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She relaxed. She knew they’d succeeded in their goal when they let out whistles and catcalls. Then she felt the hot, wet stream trickle down her leg.
When she realized what she’d done, the tears started sliding down her face. Luke moved in next to her ear. “Don’t let them get to you. They’re just fucking with you. They’re drunk as hell and won’t remember it in the morning.”
The small gesture caught her off guard. “What about Will?”
“Well, you know about him and Frieda. He’s probably the freakiest fucker here. Nothing fazes him, so don’t worry about it.”
Robert came up with the water hose and Veronica cringed, afraid he was going to hose her down like some prison movie, but he was only cleaning her off with a light mist.
Luke seemed to have sobered up as he approached with that predatory look in his eyes. Despite the discomfort since he’d tied her to the wooden beams, and despite the other men looking on, her mouth watered when he unzipped his pants. However sober he appeared, he had to still be buzzed if he was casually dropping trough in front of the others.
“Beg me to fuck you, sweetheart. I want the guys to hear how sweet you sound when you beg me.”
Veronica’s heart beat harder, and the relaxation that had hit her with the marijuana faded as everything came into hyper focus. If she didn’t do as he requested, he might beat her and then force her. She needed to feel at least the illusion of consent. It was impossible to fight him with the ropes tied so tightly around her, especially outnumbered as she was.
Her real choice wasn’t whether she would consent or not. The real choice was whether she would try to separate herself from the event, try to hover outside her body or if she would connect and feel and accept what these men would do to her. The latter was a terrifying idea that every cell in her body bucked and rebelled against, but the former... if she separated she might become so lost she never found herself again.
Veronica closed her eyes and forced the words past her lips. “P-please, Sir, fuck me.” When she’d said it, the throbbing need began between her legs.
“In front of my men? You dirty slut. Do you like being watched, Ronnie?”
“I-I don’t know.”
It wasn’t as if the idea of his ranch hands in some kind of circle jerk around her hadn’t entered her filthy mind, but she hadn’t thought they’d actually act it out. She wasn’t sure she could handle the reality when she couldn’t control the outcome.
“Do you want to find out?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
Luke looked back at Robert. “What did I tell you? Do you trust my judgment now?”
Robert tossed back another beer. “Sure, boss. I trust everything you say right now.”
Luke stepped out of his pants, and Veronica licked her lips. He was hard and ready, but he still lazily stroked his cock, watching her. He finally filled her inch by agonizingly slow inch. He trapped her gaze in his as his hand dug into her brand.
“Ow!”
A slow smile. She wouldn’t have guessed a rancher would know anything about the art of subtlety or innuendo, but the pain and grip on her hip hadn’t been accidental. When he entered her, he wanted her to remember which one of them she belonged to.
He stroked gently over his mark. “Shhhh,” he murmured, trailing wet kisses over her neck. He began to move in a languid pace, dragging out her torment, while his men chanted and egged him on in the background. Mortifyingly she’d gotten wetter when he’d gripped his mark and hurt her, the tinge of masochism coming out to betray her just like her cunt had.
Robert got impatient. “Hurry up. I want my turn.”
“You’ll get your turn. You might want to stay sober enough to get it up.”
“Fuck you, Luke.”
He just laughed and continued to piston in and out of her. Veronica had moved past the embarrassment point. The boom box had run out of batteries and died, leaving only the crackling bonfire and the chirping crickets. The night felt unreal and ancient, and when she looked up, the stars seemed to beckon her to join them. It was like the day before when she’d lain in the grass, floating on the endorphin rush from the branding.
Whatever was happening wasn’t about doors and misogyny and rights and indignation. It wasn’t about which gender made more money or if men objectified women too much in bikini contests. It was pure, raw animal lust that reached inside her and flipped something low in her gut.
He gripped her hip again, jolting her out of the state she was in, dragging a whimper from her throat and her attention back to him.
“Who do you belong to? Whose mark do you bear?”
“You... y-yours,” she panted.
Then for the second time with him, she came. The men shouted and whistled and catcalled, adding to the surreal nature of the moment. Luke pulled out and finished by hand, leaving a trail of cum dripping down her stomach.
