recreational drug use? She’d seen the amount of work they had to do, though they did seem to sometimes stop about a half hour before dinner time. Still, she’d never smelled it on any of them.

“You’re getting her high?” Jake asked.

“Oh yes.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose? If she’s too stoned to care, it’s less fun.”

“I’m only relaxing her enough so that she’ll let go, not enough to kill the impact on her.”

Jake disappeared behind the hay bales and came back ten minutes later with the bong, ready to go. Luke lit it and held the mouthpiece up to her mouth. Veronica preferred to be a little stoned for this, so she chose not to fight him and inhaled.

“Okay, that’s plenty, maybe a little too much.”

She relaxed. She knew they’d succeeded in their goal when they let out whistles and catcalls. Then she felt the hot, wet stream trickle down her leg.

When she realized what she’d done, the tears started sliding down her face. Luke moved in next to her ear. “Don’t let them get to you. They’re just fucking with you. They’re drunk as hell and won’t remember it in the morning.”

The small gesture caught her off guard. “What about Will?”

“Well, you know about him and Frieda. He’s probably the freakiest fucker here. Nothing fazes him, so don’t worry about it.”

Robert came up with the water hose and Veronica cringed, afraid he was going to hose her down like some prison movie, but he was only cleaning her off with a light mist.

Luke seemed to have sobered up as he approached with that predatory look in his eyes. Despite the discomfort since he’d tied her to the wooden beams, and despite the other men looking on, her mouth watered when he unzipped his pants. However sober he appeared, he had to still be buzzed if he was casually dropping trough in front of the others.

“Beg me to fuck you, sweetheart. I want the guys to hear how sweet you sound when you beg me.”

Veronica’s heart beat harder, and the relaxation that had hit her with the marijuana faded as everything came into hyper focus. If she didn’t do as he requested, he might beat her and then force her. She needed to feel at least the illusion of consent. It was impossible to fight him with the ropes tied so tightly around her, especially outnumbered as she was.

Her real choice wasn’t whether she would consent or not. The real choice was whether she would try to separate herself from the event, try to hover outside her body or if she would connect and feel and accept what these men would do to her. The latter was a terrifying idea that every cell in her body bucked and rebelled against, but the former... if she separated she might become so lost she never found herself again.

Veronica closed her eyes and forced the words past her lips. “P-please, Sir, fuck me.” When she’d said it, the throbbing need began between her legs.

“In front of my men? You dirty slut. Do you like being watched, Ronnie?”

“I-I don’t know.”

It wasn’t as if the idea of his ranch hands in some kind of circle jerk around her hadn’t entered her filthy mind, but she hadn’t thought they’d actually act it out. She wasn’t sure she could handle the reality when she couldn’t control the outcome.

“Do you want to find out?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

Luke looked back at Robert. “What did I tell you? Do you trust my judgment now?”

Robert tossed back another beer. “Sure, boss. I trust everything you say right now.”

Luke stepped out of his pants, and Veronica licked her lips. He was hard and ready, but he still lazily stroked his cock, watching her. He finally filled her inch by agonizingly slow inch. He trapped her gaze in his as his hand dug into her brand.

“Ow!”

A slow smile. She wouldn’t have guessed a rancher would know anything about the art of subtlety or innuendo, but the pain and grip on her hip hadn’t been accidental. When he entered her, he wanted her to remember which one of them she belonged to.

He stroked gently over his mark. “Shhhh,” he murmured, trailing wet kisses over her neck. He began to move in a languid pace, dragging out her torment, while his men chanted and egged him on in the background. Mortifyingly she’d gotten wetter when he’d gripped his mark and hurt her, the tinge of masochism coming out to betray her just like her cunt had.

Robert got impatient. “Hurry up. I want my turn.”

“You’ll get your turn. You might want to stay sober enough to get it up.”

“Fuck you, Luke.”

He just laughed and continued to piston in and out of her. Veronica had moved past the embarrassment point. The boom box had run out of batteries and died, leaving only the crackling bonfire and the chirping crickets. The night felt unreal and ancient, and when she looked up, the stars seemed to beckon her to join them. It was like the day before when she’d lain in the grass, floating on the endorphin rush from the branding.

Whatever was happening wasn’t about doors and misogyny and rights and indignation. It wasn’t about which gender made more money or if men objectified women too much in bikini contests. It was pure, raw animal lust that reached inside her and flipped something low in her gut.

