Her Troika (The Complete Story) (Dominion Trust Book 2) Read Free Page A

air pressure changing ever so slightly.
    “Who do we have here?” The deep voice intoned, obviously looking at Breanna. She swallowed, her throat suddenly parched. She stayed very still, the instinct to freeze strong, as if by freezing she could blend into her surroundings, hide from the predators.
    “I’m not sure. Tits look to be almost as big as Simona’s.”
    “These are bigger,” Deep Voice said. “Simona’s shorter, makes them look bigger. This lecker here’s a tall one, she is.”
    Lecker? Breanna struggled to remember. It was familiar — very familiar. Then she had it.
    It was a slang term, something she remembered hearing on a travel show on the radio a few days ago. Lecker meant luscious or wonderful. It was South African. Now she could place that accent!
    Way to go, genius. You’re still bound here like a prize turkey. Figuring out someone’s accent doesn’t solve the problem at hand, does it?
    “Wonder why they’ve got her clothes still on her?” Mr. Nervous. Chatty motherfucker. Breanna wanted to kick him in the nuts.
    “Doesn’t matter,” the South African said, his voice turning away and back into their stall. “We’ll all get a look at what she’s hiding soon enough.”
    “Oh? How?” Mr. Nervous’s voice turned away too, and Breanna let out a breath, tension ratcheting down ever so slightly.
    The thought of these strange faceless men … touching her, was disturbing — but not nearly as much as she thought it should be.
    “How does this even come off?” Nervous man was no longer so nervous, his voice thick. “Does this ever come off, Johan?”
    A name! Breanna almost exclaimed it aloud. She committed it to memory, knowing she’d likely have little chance to confirm the information. Tightly blindfolded nearly that entire inaugural weekend, there were several nameless men who’d been privy to rather … intimate knowledge of Breanna’s person. The only things she knew of them were the cruel hands, the gruff, demanding voices, and the relentless pounding of their hard cocks.
    South African chuckled. “It does, when I wish it.”
    “How often do you … wish it?”
    “You ask lotta questions, man.”
    Two steps, and something rustled. Fabric? Clothing?
    “Sorry Johan, I’ve just … I’ve never seen a belt like that.”
    “It’s okay, Kearney.” A pause. “She gets out every couple weeks or so. If she’s good.”
    Breanna caught her breath. Did they mean?
    Tell me they do not keep her in one of those …
    “Couple of weeks ? Jesus…” She couldn’t tell if it was horror or mere curiosity in Kearney’s voice.
    There was the sound of a hand clapping someone’s back. “Relax about it, Kearney. It’s what she needs. You want …?”
    There was a snap of leather, and the sound of a buckle rattling. “No, I can try.”
    “Yeah, man. Pull off all the snaps. They’re tight — yeah, you see how they slide through?”
    “Oh, yes I see,” Kearney said, his voice strained. “Let’s — Jesus, damned tight!”
    There was a low moan.
    “Shh, stay there, Simona.” There was a fondness in Johan’s deep voice. “Be good now.”
    Another thunk, and a step. “How does?”
    “Reach between her legs, Kearney. There — right, the buckle.”
    “Got it,” Kearney grunted. “This is a bitch.”
    “She’s well—looked after,” Johan said. “You should think about one of your own. Nothing like it.”
    There was a dismissive snort. “Too much work. I like borrowing yours.”
    “Selfish bastard,” Johan muttered.
    Breanna inhaled sharply, suddenly remembering she needed to breathe. She felt sorry for the girl, but it was impossible not to listen. They were ten feet away!
    “Unh, unnnh!” The soft voice was strained, lost. Gagged?
    “There, slow. Slow, Kearney.” Another clink of a buckle. “Here give it to me.”
    “She’s soaked … “
    Breanna could hear the girl breathing like a bellows. Was that arousal she could smell on the air too? She wasn’t sure if