Chapter 7
As the two horses approached the rear of the Spencer barn, Melanie shushed Clay to silence. He picked up on her conspiratorial manner and shut up, becoming her accomplice in...he didn't know.
When she swung down, so did he. In silence, they hitched the horses there, behind the barn, to the uprights supporting a wooden hay-chute that ran down from the loft. A small door was set into the back of the barn up there. It was through it that hay was loaded into the loft, to be dropped down for the horses, particularly in winter.
Sitting down at the base of the chute, Melanie removed her boots. Each had a strap for tugging them on; she attached them to her belt-loops, then stood. She waited while Clay emulated her. He watched, then, while the girl walked barefoot up the polished chute, bent forward and upward, with a hand on the rail on either side. Pausing precariously at the top, she opened the little door of wood slats. It opened outward, and she had to hang on and lean back.
Stepping into the loft, she turned and beckoned. Clay found that the chute was not so steep as it looked, and that his feet seemed to adhere to the polished wood of the chute so that he was agile enough in making the climb. He was soon at her side, inside the barn on its second level. It was warm, and they were surrounded by hay. She pulled the little door to with silent care.
When the girl sat down on a bale of hay and began replacing her boots, so did Clay. He had no idea of the reason for their stealth, but it was fun. Who were they sneaking up on, and why?
Walking as silently as he could on a smooth, hardwood floor littered with hay, he followed the stealthy girl across the dimness of the loft.
She halted again, this time beneath big overhead beams. From one of them dangled a rope, both ends hanging from where it passed over a pulley attached to a beam. The ends of the rope disappeared through a square hole in the floor. It was through the hole, Clay realized, that hay was dropped to the floor, eight feet below. Thus the horses could not get at the ray until it was dropped to them.
The ropes, he noticed, were drawn taut, and they trembled with some sort of strain. Joining Melanie in the almost darkness, he peered down.
He was looking at two short people, one with curly black hair, the other a silky-looking mass of blonde waves. Tony, the gardener-handyman and his equally young wife, Debbie. Tony wore a white tee shirt that stretched taut over a good chest and showed the fine wiry musculature of his arms and his fiat stomach. His pants were black chinos.
His wife wore heeled boots, the predictable corset of black latex-laced very tightly up the front, rather than the back-and nothing else, unless one counted the broad belt of black leather that was buckled about her tiny waist, outside the corset. The belt gleamed with five or six O-shaped rings, shiny nickel.
The young woman's wrists were bound together and secured to a big hook at the end of the rope depending from the loft. But it was not that which forced her to stand on tiptoe. To her left nipple, which was far more scarlet than the right, was clipped a standard, normal clothespin. To its end was attached a slim cord, like fishing line. It ran tautly up to a beam, around which it had been passed twice before being tied.
Debbie's right breast stuck straight out in a lovely cone, raised by the pressure on her upraised arms. Her left titty, though, strained upward from her body, and the tied cord attached to its clamping clothespin was what kept her on her toes. Clay gathered that the clothespin was too tight to pull off without being opened-or extreme pain-and she maintained her position to relieve the strain as best she could.
Using a leather strap no wider than a finger and about four feet long, her husband was calmly, methodically beating her. Nor were the lashes mere love taps.
Clay's stomach tightened up, as did his fists...but then he realized that Debbie's writhing and moans were of pleasure, not agony. The little blonde, then, was one of those people who loved bondage and pain, perhaps needed it to get off: a genuine masochist, if the latter was true.
He watched the slim whip fall with a hiss on the cheeky buttocks which it partially enwrapped, bringing a jerk and a loud grunt from the victim. The whip dropped away and Clay raised an eyebrow at the deep pink stripe that marked the blonde's lily-white hued bottom.
He remembered a line from one book or another about whipping, how the lashes had "changed the lilies into roses, and the roses into poppies." Clay remembered, too, the recent book from Gerald and Caroline Green: S-M The Last Taboo. Among other things, they had noted that Kinsey's Institute for Sex Research, at IU, had found that 20% of the males and 12% of the females surveyed had admitted to having been aroused by "sadomasochistic" stories. Which probably meant that several percent more had been, but had not "confessed." Mainly because the country was full of dummies who still wouldn't or couldn't admit that bondage, pain, and sexuality were all mixed up in nearly every member of the race.
