MIKEY PULLS OUT OF ME, and a thick splash of cum immediately gushes down my thighs. The plug in my ass throbs, a sullen beat as steady as my heart.
I take comfort in that unrelenting throb. It will keep me sane. It's my new mantra. They can make me take their cocks, swallow their cum, they can even make me orgasm and like the way it makes my body feel, but they cannot change who I am. Not deep down.
I lie on the table, face down, memorizing its scarred surface, while Mikey moves around me, pulling up his pants, buckling his belt, tidying up the miscellaneous items that he's taken out. The ring gag, the bag of anal plugs, the knife, my clothes.
My pussy weeps, but I do not.
No more tears from me.
From here on, I will be strong. I will trick them into thinking I am complacent, that I'm working with them in my own therapy, that they have won, but I will not become what they want, I will not become a whore for Jay and his stupid dick.
Mikey taps me on the small of my back. "You ready for something to eat?"
I stand up, reveling in the pull and throb around the new plug in my ass. My thighs slide wetly against one another. "Is that a euphemism?"
He grins. "No. But if you're hungry for more cock, I can arrange it."
I am. Whorish, licentious, repulsive, I would eagerly lap his cum from his hand if he'd scoop it from my cunt, and if that's what he wants me to be, I'll be it. My new goal, get Mikey to care about me by being funny and surprising and sexy.
I want him to be curious about me. Off balance.
"I'd rather have a hamburger, if that's on the menu."
The grin spreads. "Is that so? You're meat eater?"
I just stare back, unmoving as his gaze roves my body.
"I had you pegged for one of those vegan chicks, skinny as you are."
"I watch what I eat." And I work out. I can run if I need to. I can run ten miles on a Sunday morning. I can run more if my life depends on it. Maybe I will. He doesn't need to know that though.
He pulls a walkie talkie off the wall. "It's Mikey. Come in."
A second later comes the clicking response. "What's up?"
"Get me a couple of hamburgers and a few bottles of water." He raises a brow. "Ketchup?"
"And mustard. Pickles too. And I want iced tea. And a chocolate chip cookie."
He repeats my order, a funny look on his face. "You still don't want to see your husband?"
"He is not my husband. He vowed to love, honor and defend me."
Mikey sucks in a long breath, then says into his walkie. "Get Jay's therapy moved to a side room for a while. I need to show Tara what this place is really about."
I shake my hair behind my shoulders, straighten my back, ignore the throbbing plug in my bowels, and wait.
He stares back at me for along time. I think he doesn't quite know what to do with me. He keeps opening his mouth like he's about to say something, then stopping like he's changed his mind. Good.
Finally he grabs a pair of rain boots from the wall. Way too big for me sadly. Not great running shoes. They'd slip and slide and trip me up if I tried to book it, especially with my hands cuffed. He puts them on the ground in front of me, holds me the elbow to keep me upright as I step into them.
"It's a short walk up to the farmhouse, but I don't want you to step on anything and get a cut."
There's an awkward silence. "Am I supposed to say thank you?"
He laughs. "No. You're supposed to say whatever you want."
"Fuck you?"
"I just did. You've got a nice pussy. You still horny? I can call in one of the guys."
My nipples tingle at the idea. "Pass."
He keeps his grip on my elbow and guides me out of the barn, into that cool gray day. The sky is heavy and the air is wet, somewhere between rain and mist, like beads of moisture are spontaneously bursting from the air. They collect on my skin, gathering my nipples to stiff points, pulling goosebumps all over my skin.
"It's warm inside. You won't be out here long."
"You could always give me clothes."
"Clients here are always naked. Jay's naked too." Something in his tone makes me wonder for the first time what Jay is up too.
I'd imagined him sitting with his feet up in some cozy parlor, some other tied up wife slobbering on his dick, happily waiting to collect me in two weeks time, a new and perfect whore for him to take home.
I glance sharply at Mikey.
His tone stays mild. "What? You thought there's no work for the husbands here?"
I step carefully over a rut in the grassy hillside. It's a steady hill up toward that white and black house. "What's being done to him?"
"What would you like to see done to him?"
"I'd like to see you stick your dick down his throat, make sure he swallows, then have Roy and Duane, fuck him up his ass a few times. Share him around with the crew. Maybe bring in a horse."
A fat robin hops in the rainy grass a few feet to my right, a long pale worm hanging from its beak. I have new sympathy for worms.
"That would appeal to your sense of fairness?"
I'm silent, almost until we get all the way there. "No. But it would make it feel like less of a betrayal. If he knew we were both going to suffer, he brought us both here to be raped. He'd still be an asshole, but at least he didn't expect to have a great time while I was turned out."
"You are learning to enjoy cock. He's learning to appreciate pussy. To accept that just as taking a cock involves a little compromise, physically and emotionally, so does taking pussy."
Mikey's big hand slides along my back, warm in contrast to the cool air. That I don't shrug away from his hand, is a testament to how much I've changed in the last few hours. Don't get me wrong, I don't like it, that hand. But I sense something in Mikey, something that my body responds to. His male speaks to my woman like no one else before him.
I think of Jay, his soft hands, and tidy manners, the way he hesitates before speaking.
I think of Mikey, a serial rapist who masquerades as a therapist.
I think of me, caught here, a helpless work in the beak of the robin, bound.
Fuck them. I may be bent, but I will not be broken. Not by these fuckers.
He opens a door and leads me into a perfectly traditional farmhouse. Wide plank floors, white walls. The décor is simple, leather couches, tawny oriental rugs, mirrors in gold frames, a brick fireplace crackling with a cheery fire.
There are only three men in the room. And at each of their feet is a nude woman. The woman here are not bound like me. Their arms are free, their hair pulled up high on the tops of their heads. And what are they doing?
Take a wild guess.
They're licking balls like holy communion comes in scrotum form.
And the men?
They're leaning back as if in great pain, their swollen cocks thrusting into the air, angry red and leaking. Their faces are contorted, their bodies shifting constantly.
I tilt my head to the side. Not even close to equal.
One of the guys looks my way, his gaze roaming the planes of my body.
The woman do not look at me, they go about their task lavishly, moaning as they do it, laving their tongues up ballsacks the size of grapefruits, ignoring the stiff, weeping cocks jutting above them.
Mikey stirs beside me. "That one, the red-head. She's a CEO. She comes here once a month, spends a weekend of her own volition, naked, kneeling and serving."
I toss my hair. "She's a fool."
He lifts a shoulder. "And that one, the blonde."
