The Ox Who Got the Cream Ch. 04

****

Bork peered around Reggie's bedroom door. It was a weird little room, egg-shell white, sparsely furnished. Just a bed, a small table, a giant plasma taking up most of one wall.

Reggie sat on a small, brown square cushion, playing a video game.

"What are you doing?" Bork asked.

"Brushing my teeth," Reggie listlessly answered, eyes transfixed by the screen, his fingers rapidly pressing the controller.

"Smartass," Bork muttered. "I wanna ask you somethin'."

Reggie impatiently pursed his lips, paused the game and used the remote to change channels. Whenever he was interrupted, he always changed to the news channel, avoiding the frozen gameplay image. It was one of his ticks; one of the many creative ways he was punished in the nuthouse.

Keeping his cross-legged position, Reggie twisted around to face Bork. "What is it, sunshine?"

"What do you think about Zole and that broad?"

Reggie shrugged. "It's not my place to think anything about it. He's tasked us to find her. And we've both said in the past that he needs a steady woman."

"Yeah." Bork uncomfortably rubbed the back of his neck. "But that bit about us answerin' to her..."

"So what?" Reggie answered. "It's not like he'll let her run the place. He'll toy with her for a while, then she'll go in the box and come out like new."

Bork brightened. "You think?"

Reggie shrugged, casting an impatient glance at the news. "Have I answered your question?"

"Guess. I'm kinda surprised you..." Bork considered his words. "You don't seem against the idea."

"Well, Zole won't continue our campaign of terror until she's found," Reggie said in a mild matter-of-fact tone. "So, we should find her."

"You seem for it, more like," Bork elaborated.

"Did you see the way she handled herself?" Reggie said distantly, his eyes locked on the news. "No, you didn't. Pissed me off at the time, but in hindsight, it was kind of cool. Can you imagine if he selected some drug-addled bimbo?"

"She won't be yer mother, you know," Bork leaned in pointedly with crossed arms. "And Zole ain't yer dad."

A slight disdainful smile touched Reggie's lips. "Of course not."

Bork rolled his eyes, his attention moving to the flashing footage of a couple entering a swanky hotel. "Look at those rich bastards."

"Yeah." Swivelling back to the TV to continue his game, Reggie froze with the remote pointed. Instead of switching channels, he paused the live screen and stared.

Bork rolled his eyes. "Yeah, she's stunning. Wouldn't expect less for that schmoozer," he flatly commented, observing Reggie's fascination with a smiling couple enduring camera flashlights. "What? Has puberty finally hit you?"

"When I was in the asylum, a lot of the staff wore masks when they tormented me," Reggie said softly, lowering the remote, intently staring at the screen. "I could single them out if they had blue or green eyes. I could never tell the darker colours apart."

"Yeah, my heart bleeds for you," Bork said in a bored tone. "Let me get my mini violin and write a sad sonnet."

"You mean a score," Reggie distantly answered, a big grin spreading across his face. "Look at her, Bork. Just look at her."

"I'm not gonna be your jerk-off buddy," Bork snorted, already retreating.

"LOOK!" Reggie shouted unexpectedly. "It's her. It's the fox."

Bork jumped with fright when Reggie yelled, and tentatively stepped into the room for a better look. "What? Cain's new girlfriend?"

"Fiancé," Reggie mused, leaning back on his palms. "She has very distinct green eyes. Like a cat."

"You think Cain knows?"

Reggie shook his head and almost smiled. "Cain's as dim-witted as they come. She'd be a fool to tell him."

"That don't make no sense," Bork argued, glaring at Layla's image on the screen, suddenly finding it offensive. "If she has any smarts, why would she...?"

"Cain can afford everything she needs, whilst being too vague to notice her spending," Reggie easily answered. "So, she has money, and a good mentor."

"Mentor?" Bork said with slow stupidity.

Reggie softly laughed, increasingly gleeful about this serendipitous discovery. "Oxman, dummy."

"Are you sure it's her?" Bork squinted. "I don't see it."

"That's because you were unconscious after she kicked you in the face," Reggie responded.

"Didn't she get you in the head, too?"

"More of a touch-down," Reggie shrugged. "I'm certain it's her. Go tell Zole."

****

Since their engagement party commenced, Truce and Layla were inseparable. Truce was very eye-catching in a dashing black suit, Layla wore a two-piece dress; a sleek, white silk top with a flowing blue-black skirt. Parts of her soft blonde hair were artistically secured with a jewelled navy clasp, the rest flowing down her back like pale gold.

