Chapter Sixteen

Wednesday afternoon was an unusual time for Brooke to turn up, but Stroud was always happy to see him and the impromptu visit was not entirely unprecedented. With unlimited time and financial resources, it was nothing for Brooke to drive miles out of his way for five minutes of idle conversation.

Stroud was working when Brooke arrived and the confines of his study were an inadequate realm for Brooke’s wild spirit. He paced the room with maniacal intensity while Stroud sat noting careful details on the index cards before him. On a week-day, business kept him close to the phone and the ponderous cards were the slow servant to a man who refused to install a computer.

Normally, Brooke’s broody restlessness served as a kind of energy elixir for Stroud, but on this day the mood was intrusive, like that of a fidgety child who seeks the attention of a preoccupied parent.

“I saw Ever yesterday,” Brooke remarked.

Stroud’s pen paused in mid-word. “Did you?” Were Brooke’s mood and those words a prelude to news thoroughly dreaded, though not altogether unexpected?

“She works near the Knolls, you know.”

Stroud continued to write with half concentration. “No. I didn’t know. How was she?”

“She looked cold and miserable,” Brooke stated flatly.

Stroud smiled suddenly. “The sight of you always makes her miserable, or haven’t you noticed?”

“She didn’t see me,” Brooke said, side-stepping the taunt.

“Oh.” Now Stroud was perplexed.

“I thought you said she was a telemarketer.”

“That’s what she told me,” Stroud affirmed.

Brooke’s pacing ceased and he faced Stroud. “Well, what’s she doing out on the street with a clipboard?”

Stroud’s brow creased. “A clipboard?”

“It looked like she was canvassing people.”

“Canvassing? For what?”

“You tell me.”

The men’s gazes locked momentarily. Although Stroud was puzzled by Brooke’s report, a quiet relief flooded the harbor of suspicion, simultaneously sweeping away the questions that, if he’d put them to Ever, may have diverted the impending disaster that nearly destroyed everything.

***

As predicted, Stroud followed through diligently with Ever’s training regimen, but the dungeon was not the only setting for the practice of the new discipline.

The couch in Stroud’s small sitting room contained a pull-out bed. Ever was surprised to see the bed open and made up when Stroud led her in there one afternoon, and even more surprised when he made her lie down on it and chained her wrists to the metal bar that supported the head of the mattress.

She was naked, as he kept her most of the time anymore, but the fire was burning brightly and he pulled the blanket over her. Those factors, plus the presence of the now familiar plug and crotch strap kept her mind off the cold.

During the last few visits, he’d imposed this discipline upon her with increasing frequency and for longer periods. The dimensions of the devices he employed had, likewise, increased.

As she lay there, she replayed each scenario in her mind. The intensity of their encounters in the dungeon. The simplicity of routine the morning he’d bound her wrists to the headboard of his bed, manipulated the thin leather belt around her waist and, turning her on her side, inserted the butt plug and fastened the holding strap. He’d left her to lie in silent contemplation as he took his morning shower, shaved, dressed and went downstairs to prepare breakfast. Ever was grateful he didn’t make her wear the loathsome object around the house, but her body held the memory of its presence as she sat down to breakfast that morning.

Surprisingly, Stroud did not exploit the ground he’d prepared with these patient ministrations and Ever could only assume that privilege was being reserved exclusively for Brooke.

Ever lay a long time on the hide-a-bed, two hours, by the crystal clock on the mantel. She’d hardly moved at all, having spent nearly the entire time staring into the mesmerizing flames of the fire, wondering just when Stroud would consider her finally ready for Brooke, who had not made an appearance since the debacle over the ottoman three weeks before. She’d suffered a thousand agonies of doubt over it since this training began and she wondered if Stroud would even forewarn her of the inevitable test run.

Finally, Stroud came in and sat down beside her. He stayed there a while, his hand under the covers, enlivening the skin of her flank with teasing caresses.

“When are you going to release me?” Ever asked softly.

“In another hour, perhaps,” he replied and Ever sighed.

He did at least relieve her of the plug and belt, and Ever dropped into a spontaneous sleep, awakened twenty minutes later by his weight on the mattress behind her. She rolled half over, opening her eyes to see Brooke framed in the doorway leading to the hall.

