Keister took up a high-pitched yipping announcement of their approach, and Diana soon appeared on the porch with a wave of hello. She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Jamie's out in the hay field past the pond and up the back lane a bit!"

Alex waved her thanks and directed the stallion toward the back and away from the barn, much to his chagrin. He resisted for a moment, side-stepping with righteous indignation, before her insistent calves applied firmly to his flanks moved him in a forward direction once again. He blew one great snort of disgust through distended nostrils and snapped his tail to announce his extreme irritation with his rider.

As an experienced horsewoman, she knew not to overreact, and that firm persistence with a high-strung stallion was the only way to proceed. He quickly calmed and became a gentleman once again, after giving up hope of visiting his lady friend.

The drone of a John Deere tractor took up its song in the distance, as the glistening irrigation pond came into view. It was small, yet picturesque, with its grass-lined bank and local pair of mallard ducks with six yellow babies bobbing on the blue ripples.

She marveled at all the changes in her world over the past several months. All the things she had come to experience and to learn about, and to take part in. It was a new world, and she was fully immersed in it now. The city was gone - all the traffic, the asphalt, the stress, the constant throng of bodies and noise. Gone.

Alex was doing what she loved, among people she loved, and in such beautiful surroundings. How could she have had such luck? She pitied all her insipid fake "girlfriends" of the past who did not have an inkling of all that was right here.

Jamie came into view on the tractor. From what she had learned about the hay-making process, he was running the "tedder" today. A day after being mowed, the tedder machine was driven through the rows, lifting and spreading the individual stalks all across the field with whirling tines, so that the sun could reach every strand and dry it consistently.

Tomorrow, weather provided, Jamie would return and rake it all again into long even piles before baling it into small squares fit for the hayloft, or for sale at auction. Hay could only be baled if it had reached a certain moisture percentage, or it would go moldy and worthless in storage.

It was a much more complicated process than she ever realized. Hay-making required constant analysis consisting of weather maps, touching, sniffing, lifting, the snapping of stems, and a moisture reader in the baler itself. And if it got too dry a well, that was bad too, for all the little green and nutrition-laden leaflets would shatter and fall away from the stem.

Alex realized she had been sighted when the tractor engine slowed, then quit completely. Jamie hopped down from the equipment and turned his cap around backwards to watch her approach atop the stallion. His expression was a bit guarded; cautious at first, but then a slow smile curved his mouth as he saw the light in her eyes.

By the time she had dismounted and pulled the reins over Bold's head, he was behind her, and lifted her completely off her feet in a bearhug. "Where you been, stranger girl," he murmured directly in her ear. "I missed you, Lovey."

Alex turned in his arms and the feel and scent of him, even all sweaty like he was, thrilled her, making her heart trip along rapidly. Before she could even utter her hello, his lips were on hers, and his insistent tongue invaded her senses. It wasn't a bad feeling at all. In fact, it was really, really good.

When his left hand cupped her ass and his right slid between her thighs to rub against the warm little vee her jeans were covering, she gasped against his mouth.

"I can't wait to get you alone for a bit," he answered her surprise by mumbling against her lips. "Oh, the things I have planned for you."

"Now Jamie," she answered primly, though her body was responding otherwise, wiggling against his unrelenting fingers, and wishing the denim was gone completely. Her body wanted those "things" of which he spoke. Badly. "We should talk, really."

He grunted in purely male annoyance, and lifted the front of her tee shirt, sliding a hand up and under to cup the firmness of her left breast. When his finger brushed a nipple, she was startled to realize it was already hard, and wanting the feel of that hot mouth on the turgid peak.

"See, what we have to say to each other should simply be demonstrated instead," he chuckled in a low voice. It was almost menacing, and gave her a delicious little shiver. "Like fine art, Alex. It should be felt... experienced visually... and physically. Not merely talked about."

"But... Bold--"

"Is perfectly content," Jamie answered, gesturing to the stallion, who had already dropped his head and was rhythmically snipping the long grass as quickly as his sharp equine teeth would allow, ignoring them completely.

In a flash, she was on her back staring up at the vividly blue sky, and the cool grass cushioned the naked skin of her back. The slight breeze caressed her flesh, sending a series of goosebumps off in rapid-fire succession all over her body.

Her nipples were as hard as rose diamonds, jutting straight up at the heavens, and the core of her was tingling and wet. His fingers were brushing back and forth over the little bud of her clitoris, spreading the warmth that he discovered there.

"What do you know about fine art, James Sheldon?" she managed to murmur between her shuddering gasps.