"George." Truce shook Layla's father's hand, his other arm firmly curled around Layla's hip.

"Truce," George grinned his greeting, and leaned to kiss Layla's cheek. "You been a good girl?"

"No," she answered sweetly.

"Well, if he can't tame you then no one can," George comfortably concluded. "So? When's the wedding?"

Truce and Layla shrugged together.

"Well, don't wait too long," George raised an eyebrow at Truce before his attention moved past him to where Layla's mother was having an animated discussion with the caterer. "My other half is commencing her routine military interrogation with the waitstaff. Excuse me."

Layla giggled into Truce's shoulder. "Mom always does that."

Truce curiously peered down at her. "Why?"

"Years ago, there was a mishap at a party she hosted. They didn't label the ingredients correctly and it was an allergy disaster."

"Yikes," Truce grimaced, steering Layla towards the bar. "I hope no one died."

"No, but it was pretty bad," Layla admitted, slightly twisting in his hold. "You know, your arm has been around my waist literally since we walked through the entrance."

"So?"

"So, it's not like Zole is going to snatch me here."

"So?"

"Well..." Layla slightly shook her head, lost for words.

"This is our engagement party," Truce protested. "I'm not allowed to show my affection?"

"I feel like a Siamese twin," Layla laughed, pushing against his chest when he tightened his hold. "The weaker twin."

"I love the idea of being permanently joined together at the hips," he murmured wickedly.

"Shh!" Layla insisted, glancing around them.

"Oh, you two are so adorable!" cooed a woman Layla had never met.

The guest was a stoic brunette, with model-like features in a shimmering black gown. Layla took an immediate dislike to the woman and her familiarity with Truce.

"Hi, Anita," Truce smiled, his fingers teasingly tickled Layla's side. "Glad you could make it."

"Well, I had to meet the fabled woman who's taken your heart!" Anita declared dramatically.

"Very well. Anita, meet Layla, the love of my life." Truce pressed a cheeky kiss to the top of Layla's head, giving her stiff figure a comforting squeeze. He could feel the hostility radiating from her. "Anita is Gothic City's most coveted interior decorator."

"Oh, Truce, you're such an exaggerator," Anita tittered, glancing up at the tall man who joined them. "Garrick, have you met Layla yet?"

"Nope," Garrick kissed his wife's cheek and smiled at Layla. "Congratulations, my dear. Quite the man, you've captured."

"Well, really, she is devastatingly beautiful," Anita countered, playfully elbowing Garrick. "Truce is the one punching above his weight."

They all laughed, Truce mostly laughing at how quickly Layla's tension dissipated with the arrival of Anita's husband. The married couple departed in search of food, leaving them alone again.

"Brrr, Layla! That was one cold reception. I can still feel the ice," Truce remarked, looking very entertained. "You know, I never envisioned you to be the jealous type."

"I'm not!" Layla protested indignantly. "I just thought she was a bit forward in the beginning."

"Translation - you immediately assumed she was an ex-girlfriend who still wanted me," Truce chuckled. "I swear your eyes sparked. It was very sexy."

Looking murderous, Layla poked his ribs. "I'll kick your ass in front of all these people."

"Big threat coming from my fiancé who has yet to say she loves me," Truce mildly countered.

"You bring that up now?" Layla scowled. "You have a better chance of my death-grip on your nuts."

"Kinky!" Truce laughed, cupping her face. "I've chased you for too long to let petty things get in my way."

"So, have you slept with her?" Layla demanded, watching his face.

"No," Truce simply answered. "Remember what I told you about pretending to be a playboy?"

Layla suspiciously nodded.

"I wasn't lying," Truce smiled. "Feel better?"

Layla haughtily turned her nose up, which offered her lips for the taking. Truce took the opportunity and kissed her.

"Mmm... Truce!" Layla broke the kiss with a weak laugh. "My dad's watching!"

"Then he's a pervert," he grinned, his arms firm about her waist. "You know, I began to despair that I'd never get you to this point. Engaged to me. Letting me touch you. In public."

"Sounds like you had a list of things," Layla accused, reaching to accept a flute of champagne from a passing tray.

"Oh, I'd say that's the tip of the iceberg," Truce said devilishly. "So, you'd better drink up."

Back at Truce's mansion, Layla found herself on her knees, straddling Truce's face, grinding in a slow rhythm.

Smiling into her pussy, Truce relished in the taste, the wet heat of her swollen sex lightly pulsing against his mouth. He reached around and cupped her buttocks, squeezing the toned flesh, bringing her closer.

