Chapter Thirteen

 

“Have a seat in the living room,” she told him, handing him a glass of wine.

This was different. This was new. The dynamic between he and Tamara had changed somehow, become something else. Exciting. Even dangerous.

But he knew that it was useless to keep resisting. He had to accept that he was lost to her, that right and wrong, morality, even the job, all of it paled now compared to her.

He sat down on the couch, gazing out the window at the starlight. The farm was quiet. The central residence was still. It was as if they were the only two people there. The vision of what he’d just witnessed played over and over in his mind, the twisted, yet in its own way, beautiful submission of that bound, dehumanized man to Anna. It shouldn’t have worked — it should have been abhorrent in a place that seemed enshrined, dedicated in every sense, to the principles of subjugated femininity.

Yet, it worked, despite the fact the memory of it still left him reeling.

Her words stirred — and disturbed — him perhaps more than the imagery did. He knew there was a pure truth there… even if facing it was a terrifying prospect.

He could hear a faint bump from another room down the hall. And then she emerged, wearing an outfit he’d never seen her in before. It was a stretch material like Lycra, entirely covering her arms, brutally tight across her torso and her breasts, ending just above her navel. The only other thing she wore was a black lace pair of boy shorts. It was a perfect blend of seductive and vulnerable, just as she was.

“Please come with me, sir,” she said, holding out a hand.

He sat the wineglass down on the floor in front of the couch. Rising to his feet, he took her hand in his, stroking her fingers. She led him down the hallway, the shadows engulfing them both, and walked into her room — a part of the residence he’d never once set foot in. Somehow, it had felt wrong to do so. It was her space, something she was allowed precious little of on the Farm.

Then he saw it and his heart seized in his chest. It was a low table, much like the coffee table that was in front of the couch, but it was lower, heavier, longer, more of a dais than anything else. Recessed lighting from the ceiling shot down, crisscrossing over the surface, illuminating what sat at the center of the tabletop.

It was a smooth stone basin, broad, but shallow. Very heavy. It reminded him at first glance of a cement birdbath. But that certainly wasn’t what this was.

She let go of his hand, peering at him for a moment from under those thick, dark eyelashes. Her smile was tentative, almost fearful.

But there was something else in that smile — eagerness.

In silence, he watched as she clambered onto the table on hands and knees until she was over that basin. Then she sat back on her heels, crossed her wrists over her thighs and looked at him. Then he knew what he must do. Knew what every part of him ached to do.

His cock was throbbing want, aching as he strode to her. He circled the table, his eyes never leaving her, taking in every curve, every plane, the way the strands of her hair caught the light, the way her fathomless eyes sparkled under its brilliance. Her lips were swollen and red, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. Her breasts — constricted by the top — rose and fell rapidly with her breathing. She was excited or scared or both. Just like he was.

He said nothing to her as he took his position behind her. He cupped her chin, pulled her back more until she sat straight up. Then he reached into the deeply-cut bodice of the top, his hands questing, arrogant — for she was his at that moment. His to do with as he pleased.

He grasped her breast and pulled it out, forcing it up and out of the bodice, using his other hand to pull the bodice down and under her breast. He did the same with her other breast until they were both bulging out of the opening, the bodice itself serving as a sling, holding the breasts high, presenting them, offering them. Her nipples grew instantly hard, like stones. He could almost see them aching, throbbing, just as his own cock was. The faint pink lines under her areola were still there, though fading, the remnants, the reminders of the clamps he knew were her daily torment.

At that instant when he saw she’d removed them, he knew what it was she meant for him to do. With his fingertips, he stroked those marks, felt every line, every impression, every cruel reminder left behind by the heartless steel. And though part of him felt sympathy for her for the pain those clamps must have put her through, another part of him felt anything but. Another part of him felt jealous that he hadn’t been the one who’d applied those clamps to her breasts, that it hadn’t been he who determined how much she would be hurt, how much she would be subjugated, how much she would be forced to endure for his pleasure alone.

He took both of her breasts in his hands then as she gasped softly. They were heavy, soft, smooth in his hands. He lifted them and she groaned again.

“Tonight, these are mine, Tamara. All mine.”

Then he squeezed them, massaging each one in turn, luxuriating in the whimpers and gasps and soft sighs drawn from Tamara’s lips. He kneaded them like a baker would knead dough — massaging, squeezing, until he knew it hurt.

And yet, she didn’t protest. If anything, she pushed her chest out, presented her breasts to him. Told him without using any words that this is what she wanted, what she needed. If only for tonight.

His fingers worked her nipples then, and the sound she made changed. High pitched, more urgent, desperate. He pressed in and squeezed the nipple, did it again. And again. Harder each time. He had no real idea if he was doing it correctly, but he’d seen it done enough to know now. She threw her head back as he did it a fourth time, and he felt a boyish sense of wonder as the thin, white jets arced forth, catching in the low light, pattering against the stone bowl beneath her.

“Oh, God!” she whispered, a shudder running through her body.

He let go of one of her breasts, reaching between his legs to undo his fly. He wanted her to feel him, to know what she was doing to him, to understand what her subjugation and her degradation meant to him.

Then his cock was jutting from his open fly and he rubbed it against her thigh as he went back to her breasts, drawing more fluid from her, emphasizing the fact that she was submitting to him, that she was allowing him to do this to her. To be this for her.

He lost track of time as he squeezed her breasts, worked the nipples, whispering in her ear, telling her she was a good girl, as the milk arced forth, more and more of it with each pull, her whimpers and moans almost continuous, her head whipping back and forth as he drew forth her yield, as he forced her to give it all to him. Only him.

