Janet loved horses, but with all of her years working diligently to get her MBA and climb the corporate ladder she never really had the time to pursue that particular passion. So when she found a long weekend between business meetings in Europe, she made plans to stay at one of her family's estates, a place near Brussels with a modest but lovely main house and a stable with a few prize winning horses. Perhaps she could even go riding, something she hadn't done for over twenty years now.
On her first day there, she went down to see the horses. The old and familiar smell of the stable filled her senses. All that leather, she had always loved the smell of it, surrounded her now. Along the wall hung a vast array of bridles, bits, saddles, crops — all of the finest quality, gently softened and worn through generations of use. Her mind drifted back to her riding days, the horse fitted majestically with straps and buckles, yielding to the rider's control of the bit in its mouth. The whole thing fascinated her and she gazed dreamily at the fine gear.
Someone was coming and Janet, lost in her dream, stepped back into the shadow rather than confront whoever it was. She watched quietly as the groom, tall and muscular, led one of the horses from its stall and brushed its coat. He moved with the confidence of years of experience. Turning quickly to the wall, he pulled down a black bridle and fitted the horse. Janet appreciated how the crisp white stitching on the black leather complemented the black horse's own small scattered flecks of white.
She was staring at the bit in the horse's mouth when she heard a voice right behind her. "Can I help you, miss?" asked the groom. She spun around, startled. He dropped the pleasantries and demanded "Who are you and just what are you doing in my stable?"
"I'm Janet Bayard. Paul Bayard is my uncle. You DO know who he is, don't you?" she snapped.
The man stepped back and looked her up and down, his eyes studying the curves of her body, lingering on her casually open blouse, and finally fixing on her brown eyes.
"Oh yes, Paul and I know each other well. So you're Janet. Paul said you might be visiting. My name's Kent." He stood close to her and she could smell the leather on him. "I was watching you admire the horse — and the equipment. Any questions I can answer for you?"
I can think of a few things you can do for me, mused Janet to herself, confident that she could have him like she'd had so many others. "Sure, do you ride much?" she asked.
"Pretty much any time I want. How much do you know about horses?"
"I know everything I need to know, and have the trophies to prove it."
Kent had little patience for this kind of arrogance. That kind of talk might work in the social circles, but they were far from city estates. They were far from everything, he thought, and smiled. He would enjoy this very much.
"Really? Lots of people know how to ride, but how much do you know about how the horse sees it?" he asked.
"Right. And who are you supposed to be, the horse whisperer?"
"You'd be surprised how much you can learn from a horse, Ms Bayard. For example, look at the bit in the horse's mouth. I know you were studying it before. It's not really that comfortable for the horse, yet the sense that they are about to be ridden calms them. Let me show you something," and led her to a small room in the back of the stable.
It was dark in the windowless room and Kent said "Just a sec and I'll get some light." Janet heard the door close behind them and it was really dark. The earthy smell of leather was stronger here than in the main stable, and it was getting Janet really turned on. A light came on.
She was momentarily shocked. All around her was the most breathtaking collection of riding equipment that made the stuff she saw when she first arrived pale in comparison. The dye work and intricate hand tooling on some of the pieces were like she'd never seen before. And there were some unusual items too, four steel rings in the floor, a bridle too small for a horse, and something that looked like a large sawhorse covered completely in padded, dark brown hide.
"Hold out your arms," said Kent coolly.
"What? No! Who do you think you are?"
"Ms Bayard, your reputation precedes you. If you think you're going to pop in for a quick romp with the hired help, you're in for a big disappointment. Today, you're going to see things from the horse's perspective. Now, hold out your arms."
Kent didn't wait for Janet to comply and quickly grabbed her right wrist and pulled her to the floor. With the speed of years of handiwork, he took a short leather cord and bound her wrist securely to one of the steel rings in the floor. Janet screamed and clawed at him with her free hand, but this only drove him harder. He forced her down flat on the floor with one strong shove and made quick work of the other wrist.
"You little shit, I'll have your job and your ass for this!" screamed Janet.
"Paul, your loving uncle, assures that my job will not be in jeopardy. He's heard enough and had enough of your 'adventures' and has enough power to keep me out of any danger, as you well know since he's covered your ass enough times. And as for your ass, Ms Bayard, I think I'll be the one having that."
"I swear you're going to pay for this! I'm telling you to let me loose right now!"
Kent ignored her. The struggle — and the sight of her bound body — only fed his hunger for more. Sure, yell if you like, he thought. You're mine now. He reached for an eight-inch hunting knife with a freshly sharpened edge.