"Oh, God," Layla moaned, her palms pressed to the wall and sliding down to grip the headboard. The tip of Truce's tongue found her aching clit, flicked it in a beckoning motion and finally pursing his lips around it.

"N-No!" Layla uttered, squirming against the pressure of his hands clenched on her ass, managing to distance herself.

"What?" Truce asked thickly, entirely distracted by her delicious pussy in his face.

"I want..." Layla whined, pushing back against his hands, dizzily reaching behind to curl her fingers around his flexing cock. "This."

"Hmm," Truce drawled in a deep, contemplative tone. He wanted her to cum in his mouth, then fuck her. But he couldn't refuse her desire, especially where his cock was concerned. "Okay."

Layla wriggled back and Truce's hands slid from her ass-cheeks, up her trim waist to cup her breasts. She lifted her hips, locking eyes with Truce as she lowered down.

Truce dropped his dark gaze to her spread pussy, watching his thick length sink into her pink hole, her beautiful flesh, her engorged clit, very aroused.

"Oh, fuck, yes," he grunted, gripping the curves of Layla's hips to move her up and down, liking the sight of his cock glistening with her slick juice.

Layla tossed her hair back, rocking on top of Truce, lost in the moment.

Truce intently watched Layla's gorgeous face as she moved, the rise and fall of her breasts, her pussy stretching around his cock. He began to gently play with her, his muscular chest expanding as his climax built.

"Come with me, Layla," he muttered huskily, shuddering under her.

Layla moaned louder, her taut thighs trembling as she lifted and sank down on his thick shaft with increasing force, moving against his fingers toying with her love button.

"Oh, God," Layla panted, stiffening on top of him. "Oh, God, Truce...!"

Truce sat up; his arm banded around Layla's torso as he shoved back against the headboard.

Layla whimpered when she was drawn tightly forward, flush against the heat of his chest, her clit pressed to his abdomen, his cock stiffening even more.

"Fuck me," Truce muttered, his other hand sliding around the nape of her neck to pull their lips together. "God, Layla, fuck me!"

Desperately thrusting, Layla's cry was muffled by Truce's mouth. They kissed deeply, straining against each other. The vibration of Layla's continued moaning set Truce over the edge. He groaned into her mouth, his body shuddered and with a low growl he emptied into her.

Exhausted and trembling, Layla's head dropped to Truce's shoulder, her thighs starting to ache. She felt immensely full, the warmth of Truce's cum flooding her channel, his cock still working in and out as he drew out his pleasure.

"Oh, man." Truce's damp forehead rested on Layla's breast. He couldn't resist the temptation of trying to catch her swollen nipple in his mouth.

Layla made a small, tired sound when he did, and began to wriggle and push against him. Hoarsely chuckling, Truce allowed her to withdraw, his softening cock sliding out of her soaked hole, a copious amount of cum seeping out down his thigh.

***

Layla had no choice but to acknowledge her prior bitter demeanour had a lot to do with the fact she needed to get properly laid. Since her frequent hot trysts with Truce, her mood was particularly free-spirited.

After wrapping up a delightful morning tea with an old school friend, she swanned down a main street with her glorious blonde hair out and a big smile lighting her pretty face.

The sun was high, a perfect breeze ruffled Layla's hair and clothing, she was engaged to a very sexy male who made her heart sing in and out of the bedroom. She was all set to commence the future of her dreams. The world was wonderful.

Humming loudly, Layla turned a corner and only had time to gasp at the confronting vision of Bork's menacing face before her head was enveloped in darkness.

The cloth was clearly designed for easy breathing, but she couldn't see a thing. She didn't have the time or presence of mind to gather enough voice for a good scream for help, before she was lifted up and onto a surface that immediately rumbled, the surrounds lurching left and right. She was being driven somewhere.

"Hold her down, she's flailing around."

This was yet another teachable moment where Layla wished she had heeded Truce's advice. He'd wanted to spar with her blindfolded; teach her to hit out at an assailant effectively, build upon those instincts and most importantly, not panic with the sudden loss of vision.

But Layla brushed it aside for another time, or never. She wasn't particularly eager to stagger around like an idiot whilst being obscenely man-handled by Truce and inevitably pinned down and fucked.

Now entirely vulnerable in the dark, Layla frantically struggled to trigger her personal alarm. Her hands were seized and tied at the wrists, then pulled down her body, pushing her breasts out.

"Well, look at these."

