Mastering the Virgin Box Set Five: A BDSM Ménage Erotic Romance novel Chapter 2

We drive, patrolling the same length of road over and again, James fiddling endlessly with his equipment, trying to find some trace of the signal, but without success.

At length, we pull up by the front of a small diner. Nearer the City, such a place would be open twenty-four-seven, but here, in this lonely spot, it lies closed, the windows dark.

Michael’s breathing is heavy, and even in the dim light, I can see his whitened knuckles as he grips at the steering wheel, staring up and out.

James watches him for a moment….

His closest friend….

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice soft.

Michael’s reply is a wounded snarl. “What do you imagine?”

“Well of course, Charlotte. Something specific?”

Am I in the way here?

They want to talk...

…. Not that I can go anywhere...

Just stay quiet....

Try to give them some privacy...

Michael sucks in breath. “I was thinking about that noise she makes. You know the one, when she’s good and aroused, getting close to coming, sort of a cross between a moan and a wail…”

His words stab at me with an unsettling familiarity….

Elizabeth....

…. That breathy silence of hers when I'm building her climax....

Her eyes on me....

Her beautiful submission....

James is very still. “Yeah.… It’s a good sound, isn’t it.…”

The two fall silent for a long moment. I can’t see James, but for a moment, Michael catches my eyes in the rear-view mirror. Then, looking away again, “Shall we move on? See if a different area gives us a signal?”

James taps at his keyboard, bringing up another window. “Yes, I think so.”

*****

Seven Years Ago

Horse and rider canter into the yard, assorted pairs of eyes watching their arrival.

It’s a fine sunny day and everyone has found work to do outside. Brett, wearing faded overalls, touches up blistered paint on the sheds, giving her a wave as she passes. Old Jacob, busy clearing a blocked drain in the yard, wearing his usual stinking rags, follows her with his rheumy gaze.

Tom, stripped to the waist to keep the muck off his shirt, helps. Well-muscled from hard physical work, he’s a handsome sight. Some girl called Carol must have thought the same, judging by the tattooed rose carrying her name which curves from shoulder to chest.

But handsome is as handsome does, and his good looks are spoiled by his slit-eyed scowl as, seeing Jenny, he turns away.

“Why did they sell her?” asks Mrs Collier, the scent of wrath still floating under her words.

Riley seems unmoved. “Moving back to the City, so they told me.”

Jenny walks across, then around the pen, eyeing the mare from all sides; a lovely bay roan, with mane, tail and lower legs, all in a glossy black, her face is a shade of copper heading for pink.

“She has a pretty face,” says Jenny.

“So she does,” says Mrs Collier. “Take her round then, Riley.”

The Irishman gives a nod to the stable lad, who clips on the lead-rein, takes the mare to the ring, and with a click of the tongue, first trots, then paces her. Her movement is smooth and graceful, lithe muscle gliding easily under satin skin.

“She’s a darlin’ is this one,” says Riley. “An ideal mount for a middle-grade rider.” He cocks an eye at Jenny. “Want to swing a leg over and take her around yourself?”

The mare is saddled, and Jenny mounts her smoothly, the horse nickering softly as her rider settles. As the two first walk, then trot around the ring, Jenny’s smile grows broader.

Eventually, Mrs Collier reins her in. “Do you like her, Jenny? Enough for her to be your horse to look after and ride?”

“Oh, yes. She's beautiful.”

“Good, that's agreed then. If you want to raise the invoice, Riley, I'll get a bank draft sent across.”

“What's she called?” asks Jenny.

“This little lady?” says the man, slapping the glossy neck. “She’s called Charlotte.”

*****