Chapter 4

Elena’s alarm buzzed—two hours earlier than usual.

Still sore, she forced herself out of bed. Her legs protested. Her back twinged. She made it to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and stared at her reflection for a long moment. After a deep breath, she pushed forward.

From her dresser, she pulled on a pair of black spandex shorts and a matching sports bra. After grabbing ankle socks, she headed downstairs.

Her mother was already in the kitchen, flipping eggs in a skillet. “You’re up early,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

Elena opened the fridge, took out a water bottle, and nodded. “After seeing Carol again ... I just want to get in better shape. Keep up with her.”

Her mom smiled. “Stretch well, and watch for traffic.”

Outside, the early morning air was crisp and clean. Elena stood for a moment on the front lawn, letting the coolness soak into her skin. She began stretching—calves, hamstrings, shoulders—wincing now and then, but refusing to stop.

Fifteen minutes later, she started running. The route was second nature. Quiet streets. Hills that came exactly where she remembered. She didn’t count distance or time. She ran until her side cramped and her lungs gave out. Then she walked until she caught her breath and jogged the last stretch back home.

Three blocks from her house, she shifted into a slower pace—cooling down with long strides, breathing steady. When she reached the driveway, the space was empty. Her mom had already left for work.

Inside, she stripped off her sweat-damp clothes, carried them upstairs, and dropped them in the laundry.

In the shower, the hot water stung her sore legs and shoulder. The sting felt clean. Earned.

Still wet, she brushed out her hair and left it loose. She padded back downstairs to the kitchen and made her own breakfast: oatmeal, fresh fruit, black coffee. She ate slowly at the counter, watching sunlight crawl across the floor tiles. After cleaning up and getting dressed, she grabbed her keys and headed to work.

Each morning that week, she followed the same rhythm: up before dawn, out the door, running farther, adding push-ups, sit-ups, longer stretches. Her body adjusted. Her form improved. The soreness faded, but the discipline stayed.

By Friday, she moved with strength instead of stiffness. After work, she drove straight to the hospital. Her dad was coming home that day.

She’d already texted Marcus earlier in the week—letting him know she wouldn’t be returning that weekend. She needed time to help her mom with family matters. He hadn’t pushed back. Not yet. He understood.

Each morning, Elena kept running—longer distances, faster strides.

The soreness had faded, but the restlessness hadn’t. No matter how far she pushed her body, the tightness in her chest stayed locked in place. Her thoughts ran in circles—tight, endless loops that always led back to the same two names: Marcus and Carol.

She told herself she wasn’t going back. She’d told herself that before—after her first visit, then again after the second. Marcus had never forced her. That was the worst part. He used no threats, no ultimatums. Just soft instructions. Small choices, and somehow, every path led deeper.

Carol was still there. That had been the excuse. It mattered. At least she believed it had. She tried not to think about the walk. The woods. The road. The town lights just beyond the trees. The moment Marcus had taken her from behind, her body exposed, on display. The way her body had responded—betrayed her.

The orgasms had cum hard and fast. Relentless. They hadn’t felt wrong in the moment. The shame she expected afterward wasn’t as sharp as it had been in the hospital. In fact, it barely registered. Worse, part of her had liked it. She had been masturbating since she was thirteen, but nothing—not fingers, not fantasies—had touched what Marcus had introduced her to. Not even close.

That thought had stuck with her all week. Not the sex itself. The fantasy that bloomed afterward. She had wondered—just for a second—what would’ve happened if someone had seen them. If someone had stopped their car, or stepped out of the building she touched. If someone had looked directly at her.

The thought had made her wet, and that terrified her. She had been raised in a home where nudity was normal. Natural. It was never sexual. Never public. She had boundaries. Standards. Self-respect. So why had the risk made her cum harder?

Why was she thinking less about Carol and more about what Marcus might do next? Would he lead her out again? Dare her to go farther?

Was she going back for her friend—or to be shown off and used again? Forced to cum for an invisible audience? What would happen when the audience is no longer invisible? The thought made her cheeks flush. She couldn’t answer it—not yet.

The weekend after her father returned home, Elena stood in the kitchen, water bottle in hand.

“I took a second, part-time job,” she told her mother. “On a ranch outside of town. Just weekends. They cover room and board.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. “Take sunscreen,” she said. “Don’t overdo it.”

Elena packed her overnight bag with quiet care. This time, she brought clothes—but doubted she would need them. Not there.

As she neared the estate, she slowed at the familiar bend in the road. She pulled off just out of sight from the gate. Hands steady, she stepped out of the car and undressed.

Each piece was folded and placed in her bag. The air was cool against her skin, stirring sensations that were no longer foreign—but still potent. She opened her purse, found the gold bells, and clipped them to her nipple rings. The familiar weight, the soft chime, sent a shiver through her chest.

She drove the final stretch barefoot, heart pounding—not with fear, but with anticipation. The gate opened for her. She didn’t hesitate.

At the main entrance, the butler was waiting. Elena left the keys in the ignition and stepped out of the car, naked, eyes forward. The butler was waiting. He said nothing, only offered a polite nod before sliding into the driver’s seat. The air kissed her bare skin—chest, thighs, the backs of her knees. She didn’t flinch.

A maid appeared inside the doorway. Eyes lowered. Hands folded. She stepped forward, took Elena’s overnight bag without a word, and vanished into the house—presumably to deliver it to her room.

Another maid stood waiting at the threshold and gestured for Elena to follow. She walked like she belonged there. Each step was steady, deliberate. Her skin prickled with that strange tension again—not fear, not quite excitement. Something deeper. Something unnamed.

At the back patio, two more maids waited beside Elena’s pair of polished hoof boots. They knelt and slid them on her feet with practiced ease, sliding their hands up the sides to removed trapped air. When Elena stood again, she felt taller. More balanced. The boots didn’t throw her of balance this time.

She turned on her own. No one had to lead her. She walked to the barn alone. The doors stood open ahead.

When Elena stepped into the barn, the scent of leather, earth, and something faintly sweet hit her immediately—sweat and saddle oil, hay, and a hint of something floral, like perfume left in the air too long.

She paused just past the threshold. The barn had once made her nervous. Now it made her body hum. Her back straightened. Her hands moved instinctively behind her. The weight of the bells reminded her who she was here—and who she wasn’t allowed to be.

She walked forward, the hoof boots clicking loudly against the worn concrete floor. She didn’t know yet what waited for her, but she knew she wanted it—whatever it was.

Carol stood waiting with her trainer, already bridled and harnessed, eyes bright and focused. At Amber’s nod, Carol stepped forward and took Elena gently by the hand. No words were exchanged.

They walked together past the tack wall and grooming benches, toward the shower area at the rear of the barn. Elena knew what was coming. She expected the enema station. She did not expect what came first.

Carol reached for a bottle of thick, grainy body wash and began spreading it across Elena’s skin. The texture was coarse—slightly abrasive—and the scent was earthy, grounded in clay and sage with a hint of something floral underneath.

Carol worked slowly and with care, scrubbing her arms, her shoulders, her chest, her legs. Elena stood still, shivering slightly under the unexpected intimacy of it. The soap wasn’t painful, but it was abrasive. Her skin flushed in response, nerves firing just beneath the surface.