Shockwaves of dread and desire racked her as he stepped into the room. He took a seat in the easy chair at the end of the bed as Stroud pulled back the sheltering covers and encouraged Ever onto her back. She offered only minor resistance as Stroud crooked up her near leg and secured it against his ribs with his left arm, and only slightly more resistance as he urged her right thigh out to a wider angle. Her arms gave an involuntary yank at the chain as Stroud’s hand contacted her vagina. Her free leg flexed also, as though to telegraph her desire to snap to and conceal the secret realm Stroud had so unreservedly exposed to Brooke’s inquisitive gaze.

“Lie still,” Stroud admonished and Ever closed her eyes as the caresses began, her free leg still visibly taut against the voluntary restraint.

“The leg can be tied,” Stroud informed her, as though to abolish the last thought she may have entertained of disobeying him.

The gentle caresses continued and Ever’s body locked with tension. Her emotions vied wildly between the indignity of this intimate exposure to Brooke and the demand for Stroud’s touch – after all these weeks still the only vehicle through which she was permitted fulfillment.

Ever couldn’t expel the mental image of Brooke’s avid observation of the contractions of that hungry cavern, or the delight he must be taking at the sight of Stroud’s capable fingers sliding into that cum drenched place to force it open again in an admission of longing. Then again, slowly, torturously working the exterior tissue, the nerve endings of which now controlled every bodily function, from the curling of her toes, to the frantic pumping of her diaphragm, violently expelling the short urgent gulps of air as quickly as it sucked them in.

Ever whimpered and then moaned, one sound the shadow of her fear, the other a faint echo of her desire to break loose. She froze completely when Stroud’s fingers sought to reduce the tension of her anus. Although there was no definite resistance in the leg he clutched to his rib cage, Ever’s back flexed slightly, as though to lift the reluctant passage more conveniently to his grasp. The power of her sexual craving had finally driven her from the constraints of self-consciousness into the open vistas of utter abandonment.

Stroud persisted subtly, to keep Ever confined to the plane of betwixt and between for as long as possible. Even Brooke was frozen in place, elbows on the armrests of the chair, his fists pressed to his lips as the last moments of the drama played out.

As Ever finally slipped over into the abyss, the men seemed to be pulled along with her, all whispering a collective sigh of release and pleasure. Stroud rode the undulations, second upon second, neither falling back prematurely nor forcing her beyond the perfect rhythm and intensity of each wave. It was the longest voyage she’d taken at his hand, but he made sure to withdraw at the precise moment, before she could commence another ascent.

He gently released Ever’s leg and wiped his hand on a towel as her breathing regulated and at last she opened two bleary eyes. It was a small, restrained smile that curved his lips as he looked at her. As she moved to straighten the liberated leg and close up, he knew it was the signal her defenses would shortly be realigned.

Instinctively, Brooke read the moment, also, and rose from the chair. Ever’s head rolled slightly as her eyes focused on him.

Then Stroud’s hands were on her, firmly reinforcing the command from his lips to roll over. Ever’s heart recommenced the frantic tattoo from only minutes before when Brooke appeared in the doorway, as her mind now relayed the knowledge that he was taking off his jacket.

“Remember, we can still restrain you,” Stroud advised as all the trivial, yet significant nuances of sound in the room telegraphed what was about to happen.

Ever couldn’t recall ever being so frightened by a situation – or so aroused. As the men prepared for this dark incursion, she wondered which emotion would win out.

Although anticipated, the cold gel still came as a shock against her skin, as had the determination of the hands that a moment before pulled her unwilling legs apart. The abrupt undulation of the mattress as Brooke knelt between her quaking thighs almost caused her to scream in terror, but the unyielding burden of his body across her back killed the urge, making decision impossible.

She cried at first, partly in pain, for despite Stroud’s efforts, there was pain. But Brooke was careful and slow, and as he worked his way deeper into the snug, tense channel, Ever was grateful that he never once solicited her opinion or reaction.

She withstood the initial hurt and the on-going strain, and she didn’t cry uncle. Didn’t dare utter one syllable of dissent because, as the moments passed, she began to relish these sensations. She mentally urged him on, submerging herself in her submission to this brutal act – firing to the concept of his absolute domination over her.

She was his, without choice, compromise or compassion. She wondered with awe and remote disappointment if she would ever achieve another moment like it.