"Let me show you." When his tongue delved into the place his fingers had been to begin a rhythmic, dancing exploration, her back arched like a bowstring in automatic response. The azure sky swirled above her like the flowing strokes of a brilliant watercolor.

Waiting for Eden ~*~*~*~*~*~.

Chapter 20.

The ceiling fan directly above her whirled in a slow and lopsided fashion. It resulted in an odd grating sound and the entire mounting bracket to sway with each revolution. The nauseous ball in the pit of Tracey's belly increased and she closed her eyes. The irises felt dry and bloodshot behind her lids. The left socket pulsed.

Her wrists were sore and chafed, bound together then tightly secured to the headboard of the hotel bed. The comforter was stripped and she lay naked against the cotton sheets. She was cold.

How had she allowed herself to get in this position? Her head was fuzzy, and throbbed with a persistent twinge. What had she done now?

She heard Antonio shift his body in the chair next to the bed. Tracey could feel his presence, nude and seething, directly beside her. She was terrified to even look in his direction. He was livid. He had made that clear to her.

Apparently, she had not pleased him. Oh, she had agreed to the bondage games eagerly enough, and they were fun, but Antonio had not been able to sate himself on the lushness of her young body. As his agitation and frustration had increased, so had his ire. His roughness.

When Tracey had murmured that his over-long and incessant pounding into her tender female flesh was causing her some pain a did he have any lube? - he had responded with a resounding slap across her face that brought astonished tears to her eyes with the sharp sting.

The slap was followed by the hard pinching of her nipples. Her growing whimpers of protest had excited him, and when he proceeded down between her legs, she had momentarily breathed a sigh of relief when the softness of his tongue enveloped her sensitive core. But then had bitten her clit. Hard.

Her own anger had surged in kind. She wanted this stupid S & M game over NOW no matter how much money the dick had a so she had kicked out and cursed, connecting a knee with his chin, calling him every name in the book. As a final measure, she had even threatened to call the cops.

His iron-like fist around her skinny neck had stilled her instantly. For a full minute, she was not permitted to draw breath as his hand squeezed relentlessly around her windpipe. Her irises had bulged to near bursting and the pain in her pitifully heaving lungs had been terrifying to endure.

Finally, he had released her with a slowing hissing sound as she shuddered and gasped for air in animalistic terror. But she lay still, quivering inside, completely cowed.

Tracey had never been so scared, not even when her Dad had her down and was kicking the crap out her. A few minutes ago, Antonio had received a cell phone call, which he had muted and taken to the bathroom, shutting the door. Now, he had returned to sit silently, malevolently, in that embroidered faux-Victorian chair.

She didn't have to look at him to know that his dick was still hard and waiting. She could smell male musk, desire, and a violent anger emanating from his body. He was not done with her.

The knock at the door was not long in coming. It was a light, quadruple rap, and although she wanted so badly to close her eyes, Tracey helplessly watched Antonio cross the room in four long steps, unabashed in his complete nudity, his cock still stabbing up at the ceiling. What had attracted her initially a that dark and raw animal magnetism - now frightened her immeasurably.

When a woman entered the room with the scent of expensive perfume, clad in a cream suit and dark sunglasses, Tracey felt a short stutter of hope, like when the heart skips a momentary beat out of nowhere. The woman's hair was the palest of delicate blond, her lips rosy and full, with high cheekbones and a slim straight nose. She looked to Tracey like some Nordic angel, or a goddess, an ethereal princess... but would she help her?

It only took a moment for that surge of hope to fade away. When the woman removed her sunglasses, her eyes were chips of cold blue ice, harboring no trace of compassion.

"She's a blonde," the woman muttered distastefully.

Antonio made a sound in his throat that was not unlike a growl. "You think you're the only blonde cooze in this world, Andrea? I keep you because I trained you. You will do what I tell you. When I tell you. You know exactly where I am at. And what to do about it."

Andrea nodded, still staring coldly at Tracey's body, and un-slung the carryall she had over her shoulder. Her eyes flickered to Antonio's and then moved over his own nude lines, her pink lips opening slightly. "What should I give her first?"

"A little H. Nothing too much. I want her to feel good. But I want her alert."

When the bag unzipped audibly, Tracey chose then to squeeze her eyes shut as tight as she could, her heartbeat fluttering away in her chest like a little bird's.