When her entire body was trembling, her breath coming fast, the strong note of her arousal clear upon the air, he let her go. He walked around her then, and well trained as she was, she stayed in place, her pendant breasts hanging below her, as once more she took position on all fours over that bowl.

But now there was a shallow pool of white liquid, the unmistakable reminder of what he’d done to her, the irrefutable proof of her status at this place. Blue-white droplets beaded upon the inflamed, reddened tips of her nipples, and he watched in silence as they grew, then quivered, then dropped to the bowl below her.

“Do they hurt?”

She nodded.

“Good. I... like that they hurt. What does that mean? Is it this place?”

She met his gaze, looking up at him through the fringe of her hair, her face suffused with a scarlet blush, even as she nibbled at her lower lip. “It’s not this place, Sir. It’s what this place reveals. It shows us — each of us — who we are, what we are. And then we have to decide what to do about that.”

“Is that right?” Eldon was surprised at the edge in his words. But he kept going. “I don’t believe any of that bullshit, Tamara. This isn’t who I am. This isn’t who you are. But yet, here we are.”

Eldon turned to the window, leaning a hand against the frame at either side, his forehead pressed to the cool glass. “This place... maybe you’re right.”

“Let it in, sir. Let it show you. And don’t be afraid.”

Eldon spun on her then, taking her by the hair and yanking her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes. His cock, still jutting from his pants was a solid bar of need, pulsing in time with his raging heartbeat. He took it in hand, stroking it slowly.

“Yes,” she hissed, her lashes fluttering, a deep blush suffusing her cheeks, even as her inflamed nipples pebbled to steel points once again. “You made me feel good… now let me return the favor. You know you want me to.”

“I don’t know anything, Tamara. But what I do know is that… I’m not done with you yet.”

He forced her to her knees them, her bare breasts bouncing as she met the floor with a thud. She peered up at him, her eyes luminous, glazed with lust, as he pulled his cock free from his pants.

For a long moment, he fisted it over her, trying to convince himself not to do it. But he would allow himself — this one time.

He had to.

Her lips were bright, glistening as she watched him.

Taking hold of her hair, he pulled her up higher, drawing a gasp from her. He said nothing as he stroked the inflamed head along her lower lip, wetting her mouth with the sticky fluid already gathering at the tip of his cock. Then he slapped her face with the heavy shaft. Right, left, then right again.

“Put it in your mouth,” he ground out, his cock pure steel now, throbbing and hot in his hand.

Giving him the tiniest, playful smile, she obeyed, the feel of her soft, warm lips enveloping his cock making him groan with need. She never broke eye contact as those plump, painted lips worked up and down, each time taking him deeper and deeper on each downstroke.

“More.” He clenched his hand in her hair, shaking her head sharply. “All of it!”

Her nostrils flared, but she complied instantly, pushing down, down until her nose pressed to his pubic bone. She paused there for a heartbeat, then slowly, torturously, her lips applying a fierce suction that had her cheeks hollowing, she pulled back until only the super sensitive head was engulfed in her clever mouth.

“Again, slut. All the way.”

She moaned, her eyes closing languidly as she followed his orders, releasing him occasionally only to draw a breath, lovingly kissing the very tip before devouring him again.

“If you were mine,” he found himself growling as she sucked him feverishly. “You’d be doing this for me every morning… and every night. When you weren’t swallowing my come, you’d be”— he gasped as she took him deep again, the broad plane of her wet tongue playing across the base of his cock as she worked the muscles of her throat along his shaft—“taking it across your ass, your tits, your face. You understand? Every fucking night.”

He was so close now, his possessive lust, his arousal threatening to make him lose all control. “I’m… coming. Oh fuck, take it!”

She did, pushing it in even farther than she had yet, holding there obediently as he groaned, throwing his head back and clenching his teeth as the pleasure rushed to an overwhelming crescendo, exploding behind his balls, the ecstasy of it spurting forth, over and over, deep into her.

He kept her down, holding her there as his hips jerked with the last dying spasms of his orgasm. Then he pulled her back by the hair, and she met his gaze. Even as sat back on her heels, luscious breasts heaving, hard nipples jutting, she beamed at him as she used a finger to wipe a drop of pearly seed from the corner of her mouth. Her cheeks blushed prettily, her eyes wide and bright, the warmth and beauty and acceptance he saw on her face something that threatened to undo him all over again.

No. You can’t let this go any further, Eldon.

Though his mind screamed at him to do the exact opposite, his body begging him to succumb to the lust already beginning to harden his cock once more… he pulled her up to her feet. He held her face in his hand, squeezing it firmly until a line formed across her brow, her eyes showing her distress. His voice was a low pant as he said the words. “I’m… not this man… whoever you think I am.”

“You are — you just have to admit it. You’ve shown me tonight, and nothing you can say — nothing — will convince me otherwise.”

Though every part of him wanted to keep her tightly wrapped in his arms, he let her go. Moving to the door, fearing what he might be capable of if he stayed one moment longer, he opened it.

But he couldn’t leave her that way.

He rushed back to her and pulled her close, hugging her so tightly she let go a long, shivering sigh, her gorgeous body feeling so very good against him.

“Oh God, Eldon, give in,” she whispered against his chest. “Just give in to it.”

“Not… I can’t, Tamara. Not tonight. This isn’t right…”

She looked up at him, a tear drifting down her flushed cheek. “Why are you fighting it? I’m here. For you. All of me.”

It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, but he stood back, holding her at arm’s length. “No… not now.”

He made for the door again, his hand on the jamb. He looked back at her one last time, his heart threatening to seize in his chest.

There was a light in her eyes, something playful, something hopeful. “Another night then. You’ll finally see, what we both know is the truth. And when you do? Then you’ll have me — in any way you want me.”