Layla flinched at the lecherous silkiness of Bork's voice. He was sitting on her, not using his full weight but she was definitely pinned between his legs. Someone was holding her ankles.

Layla swallowed under the hood when her shirt was dragged up, the rage in her building when coarse fingertips traced the soft curves of her cleavage.

Inevitably, the hand slipped into the cup of her bra, a thumb roughly pressing her nipple to stand attention. Two hands now, sliding down her bra, slowly drawing her breasts into the open.

"Holy shit. These...are..." The voice turned breathless, filled with a begrudging admiration. "All natural. Fucking amazing. If Zole's a tits-man..."

"You shouldn't do that," advised the person holding her ankles. "The Poker said..."

"Zole said 'unharmed'!" Bork snapped, his grip on Layla's breasts tightening with anger. "I'm not hurtin' her. Tie her feet."

Layla flinched when Bork pinched her nipples and began to roll them between his fingers, tweaking them relentlessly. She didn't comment, not even when he slightly lowered himself to rub the bulge of his dick across her stomach, his breathing lustily deepened.

"Nothin' to say, princess?" he panted, leaning toward the hood.

Layla grit her teeth as Bork peeled the material up slightly, his tongue slithered up her neck but stopped at her jawline, unwilling to risk pulling the hood higher to give her vision.

"Gawd, I bet you're soft like this all over," Bork groaned against her skin.

Layla took her mind back to when she'd kicked the bastard in the face, dragged his sorry ass up a wall and dropped him. She wasn't going to beg. She also wasn't sure if she'd managed to activate the alarm, because it was purposefully silent. Worst case scenario, it could be tracked...once Felix realised something was wrong. Her purse was lying on the sidewalk, that was the only clue left behind.

The van slowed down. Whoever bound her ankles hopped out and shut the door. The driver turned off the engine.

"Get out," Bork told him. "Don't bother me for a good twenty minutes."

The driver hesitated, then left and lightly locked the door after him. Now, Layla was extremely nervous. Bork was clearly rebelling against orders, and she was probably about to lose a lot of clothing. Would Bork know how to unlatch Felix's belt? Would he recognise what it was?

"Don't worry, gorgeous, I won't go too far," Bork muttered, the bulk of him tensed with excitement. "I just want something to nut to later on..."

Layla stiffened when Bork's hand snaked down the front of her pants, completely bypassing the belt at her mid-section. Her feet strained against the binds as his fingers searched for her pussy.

Footsteps approached and Bork whipped his hand away, frantically pushed Layla's breasts back into her bra and pulled her shirt down. He managed to scramble back in time as the van door slid open with force.

"What's taking so long?" said a cold voice. "What are you doing?"

"W-What are you so high and mighty about!" Bork protested defensively, clearly flustered. "I'm just gettin' her ready!"

Under the hood, Layla felt the intruder's attention scan her body, her disrupted clothes. She couldn't place the voice, but it wasn't the Poker. He sounded youthfully refined; the complete opposite of Bork.

"What?" Bork said irritably, clearly in response to an accusatory look from the newcomer.

"You shouldn't mistreat one of ours."

"I wasn't! And she isn't!" Bork growled, and even in total darkness Layla had a very strong sense Bork was tempted to kick her.

The moment passed.

"He knows what you're up to," the voice addressed Bork again. "He's really disappointed. I'll take her from here."

Bork cursed under his breath and exited the van. Layla didn't move.

"I'm sorry about Bork. I was meant to come along, but I'm not good at the rough-and-ready stuff. Can you sit up?" the voice politely inquired.

Layla curled upright, tensing when a hand gripped her upper arm.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, gently navigating her feet toward the exit. "If it gives you any comfort, I've experienced this a thousand times."

It didn't give Layla any comfort. But she did feel better when her hands and feet were untied.

"There are guns pointed at you. In case you want to use my head as a landing-pad," her captor said matter-of-factly.

So, it was Zole's other henchman. And he remembered her. Layla was surprised he brought it up so cordially. After being carefully guided out of the van, she felt the moment she'd stepped out of the sun and into shade.

"Close your eyes when I take this off, then open them carefully," he directed her. "Or, you can just open them and adjust the hard way."

Layla took a deep breath as the hood was removed. She slowly opened her eyes, shaking tousled hair from her face and blinking uncomfortably as the light pierced her vision. Eventually she recognised Zole's young black-haired accomplice from the wharf. The one who was callously prepared to film a girl's rape before she interrupted it. Now, he was staring at her, his dark eyes unreadable.