Love For Rent by K.C. Cave Page B

plastic container in the other. They both wore hiking shorts and T-shirts.
    “I’m hungry. And why don’t you take off your clothes?”
    They ignored her.
    Junie hopscotched from rock to rock and scrambled up the bank to the clearing where their daypacks leaned against some trees. A few minutes later, Michael and Melanie joined Junie, now munching on trail mix and seated at a rustic picnic table. Michael distributed sandwiches as the women poured ice tea from an insulated bottle into plastic cups.
    “Junie, about what you were saying in the car,” said Melanie, seated across the table from her. “There’s nothing we can do to change your mind?”
    “A contract’s a contract. Michael signed it. It’s got another month.”
    Michael looked at his nude wife. She had stripped off her clothes on the hike in, and he knew her well enough that she was probably horny as hell. She always got horny when she was nude outdoors.
    “If both parties agree, a contract can be changed,” he pointed out.
    “You can’t make me,” Junie said. “There’s nothing you can say or do that’ll change my mind. You agreed to wear an acrylic cock cage for a year, and it’s been eleven months. I own your penis.”
    Melanie looked down at her half-eaten sandwich. “I didn’t sign a contract that said I can’t make love to him.”
    “Tough shit,” Junie spat. “The party started before you got here. You knew the deal when you moved in with us.”
    “Junie, you’re a bitch. Every morning and nearly every evening you make love to me. At least twice a week, Michael’s in your bed servicing you. It’s not fair. We want to have, you know, normal sex.”
    “Too fucking bad.” Junie put down her sandwich and strode to a birch tree at the side of the clearing, her bare ass twitching provocatively. Turning, she leaned against the tree, churning her ass cheeks into the rough bark.
    “Come on. Tie me up. Do your worst. Make me change my mind. I know you won’t hit me,” she shot at Michael. “So how can you make me change my mind? I have a pussy, but you are a pussy.”
    Michael arched his eyebrows and looked at Melanie. Yes, he loved his wife. But since Melanie had moved in with them two months ago, he discovered they were a good match. The result was an intense longing for penis-in-vagina sex—strictly forbidden under Michael’s chastity contract.
    He walked to his daypack and removed a pair of handcuffs and a nylon strap, the kind you snug around a suitcase so it doesn’t fly open on the airport luggage carousel. Hefting the cuffs, he approached his wife. Junie’s jaw jutted defiantly.
    “Tough bitch, huh?” Michael said. “Meanest hombre west of the Pecos, is that right? Put your arms behind you.”
    “Fuck you,” Junie snarled, and pushed her hands behind her back. “You gonna fuck me? Oh, I forgot. You’re peepee is in a cage. So you gonna splash me with cold water? Tickle me ?”
    Michael cuffed her wrists behind her and wrapped the nylon belt around her waist and the tree, snugging it tight.
    Junie seethed, her small breasts jutting, her narrow hips churning, the cleft between her legs prominent below her abundant bush.
    Melanie got up from the table, picked up the flat container full of water and walked over to her.
    “What’s that?” Junie looked puzzled.
    “Our crayfish collection,” Melanie said. Fewer than a dozen of the miniature lobsters darted around the container, about eight inches square. The largest was two inches long. Most were about an inch.
    “They’re fascinating to watch in the stream,” Michael said. “They’re incredibly fast, too. See, they swim backwards. Took a while to catch these.”
    “Giving up vegetarianism?” Junie sneered.
    “I’m not going to hurt them. Catch and release, that’s my motto.”
    Junie looked quizzical, but didn’t say anything.
    Melanie handed the container to Michael, who held it up so that Junie could see. “Watch,” she said, and put a finger in the