He gripped her hip again, jolting her out of the state she was in, dragging a whimper from her throat and her attention back to him.

“Who do you belong to? Whose mark do you bear?”

“You... y-yours,” she panted.

Then for the second time with him, she came. The men shouted and whistled and catcalled, adding to the surreal nature of the moment. Luke pulled out and finished by hand, leaving a trail of cum dripping down her stomach.

“Next!” He pulled his jeans back on and zipped up, then went to sit on a bale of hay, his dark eyes never leaving her.

Robert stalked her, purpose in his gaze. A tear slid down Veronica’s cheek and she closed her eyes. A calloused thumb brushed it away.

“If you don’t want me, I won’t fuck you, darlin’. I’m not a rapist.”

Was Luke? Yes, no, maybe... but... it hadn’t felt that way while he was inside her. She’d chosen to be there for the experience instead of disconnecting, and she felt more high from the rush than the drugs they’d given her.

Had there been a single moment in which she hadn’t wanted Luke’s hands on her? She’d been afraid he might kill her or hurt her, but afraid he might fuck her? She couldn’t remember. She might have protested his ownership of her, but her body had known its master the moment he’d gotten close enough for her to get a whiff of his aftershave.

Veronica’s attention snapped back to the naked, erect man in front of her, so strong and muscled and tan, with sun-bleached streaks of blond in his longish hair. Then she remembered he was waiting for some sign of consent.

“Really? Y-you wouldn’t just t-take me?” She wasn’t sure she believed the nice-guy act. Maybe he was setting her up for punishment.

Would Luke be angry if she refused his friend?

Robert shrugged. “Luke just pays me, and we’re friends, but he doesn’t own me. I want you though. I really want you.” He stroked her side, then his fingers drifted down her hip and between her legs.

Neither her mouth nor her body protested when he slid one finger—and then two—inside her, pumping in a slow, easy rhythm. His mouth found the side of her throat and he kissed her softly there.

He whispered in her ear. “If you don’t stop me, I’m going for it.”

She didn’t stop him. But she didn’t come, either. Nor had she been as wet as she’d been with Luke.

When Will’s turn came, he didn’t ask, he just took like he had the right to her because Luke had granted it. She came bucking uncontrollably against him. The same pattern followed with Jake. Though Jake was gentle, making her come against his fingers before he ever penetrated her with anything else, he hadn’t asked for permission.

Her eyes went to Luke to find a dark, satisfied smile on his face. Did he know Robert was the only one she hadn’t come with? Did Robert know? Was he offended? Was she going to be punished for it?

A look passed between Robert and Luke that she couldn’t decipher and didn’t know if she wanted to. A manipulation had happened, and Luke had proved his point.

The guys ignored her now, drinking and talking amongst themselves as if she were no longer there as the fire died down.

Veronica’s arms and legs were sore from being tied up so long. Luke took a warm, wet wash cloth and washed her, then he untied her. When he was finally finished, her arms went around his neck, too tired and weak to grip very hard, and he helped her back into the house, leaving the others behind.

Neither of them spoke as they went up the stairs. Veronica’s head was too full. Even if Robert and Luke had orchestrated it as some sort of fucked-up object lesson, it still troubled her. The men who had taken without waiting for an invitation had made her come. The one who’d shown consideration and asked permission, hadn’t.

Her lack of protest after the option had been granted with Robert, had been a tacit consent, but it had amounted to pity sex. The kind she’d had with every is this where you want me to touch you? man she’d been with in the city. She hadn’t said no to any of the others, including Luke. Perhaps that was a kind of tacit consent as well, but if she’d said no, even if she’d cried and panicked, she couldn’t be sure if any of them would have stopped.

No, that was wrong. When she’d had a breakdown in her bedroom the other night over the forced masturbation, he’d stopped and rocked her and comforted her. He’d thought she was Trish at the time, but still, she could reach him. His love for Trish reigned him in. His former lover was now Veronica’s guardian angel.

When they arrived at the top of the stairs, she turned toward her room, needing to fall back into a blank sleep so her mind wouldn’t be so busy and troubled.

“Veronica.”

Her hand was on the doorknob when he said her name.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Come. You’re sleeping with me tonight.”

She shouldn’t have felt a thrill at being invited into his room like it was dinner at the White House, but she couldn’t help it. Her body was eager to please him and didn’t care what her mind thought about any of it. Being invited into his bed to sleep meant he was pleased with her, and as much as part of her cringed and resisted, another part was his.