The Reprogramming Farm Ch 14

When we get to the stables, Mikey shoves open the door. It slams into the wall beside it with a thud. A part of me wants to ask what happens now, but another part knows that's what a weaker version of me would do. There's a girl inside me who wants reassurance from him. He divorced that beautiful raging bitch, I want to know why, I want to know every hateful thing about her, I want a knife to stuff in my harness so I can cut her stupid face. But a stronger version of me, tells me it doesn't matter. While he clearly has strong feelings around her, he doesn't love her. He doesn't smile at her the way he does at me, like the sun shines for me alone.

I am a fucked-up mess. I know it. It's clear as day. Palpable as the hard stable floor beneath my feet, cold and unyielding. Truth. I'm thinking about Mikey and I'm thinking about love. This is a man who raped me. Who rapes women professionally. That's his job. Women come here with their husbands, and they are given anti-anxiety drugs, stripped naked and their bodies are used with or without their consent until they learn to like it. I know because that's exactly what they did to me. It's wrong. It's ugly. It's immoral. But for some reason, I feel better than I ever have.

What's wrong with me? I don't know. But I do know one thing. I feel better in his presence than I have in years. Peace. Calm. Comfortable. If lapping up his man-goo is what it takes to make me centered, I want more of it. It's still new. It's only been days. But I don't want to be away from him. I don't want to be alone ago. Cold and angry all the time. I don't know what to say.

So I just wait. And watch, as he stomps across the floorboards, his broad shoulders rigid with whatever's going through his own head.

It's cold outside and I'm naked. The air rushes over my skin, pulling my lips to hard beads, my skin tightening with goosebumps, so I close the door. The lights aren't on, and it's dark.

"You want to go somewhere?" he asks.

Somewhere? "Where?"

"Away from here. I don't care."

"With you?"

"Yeah."

I don't need to think about that one. "Yes." I look down at myself. Pool water still drips from my tangled hair. I've got nothing else on but a harness and a pair of plastic plugs. "But, I'm not exactly dressed for a restaurant."

The corner of his lips curves.

I push my lips out. "Maybe a sex shop? They might welcome me with open arms."

He walks to one of the closed stalls, fiddles with a padlock, and opens it. He steps inside. I lean my hip against the desk that I'm becoming increasingly fond of. When he steps out, he's holding sneakers, a pair of leggings, a t-shirt and a fleece jacket, all stacked up in a tidy pile. "I was thinking we could go for a walk in the woods."

This is it. Or not. I've wanted running shoes since I got here. I could run straight to the closest police station and come back with a media circus and enough handcuffs to arrest them all. But if I were going to do that, I'd have taken Mikey up on his offer to give me his keys and his wallet. If I'm honest with myself, I'm not leaving here. At least not yet. "In my harness?"

I look down at the massive dildo wedged in my pussy where he put it back, his cum still squelching around it. My ass clenches around the plug.

"If you like."

Beneath the harness, the careful pale pink polish on my big toenail is chipped. "What would you like me to do?"

He sets the clothes down on the desk beside me. "What would I like? I would like you to wear it. I'd like to go out there, with you stuffed full, getting hornier and hornier, thinking about my swelling ballsack, filling up with cum just for you. We'll walk till we don't feel like walking anymore, then, I want to bend you over, push down on your hands and knees on the floor of the forest, pull that plug out of your soaking pussy, and fuck you like a caveman, pure, savage, rough. Fuck it so hard you'll have to hobble home.

I'm still not looking at him. I reach for the t-shirt. Make to pull it over my head. Flash him a grin. "Works for me, big man."

He stills my motion, a hand on my arm.

"I want to fuck you while you smell like nothing but you and me."

"Fair enough." This is me. Easy as pie. I used to fight Jay about everything. Mikey. Nope. He says what he wants. I say what I want. We figure it out. I take the clothes, go to the bathroom, remove the harness myself, and take a quick shower. When I'm done, I try to work the plugs back in. It takes work, and spit and an incredibly awkward body posture standing in front of the mirror. The dildo goes in smooth, and I lock the harness in place, but the plug is kettle of another fish. Or whatever that saying is. "Shoving this shit in is not easy," I shout through the door.

"Need help?" Mikey calls.

