Dominion Trust Series - Vol.1 by Trent Evans Page A

a hard, exhausting run.
    No, to George, who adored every inch, every atom of his slave’s body, such a thing would be to reduce the value of her exertions, and to him, any Owner who couldn’t partake of his slave’s talents in her body’s natural state, who couldn’t enjoy the healthy clean scent of her labors, wasn’t worthy of being an Owner. He loved all of her, and took great lengths to show it.
    His hand palmed the swollen, sodden folds of the pussy displayed between the splayed thighs, and she sighed as he stroked the heat of her for a moment.
    “You ran well today. So well.” He leaned close allowing her to feel the hard erection through the fabric of his pants, reaching under her, raising her up enough to free her breasts from under her body. “It’s time for a reward. Such a good girl, you’ve been.”
    Stroking her breasts, he brushed a sheaf of straw from a turgid nipple, his palms luxuriating in the texture the rough straw had lent to the soft skin of her breasts. Working himself loose, he pressed the heavy head of his cock against the moist lips.
    “I don’t know how I’ll be able to stand this,” he whispered into her ear, his body laid over hers, his thick cock sinking into the liquid bliss of her cunt. “An entire month without you is much too long.”
    As he took up her hips in a strong grip, sounding the full depth of her pussy, her moans rising in urgency, he resolved to enjoy every last second he could steal with her in the waning afternoon.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter One
     
    T he fog was so impenetrable Derek wondered if he’d even survive the drive up. Off the freeway, and snaking up godforsaken roads into the hills above Goldendale WA, he thought back on the e-mail. His friend Kurt had told Derek when, where, and finally:
    ‘Ask for a week off, for now. You’ll need it. Bring nothing but yourself — and a healthy appetite.’
    Cryptic as fuck, which was standard operating procedure for Kurt. Derek had always wondered what Kurt got up to that one weekend a month. Without fail, the man disappeared — literally — for those two days. National Guard? Survivalist retreat? Civil War reenactments? Derek wanted to know, yet no matter how he questioned Kurt, all he got was a brick wall.
    So when Derek got the call on a Sunday evening — a Sunday evening of one of Kurt’s Top Secret Weekends, no less — he thought he’d finally get some answers. He just hoped he wouldn’t find out his good friend was a serial killer.
    Instead, it was yet more mystery. But Derek was damned if he’d pass up a chance to learn more. It wasn’t as if he’d be sacrificing anything in his social life, which was on life support. What the hell could it hurt?
    The road, riddled with so many potholes his truck felt like a fucking bounce house, ended at a heavy steel gate, the kind you often saw rusting away on lonely logging roads. Only this was no logging road. He glanced at his phone again, the glare of the screen filling the cab with its ghostly white light. Assuming the map application wasn’t screwing him, this was the place. He hit Kurt’s speed dial, holding the phone to his head as he wiped the condensation from the driver’s side window.
    “This is Kurt.”
    “Hey, I’m here I think.” Derek leaned forward, trying to make out anything through the opaqueness of the fog. “Yellow gate? Chained up?”
    “Yep, that’s me. Glad you’re here.”
    The windshield wipers swept across the glass, smearing the condensation from the fog rather than clearing it. Derek cursed, switching them off. “It’s thick tonight, man. Why the hell are you all the way up here?”
    “We’ll take about it later. Look Derek”—Kurt’s deep rumble dropped another octave—”I need to know one thing.”
    “Just don’t tell me you’ve got bodies in your trunk, okay?” Derek’s laugh sounded less forced than it felt.
    “Nothing like that. Don’t worry. But I need to know that you’ve got an open