So was almost any form of violence, Clay mused, watching Tony's whip-his loving whip-fall again on his wife's naked backside. He had noticed and would never forget how obviously turned on Alison had been when he "raped" her, just yesterday. Rape to most women, real rape, was an absolutely horrible experience. But the thought of it was undeniably erotic to many.
"The sex murderer," the Greens had noted in their book, "is seldom a sadist."
Clay doubted whether Tony was, either. If you loved someone, and that someone was a masochist, wasn't giving them what they wanted and needed an act of love?
"HOOOOOOOO-UGH-O-O-ONNNNGHHH!" the blonde below groaned out loudly, and the secretly watching Clay and Melanie knew that Debbie had come, from being whipped.
Melanie began playing with Clay's cock.
Tony waited while his wife gasped and shivered out her orgasm. Then the whip rose, trembled, and swept down to slash her harshly across both her helplessly-and willingly!-proffered cheeks.
She sobbed aloud.
"Enough, baby?" Tony asked, staring at her wealed ass.
"N-no," she said, squirming. "P-please...more, give me more, darling!"
He gave her more. The whip cracked very loudly onto her corset, but Clay was sure she felt that less than the thwacks on the butt, though they made far less noise. Shivers coursed through the girl's pain-racked, sweat-glistening form and her tears flowed in wet rivulets. Nerve-flaming spasms twitched her thighs, and her hips were surging back and forth, hunching, urging her pussy to an invisible lover in obvious growing sensuality. The relentless whip snapped her again to leave a new stripe across her twin rear globes.
Melanie dug Clay's cock out of his pants and the latex shorts, and her fist slid up and down, up and down, while the two of them stared down at the fascinating scene.
"Debbie needs it," Melanie whispered, with her lips brushing Clay's ear. "It's-you know, her thing," she added unnecessarily.
Dropping the whip, Tony approached his wife and fondled her streaked, silky rump. She moaned and sighed at his touch and her flexed hips forced the full round cheeks out in exaggerated prominence. They saw her strain her neck to kiss her husband, heard her murmur, "I love you."
Tony took her down from her straining position of bondage-and bound her anew. This time he used leather straps to make a package of her, all bent and doubled and redoubled, with her bruised and welted ass up and out.
When he pushed his sturdy hard-on into her and began fucking her strongly from behind, Melanie dropped to her knees began sucking Gay's prick. Tony had to ball his woman from behind; her wrists were bound back above her butt, her ankles and knees were tied together, and she was in a tight kneeling position, breasts squashed onto her thighs, heels into her lower ass-cheeks, her face at her knees. She looked like a human package ready to be brown-papered, stringed, and mailed.
The noises were very juicy as Tony squatted and slung his cock in and out of her, again and again, granting and gasping, driving hard, his loins and the forefronts of his tawny, black-haired thighs spanking her striped ass-cheeks.
In Melanie's softly suckling mouth, Clay's penis was just as hard and needy, and considerably bigger. Staring down at the way Tony's went in and out of the submissive, totally helpless and motionless little blonde, Clay licked his lips. Melanie made a tiny "nguh" sound as his prick grew still bigger.
Clay watched the short dark man come, ramming in hard to explode his jism well up his whipped wife's pussy.
With a long sigh, Tony pulled out, and rose to his feet on shaky legs.
"MORE!" Debbie wailed. "I NEED Mo-O-O-orrrrre!"
"Bitch," Tony said, and slapped her ass.
Tugging at the rope-and-pully-mounted hay-hook, he pushed it through one of the rings on the back of Debbie's belt, and then hooked it under the rope connecting her wrists. That way the pressure was borne by both waist and arms as he began pulling on the rope's other end, hoisting the red-assed package of woman flesh.
Up she came, five or six inches at a time, the pulley creaking. She swayed and swung, turning slightly this way and that, rising higher and higher-to the square hole where stood Clay McConnel!