In the last fifteen minutes of his walk, the day around him had noticeably changed. Mouse glanced up uncertainly at the swirling sky above. It was grey and streaked, like dirt smears on an old window that his Pop would smack him hard for leaving behind. The wind whipped now, and made the tallest trees talk amongst themselves. The fat flies had simply disappeared.

Mouse didn't like it when the pines whispered. It was never good news, he just knew it. When a day was a good day, the trees didn't need to speak out loud, they were content and green and happy to stand together as a family, and merely sighed when the breeze touched their soft needles.

He looked down in surprise at the sudden goosepimples rising on his arms. He hated those too, for they made him think of the chicken pox he had been laid up with when he was small. He didn't really understand how a body got pocks from some old chicken, but Mouse sure had. He had sat in a cold tub for a day and a half, trying not to itch those awful red bumps, but it was just impossible. They left pock scars anyway.

"Ugly can't get much uglier," Pop had said with a shrug, meaning to be cheerful for once. But Mouse thought that every time you got uglier, it just left more bad memories behind. He had a lot of bad ones by now. He was much uglier, for sure.

His steps were now more uncertain than ever, but the familiar fencing leading up to the ranch began a his work and he was proud - and he saw Alex's mares grazing up ahead. The horses didn't seem to notice the noisy trees, and kept shearing blades of grass with strong even teeth. Mouse didn't think it was fair that they never even had to brush, and had teeth just that powerful. God had made them such. He wished that God had made him as strong as a horse.

Ignoring the strange unease tickling inside his belly, Mouse turned off of the driveway and headed toward the back yard. The grass was thick and he reminded himself to come again soon and mow for Alex. He liked being helpful more and more. When Mouse helped, he felt as strong as a horse.

When he glanced over at the garden, it seemed even darker than the sky above it. The wind didn't move any bushes inside its crumbled walls though. It was still and almost shimmering in a heavy grey shroud, making him think of the one they had laid across the dead Jesus in his church play. The trees all around it swayed, but the garden simply held still.

He blinked the discomforting image away, and continued uncertainly toward the porch. He was here for a Mum-flower from the gentle lady. He needed that flower. For some reason, it was really important today, he knew from the flutter in his belly he sometimes felt.

When he climbed the two familiar steps up to the porch, his Mum-flower lay vividly on the table, as it usually did a just for him. But today the rose was shriveled and blackened with decay. Black. Dead.

Mouse heard a keening sound coming from his throat as he backed off the porch, nearly tripping down the stars in his haste and confusion. He felt a strange pull in his chest and forced his eyes away from the horrible flower and upwards toward the window on the second floor.

The lady was there. Her hair was grey and braided and she wore the same light blue dress as usual. But her face a usually wreathed with a smile - was sad. Her eyes were stark and white. His breath came faster and faster when she slowly lifted her hand, palm up, to the window. Crimson blood streaked her wrist and pattered its way against the pane like a soft rain.

It was then that Mouse screamed, and began to run for home.

Tracey had lost the concept of time, and floated in a haze of sensations that were sometimes good, and sometimes nauseating. In the back of her mind she was frightened, but sometimes the woman was gentle, coaxing, teasing with her tongue, and Tracey would think it wasn't really so bad and her traitorous body would even shiver like it wanted more.

Then Antonio would grow excited and take over, pushing the woman away. He shoved his rod and fingers in places where Tracey didn't want it, and he was rough like a bull. The whole room spun wildly above her now, like a tilt-a-whirl.

"Come, bitch," he growled, "I know a little whore like you has it in you." When she didn't respond to his command, he made a disgusted noise, and loosened her bonds, flipping her roughly onto her belly.

Andrea made a frustrated sound from somewhere behind them. "What about me? I want to come too, Marcus! I've been waiting for this. I've done everything you asked."

"Wait longer," he grunted, entering Tracey again with one merciless stroke.

Marcus? His name was Marcus now? Her mind was fuzzy, confused. She felt raw and abraded as he continued to pound his body into hers like an animal. She felt no pleasure at all now. When would it end?

Tears came against her will, and somehow, Antonio a or Marcus - sensed it, grabbing her chin and yanking her head to the side. His cold fingers bit into her cheek and mashed the sensitive flesh against her teeth.

"That's it bitch, cry a little. Only cry like you mean it. Harder. Or I'm going to teach you what pain really is."

She suffered a rush of fear with the stark knowledge that she was in way to deep. It was then that Tracey felt the sudden sting of a needle enter the back side of her knee and she twitched jerkily in response. In seconds, her world swam even further out of focus, and her heart beat in rapid little flutters that grew lighter and lighter, like the brush of butterfly wings.