I grimace at my own face, grunt, wriggle my hips, pull with all my might, but the plug won't penetrate my ass more than half an inch. It's like my sphincter is locked up tight. "Yes. Fuck. Come shove this plug in my asshole," I shout, grinning at my reflection. "Please." That I would say such a thing is bizarre. Me. Prim. Prissy. Me. A woman who rarely sucked Jay off, certainly never let him come in my mouth, and almost never had an orgasm. I'd have threatened divorce if he even whispered the word anal my way.

The door opens.

"You got a mouth on you, woman."

"Apparently."

"A dirty, dirty mouth."

I nod. There's no shame. It's true. And I think shame went out the window a long time ago. I study him. He's changed into joggers, a worn, tight t-shirt and a pair of running shoes. Athletic Mikey is a new one. I like Athletic Mikey as much as I liked Rugged Mikey.

"You're smiling." He takes the plug from me, meeting my gaze in the mirror. "Are you happy, Tara?"

I think about it. "Kind of."

He moves me, hands on my hips, directs me to rest my hands on the counter, and push my ass out his way. "Why are you happy?"

Because of you, I want to say. Because you're trusting me to go for a walk with shoes and a shirt. Because you want to spend time with me away from here. Because I'm not ashamed of who I am, because you like me, and I like you. Because when I look at you, sometimes, my belly flutters and my breath catches, and I'm pretty sure my cheeks go hot, and when you smile, my insides melt. Because you asked what I liked to do like you cared. Jay never bothered. No one else has ever bothered. Because when I'm with you, I don't feel alone. I feel like a ballsy woman. A woman who fights back, who gives as good as she gets. Who asks for what she wants and doesn't break down, but a woman who's also not too proud to bend her knees, open her mouth, and own the fact that she loves cum. But I can't say that. It's all true. But it's also terrifying. This man...what he does, what he believes in. This place...It's too fucked up.

He presses a finger against my butthole, but his eyes don't leave my face. "Are you happier than you were the day you arrived?"

"Yes."

The finger slides in. "Do you like who you are?"

I cock my head. Remember Ginger busting in my mouth. Duane balls deep in my ass. Mikey licking my pussy in the shower, jerking off all over me in my sleep, eating a hamburger with me, brave enough to bend over and take a dildo the size of a baseball bat in my butt. "Kinda."

"Why?"

"I'm funny sometimes."

He pulls his finger out. Presses the plug in its place. "Yes. You are."

"And I'm brave."

"Very."

My chin starts to tremble. I don't think I've ever said anything nice about myself before and believed it. I've always thought of myself as useless, worthless, pointless. My eyes burn. "I'm smart."

His eyes hold mine in the mirror. "You are."

My mouth goes dry. I move my gaze to my own reflection. Look at my face. "I'm pretty," I say.

"No," he says. So softly my whole body comes to life. "You're beautiful."

"I feel beautiful. When you look at me like that."

"More, Tara. What else do you like about yourself?"

"I like my body. I've worked hard to keep it this way. I've earned it. And I like how fast I can run. How far. And I...like the way it feels to rub my face in your nutsack." I wince, press back as he moves the plug forward and back, the motion almost hypnotic.

His brows quirk. "Why?"

"I don't know. What does that say about me?"

He shakes his head, wonder crossing his face.

"In your professional opinion, Mikey. You've...done this...with a lot of women. What does it mean that I love rubbing my face in your nuts."

He sighs. Unmoving behind me. "I have not done this with any other woman. But, to answer your question. Each person has different motivations. Different reasons. You're submissive. Sometimes. Depends on who you're submitting to. Some people are more willing to submit to anyone, others are more selective. If I had to guess...you had overbearing parents. Or maybe just your mother. She taught you to behave a certain way. To believe certain things about the world and your place in it. How you should act. I bet she said you shouldn't dress like a slut, or act like a slut, or that good girls only did certain things, and no man would ever marry you if you acted slutty. Maybe your father was distant and the way he showed affection was by toughing your hair. Or holding you in his lap.

I force myself to hold his gaze, even though I want to withdraw, hide, close my every shutter against the storm of his words. He just described my childhood to a T.

"No siblings, right Tara? Maybe not even any close friends. Too hard a time opening up. Being honest. Being real with people."

I nod.

"When you put your face in my nuts, it's not about my nuts at all. Though, I'd guess you like the soft skin, the warmth, the way the hairs feel on your cheeks, the intensity of the smell. It's the comfort of it. You're embraced between my legs. You didn't even notice when I moved my boot. You just started rubbing up against me. In that moment, you're reduced to a pure unfettered feeling. A single function. Being warm. Providing pleasure, taking comfort."