Melanie gave his dick a hard swallowing suck, let it out patted it and squeezed his balls, and rose to her feet She made a half-bow and a sweeping gesture: presenting him with Debbie, whose trussed, folded form was now rising through the square hay-drop. Then, blowing Clay a kiss, Melanie left him.
The packaged Debbie now swung and turned slowly in midair-precisely at the level of Clay's loins and only a foot or so away. Tearing his gaze from her proffered, whip-marked ass, he looked down.
The other end of Debbie's rope had been tied off. Tony was gone. Clay blinked, licked his lips.
"Mo-o-orrre," Debbie whispered.
He stared at the dangling, spinning package of naked female flesh turning slowly before him. Her pale-furred cunt was reddened, open, very wet.
"Oh please mo-ore," the blonde whimpered.
Clay reached out to catch hold of the rope a foot or so above her cramped body. He pulled her toward him. A touch adjusted the angle, since she had a tendency to swing and turn a little at the end of her tether. Then with his hands on her bound thighs he tugged her back and both of them sighed as his cock slid easily into her wet and wide-open cunt.
Hanging onto her hips, digging his fingers into the hot crevices between her thighs and belly where they were jammed together, he held that human pendulum in place. And he fucked . . .it. It loved the deep penetration, and made sighing gasping happy mewling noises to make certain he knew that he gave nothing but pleasure.
Gathering momentum, he pounded hell out of her whipped haunches with a flurry of swift hard strokes that carried him well up into her.
"Oh! Oh! Umhhh! Oh-ye-essS-g-g-God I neeeeed that-oh, oh, UH! Oh yes, yes, umm..."
Her cunt was a lake, leaking her juices and her husband's. A long string of spermy semen swung down, down, and broke off to drop through the square hay-chute and splat onto the floor below. Clay's huge purplish rod whipped in and out of her vastly dilated pussy so swiftly and easily that he wondered it did her any good at all.
But yes; her labia moved, writhing, and he felt the ripple of her pulpy, meaty inner tissues. The little blonde wasn't huge in the vagina; she was small. It was just that she was so extremely wet...he knew she was feeling plenty of friction...and so was he.
Perversely, he gave her a push. Her folded body swung away, until only the swollen wet tip of his cock still pressed between her cunt lips. The Law of Motion came into play. She swung back. Her own slight momentum buried his cock up her.
He pushed her again. She swung out, and back, her wet furrow sliding warmly down his cock-staff until her butts banged off his upper thighs, and he shoved her again.
Thus he made her even more literally a human pendulum, and thus he fucked her, or rather let the pendulum fuck itself on him, for he stood still while her swinging body jammed itself full, time after time. And she came again, sighing and breathing thanks and wordless sighs.
He stood at the edge of the hay-drop, and pushed her back and forth, back and forth, listening to the juicy squishy noises of rigidly immovable cock into mobile cunt, noting the drop of their combined juices-and Tony's-down to the barn floor below, listening to her sighs and happy whimpers, and enjoying the whole weird scene thoroughly.
His hands gripped the widespread cheeks of her bottom tightly, drew her back onto the big bobbing stalk of his cock. Moltenly volatile cuntal folds caressed every inch of that throbbing fleshy hardness that poled up her from behind.
Then he pushed her away again.
She was helpless, a helplessness-loving, fuck-loving package who could do nothing but be manhandled and pierced, allow her own pendulum-like motion to get her moist and glistening labia distended and the thoroughly wet channel of her vagina stuffed with thick male tool.
She had stopped making anything resembling needy noises, sated and happy, when he at last groaned and dragged her back hard while he blew his wad up into her cunt from behind.
Sagging at the knees, feeling a little dizzy after two standing fucks in one afternoon, Clay let go the girl-package. He watched his semen drool out of her widened, reddened hole to splash to the floor nine or ten feet beneath her.
When he glanced around, it was to find Tony sitting on a bale of hay a few feet behind him, feet up. The short, dark, young man was chewing an alfalfa stem. He smiled around it.
"Thanks," he said quietly. "You look shot down. I'll take care of her now."