The presence of Marcus inside her became a far away sensation, like an idea that buzzed at the perimeter of the mind but couldn't make its way into coherency. Then Tracey felt her heart simply... stop. She had a moment to feel an air of surprise. Then the buzzing sensation in the back of her mind merely spun away into the cool, damp pillow beneath her cheek, and finally, faded into nothing at all.

Marcus felt a moment's confusion when the blonde named Tracey went slack beneath him. She was going to get his belt next for her rebellion. He wrapped a handful of her trashy streaked hair in his fist and pulled backwards. Her head came up easy enough. Too easy, in fact.

Her eyes were wide and her mouth, smeared and streaked with disgusting red lipstick, now gaped open obscenely. She was dead.

His pulse revved like the engine of his car, and he withdrew from the limp thing beneath him. He slowly turned to take in the sight of a too-quiet Andrea, pale-faced and stupid as a cow, standing behind him. A needle dropped soundlessly from her hand to the carpeted floor.

"You dumb bitch. You crossed the line this time."

"But Marcus, I only gave her a little more, to slow things down. I want to be included too. You know I need you. I love you. Don't you want to feel loved by me?"

Marcus breathed rhythmically through his nose, trying to control his rage, but the pain in his temple was back, pulsing like a malignant tumor. He had lost control, and it was entirely Andrea's fault.

"Really-? Is that what you want? To be included?"

"Yes, Marcus. I want you inside me."

His left fist shot out to grab Andrea by the throat and force her, gagging, onto the edge of the bed. "No problem, Andrea. Your turn."

He pumped in and out, harder than she wanted, determined to give the bitch absolutely no pleasure. Andrea's fingers clawed uselessly at his hand as his ass clenched with the force of his thrust.

The world was full of stupid sluts that continually fucked over every part of his life with their inane bullshit. Fucking Andrea! Marcus ceased to see anything but a red film of burning rage. Women were the root of all evil, back to the very first, that wicked slut named Eve.

He brought to mind the vision of Alexandra Winters, whimpering with both fear and wanting beneath him. He needed to violate every single part of that little bitches body. Bring her to heel beneath him. Then, he would move on to test her tolerance for much, much worse.

Finally, mercifully, jetted his hot seed all over Andrea's back. Marcus dimly came to realize that he might actually have two dead women on the bed. But... he had blessedly come.

Perhaps he had choked dear Andrea just a bit too hard this time. Was she really dead too? The idea of it all made him laugh out loud. Of all the times he had come close to killing her for her ridiculously low I.Q., it had to actually happen today. Just a few seconds too much pressure, and wham. It said something about him, though, something very negative. His control, his accuracy, was definitely slipping.

After showering and dressing, he rolled the bodies of both women in the sheets and comforter like stupid, little mummies, their mouths wrapped shut forever, and backed his BMW to the door.

Luckily, there was no blood. But, even if the local yokels figured out that a crime had been committed, and managed to find his DNA, he was untraceable. There was no real Marcus Allen. How could you trace someone who never actually had a given name?

Once they were loaded, and the room straightened, with an extra two Benjamins thrown on the bed for the cost of the covers, he took a grateful moment to sit in the driver's seat, with the circulated air on full blast, simply breathing. In and out, in and out, cool, sterile air. He rubbed his temples; he relaxed the knots in his shoulders.

So soothing. God, he loved this car. It was the only thing that could alleviate his stress. Those few moments were all that it took to bring his heart rate back to a cool 62 beats per minute, and sharpen his vision to full, keen clarity.

Marcus knew he had one more stop to make before he disappeared into another state, another name, another persona, just as he always did. He needed his full mental acuity. If he played this game just right, somewhere in the solitude of Eden Ranch, he could allow Alexandra Winters to scream.

Waiting for Eden ~*~*~*~*~*~.

Chapter 21.

Jamie watched the bounce and glint of Alex's hair as she cantered her stallion off and down the lane. Both human and equine manes shimmered alike in the waning afternoon sunlight that filtered intermittently through the distant gathering clouds. He allowed himself to appreciate the smooth curve of her ass, tilted just a little to fit the burnished leather saddle beneath it. Gorgeous picture all around.

There was something awe-inspiring about a hot, athletic woman on horseback that could not be measured in terms of sex appeal a it was simply art, pure and natural. It made him hard and want to write poetry all in the same moment. He chuckled to himself at the thought.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his rampantly churning thoughts and after-sex glow. His little brother was calling.