Yes. His legs were around me, holding me, cradling me. And I felt safe.

He looks away from me, down at the plug. "And I bet your internal monologue goes silent when your mouth is busy. That voice in your head that tells you to keep your back straight, or your chin up, or to cross your ankles, or not to eat this or don't say that. I bet it all goes quiet, and all you have to do is lap your tongue up along the warm swell of my balls."

He presses inward on the plug and it breaches the tight ring of my sphincter.

"You see a lot," I whisper.

"I told you I'm good at my job."

"Is it weird. Having me do it."

He shoves the plug in a few inches. "I'm not complaining."

I rock into his hand, taking the plug deeper on each motion. It doesn't quite feel good, but it keeps me focused, there's no room for doubt or worry. "I'm not anxious anymore," I say, and realize it's true. "It's like there was all this noise in the background before, like my mind never shut up, weighing possibilities, doubting, questioning, now...I'm just fucking my own ass on a dildo talking to a man I barely know about my strange predilection for swilling his balls like I'm out for a day at the zoo."

The plug slides in, all the way deep, and we both sigh. Mickey steps up close behind me. The buckle of his jeans, digs into the small of my back. He palms my breasts, teasing the tips to hard peaks. "Barely know me? know a lot about me."

I shake my head. "Not really. I know you're a rapist who pretends to be a therapist. I know when you cum, sometimes you almost laugh, like the feeling is so good, it borders on ridiculous. You claim to like to be outside. Your balls are my friends, maybe my best friends, and your cum is my nectar. Your eyes make me happy, but aside from that." I spread my palms. "What do I know?"

He steps back, his hands falling away. When he hands me the t-shirt, I pull it on. Then step into the leggings. Socks. A fleece. I tie on shoes. If I'm going to run, this would be the ideal time. I'm fast. Maybe I could outrun him. Maybe he'd let me.

He takes my hand, and together we walk to the door of the stables. "My favorite color is green. I like country music. I want to retire in a few years. Buy my own land, raise some cattle. Maybe have a family. I read. A lot. Never went to school. Never saw the need. I married Celene ten years ago. We were straight out of highschool. She dresses fancy, but she's a farm girl. Give her enough whiskey and she starts talking honky. We got married. It was fine for a couple years. Then...she had an affair. Met some sniveling fool online who liked it when she spanked him., some scientist. He designed the injections to combat erectile dysfunction. It obviously wouldn't be approved by the FDA, but the side effects are certainly interesting. Sweet flavored ejaculations and increased production. Somehow, I don't know how, in the process of starting this place, we ended up divorcing. It was all in her name. We really have saved a lot of marriages. I have never, in the seven years I have worked here, have ever once brought a woman into my rooms, have given one shoes, have let one sit beside me at the table, or saved any part of them for myself. I have no right to do those things. I just... I don't know. I like you, Tara. Because you're funny and brave and strong, but when you submit to me, I feel like I've just done something worth doing."

We walk along a path toward a line of trees. The farmhouse and the stables getting smaller and smaller behind us.

It feels good to move, stretch. My muscles have been getting a workout these last few days. This feels good. I suck in a deep breath, playing over his words.

"Can she make you fuck her? Does she have that power?"

He makes a face. "Yes and no. I've never denied her, never had a reason. If I don't, she'll know there's something different between you and me, probably already does know. She'll take you from me. Give you to someone else. But I could say no. I could stop her if she tried to take you from me, but it would mean the end of me having a place here. She won't tolerate disobedience in this place."

I swallow. "You mean she could deny you your percentage ownership?"

"No. But I'd have to sue to get it and we can hardly bring the police here, take this to court."

I mull that over. "So she can fire you, but she can't take your percentage?"

"Well, I can't exactly take it back either."

For a long time we don't talk, just walk in silence, until the farmhouse is far behind us and the woods surround us.

"Green, huh?" I ask. "Which green?"

"Like early summer grass on a sunny morning."

I smile. "I like jungle green, bold and bright."

"Why'd you spit out that redheaded guy's cum?"

"Ginger?" I frown. "I don't like him."

"Why?"

"He hates women. That day you put me in the room with the funnel gag, he had a lot to say."

Mikey's jaw tightens. "Some of the guests are like that. It's hard to stop, but they do pay the bills, and most of them are harmless. And there aren't enough of us to provide the services our female clientele want and what we need for our male clients without having them come in. They know not to hurt anyone, but they can do damage, spewing garbage like that."

We walk through the woods for an hour. The leaves are just coming out, like pale, fuzzy yellow-green haloes around the limbs thrusting up toward the sky. I trip once, over a stray root and catch myself against a branch. Mikey reaches for me, to help me steady myself, and in that minute, it's on.

I take off. Running. He laughs. Chases after me. Either he's not as fast as me or he lets me win, because for a while, we run like that. Maybe one mile, maybe two, before he catches me, spins me around, tackles me to the ground, under a gray, drizzly sky. His palm softens the blow as my skull hits the earth. He's laughing. Smiling. The lines of his face wreathing together. His thigh is between mine. I am stuffed full, but it's not enough.

His tongue in my mouth, mine in his, we rip at each other's clothes. Snarling. Savage. Animal. It isn't pretty. It isn't gentle lovemaking or apologetic seduction like in the shower after he nearly let Jay rape my ass. This isn't a rhythmic, calculated dance of two aroused people. It's a mating. An animal, primal joining. He yanks down my leggings so fast, the seam shreds Tears open my shirt. I rip at his. His fingers fumble with the buckles of my harness. The dildo slides free, and then he's shoving his way inside me, pushing in so deep there isn't room for anything else.

When I come, I shout it up at the sky. Then he flips me over and fucks me harder. He said I'd have to hobble home. He didn't lie. The sound of his thighs slapping against my ass fill the forest all around us. I rest my head on the forest floor, my hair mixing on the damp earth and rotting leaves, as his fingers bite into the skin of my hips, holding me still so he can fuck me harder.

I look over my shoulder, at his face, meet his eyes. He shoves in. Hard. Hard. Hard. The plug in my ass burrowing deeper with every thrust. With his pale eyes locked on mine, Mikey snarls. His throat tightens, his lower lip juts out, his brows draw together like he's in horrific pain, and he unleashes inside me in a violent, white-hot spray that rips a fresh wave of shuttering and sputtering of my own.

We stay like that for a while. Until his dick softens and slides out of me. He slaps my ass. "Come over here, cunt. Clean me up."

I smile, still panting tiredly and crawl around, nuzzle my face between his thighs. His eyes fall closed, and he looks up at the sky, running his hands through his hair and down over his neck, tiny drops of water from a sky I hadn't even realized was raining, drip down his chest. I suckle at the tip of his cock, lave my way along the half-hard length of him, then down lower, until I've lapped and sucked at every inch of his balls. He guides me back up to the tip. We spend a while like that, him on his knees above me, as I swallow his semi-soft cock down my throat. I think I'm humming. Either way, it's like meditating. I swear my whole brain shuts down.

At some point, I realize he's staring down at me like he's waiting for something, expecting something. I sit up abruptly. His cock slips out with a pop. Maybe I should be embarrassed. I don't know. Because it occurs to me...

I jolt upright. "Mikey."

A tiny smile plays along his lips. "Tara."

"If you can't sue Celene if she takes away your percentage of the earnings. The same is true for her. She can't sue you, if you take it."

He picks up the shirt from the ground and hands it to me. "Of course not. But the injections come from her husband. She holds all the cards."

"Are you sure? Would the men want her running this place? Are they loyal to her or you?"

"Me." He doesn't hesitate. His confidence is so damn sexy, I find myself leaning into him, rubbing my cheek against his collarbone. A hand tightens on my hip.

"Then she only owns fifty percent. You and they combined have ten."

His hand tightens. "What if she walks?"

I look up at him. "And takes her injections you mean?"

His face hardens. "No more swollen balls. No more mango-flavored cum."

"Oh."

"Exactly." He looks away, starts picking up clothes and tugging it onto us. And then he's pulling me to my feet. "Let's get back. I'm hungry."

"What about Celene?" I ask, his hand in mine as we walk back to the farmhouse.

"I guess I tell her no and we take it from there."

We're almost all the way there. I'd guess we made it close to three miles out and the walk back is long. I'm tired by the time the steaming pool comes into view. Night's coming, and the lights inside the farmhouse as warm and rosy. Celene will know by now that Mikey's had to come, that he didn't find her, that he defied her.