Quinton's Crucible

by Trent Evans

  Fear’s icy fingers gripped my heart then. Was she lying? Trying to fuck with my head? Were they going to kill me instead? No, it made no sense to go to all this effort only to kill me. If she was telling the truth, and my father really did know about this — then I wasn’t going to live. There was something else going on. Still, the imagery the words engendered in my mind made my mouth go dry. I had to keep it together.

  This is what she wants you to think, idiot. Don’t play her game.

  The blonde repositioned herself, and she jammed her knee against me, forcing my spine to bend, the small of my back to hollow yet further.

  “I want you to stay as still and quiet as you can for these,” Anna said, her voice preternaturally calm. “These are going to hurt, but if you make too much noise, I’ll be forced to gag you.”

  The heel of Anna’s boot came down on the chain hobbling my ankles, the steel links skirring against the concrete. My feet wouldn’t be going anywhere, whatever was coming next.

  Without warning, the crop snapped down in rapid strokes, lacing me diagonally from the tops of my cheeks down almost to my thighs. The fire raged higher with each burning stripe, my groans and grunts transforming to staccato cries as the crop etched its lines of misery across my ass.

  Then there was nothing, the only sound in the room my panting breaths, the blood rushing in my ears. It felt as if my entire ass was swelling, the flames both licking across the surface of my skin and digging deep into my buttocks, straight to my core. Sweat had broken out upon the backs of my thighs, stinging against the handprints left there by the blonde. My eyes watered, and I tried to focus on the floor, my vision blurry.

  You will not shed one fucking tear. Not one.

  “It’s okay, he’s fine,” Anna said. The elbow released from the back of my head, but the blonde’s knee still cranked down upon my back.

  I refused to look up at her. It was what she wanted. I wasn’t going to play her bullshit game. Anna crouched down in front of me again, and fingers submerged in my hair, the nails scratching my scalp as the fist squeezed tight. Wrenching my head up, she locked her gaze with mine, her eyes glittering, mouth curved in a smile.

  “Another rule for you now.” The leather shaft of the crop was held just a breath from my lips. “You will always kiss your instrument of correction, whether it’s my hand, this crop, or the dozen other implements you’ll soon feel across that tender backside of yours. And you’ll thank me for correcting you.”

  I summoned up what precious little saliva I had left and spat on the crop.

  “Oh, dear,” Anna said, with a gentle sigh.

  Chapter 6

  It should have surprised her, his arrogance, his willfulness. She was quickly learning though that there seemed to be no end to the man’s rage.

  She’d find it though, no matter how long it took, no matter how painful and harrowing the journey for him might be. He was in there, somewhere.

  First though, there was the establishment of the power dynamic, the boundaries, the expectations.

  And she wasn’t ashamed to admit she’d enjoy it.

  “Looks like we do this the hard way,” Anna said, rising once more. “Seems our guest doesn’t know how to follow directions.”

  “Come on, asshole,” Darynn sneered. “On your feet.”

  He grunted as the blonde woman hauled him up by the hair, his eyes squeezed tight, his teeth gritting. Quinton was tougher than he looked, Anna had to give him that, but it was very early. She’d break him down.

  It was only a matter of when, not if.

  Anna sensed the tension in her friend. She could feel the hatred seething within her, the loathing. Darynn might have projected the image of the hardened, aloof alpha bitch, but Anna knew better. The woman had read the same files Anna had — and had been just as disturbed by them.

  That boded very ill for one Quinton Trask.

  Anna took a step back into the deep shadows, watching him as he looked around, the man trying to get his bearings, a sense of his surroundings. But she wasn’t about to let him catch his balance. He’d need to learn, and soon, that such a thing would never be allowed — until he’d deserved it.

  Surprisingly, Quinton didn’t fight as Darynn attached the chain linking the cuffs at his wrist to another, thicker chain descending from above.

  “You’ve already bound me.” He looked in Anna’s general direction, as if the man wasn’t entirely sure where she was. He smacked the chain with his knuckles, the metal links swaying and twisting like a steel snake dangling from a tree branch. “So what’s the point in this? Let’s drop the bullshit and talk about what you’re really after.”

  “And what’s that, tough guy?” Darynn hissed at his ear. She stepped away, leaving him alone in the brilliant light.

  “Money, of course. I have it, you want it.” He squared his shoulders, glancing up. “We can cut a deal. Don’t even have to let this get out. I know how this shit works.”

  Anna nodded at Darynn, who punched the button on the wall, the hum of the winch a soft vibration in her chest.

  “Wait… what the fuck?” Quinton looked up, pulling hard against the rising chain. It was a futile gesture though, the winch’s motor strong enough to lift a four ton truck clean off the ground. Within moments, his arms were raised straight above him, the bound man rising onto his toes to maintain contact with the ground.

  “That’s good.” Anna twirled the crop in the air before her. “Let’s see if he’ll listen to reason now.”

  Darynn stooped behind Quinton, yanking down on his pants again, leaving them a twisted bundle at the top of the cuffs hobbling his ankles together. His thighs were thick with muscle, the hamstrings taut. But those same thighs trembled too, their obvious power of no help to him as he hung from the winch’s chain. Darynn took hold of the tail of his shirt, rucking it up his back, revealing the smooth planes of muscle there. The fabric fell back down though, and she cursed softly.

  “This is gonna be in the way,” Darynn said, glancing over at her.

  “Cut it off then.”

  This time Quinton did struggle, leaning away from Darynn until losing his balance, swinging out over the floor as his toes scrabbled against the concrete. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? I’m cooperating!”

  “Your shirt isn’t,” Darynn murmured, the silvery blade catching the light as she pulled her knife from the sheath at her ankle. She grasped his hip firmly, stilling his swinging. Quinton froze as she indented the curve of his smooth buttock with the sharp tip of the knife. “Stay still now, boy. You move around and I might… nick you.”

  Anna’s breath came on faster as she watched the sharp blade make quick work of the expensive shirt, the sound of the blade cleaving through the fabric almost a whisper, a promise of things soon to come.

  “You fucking… you can’t do this shit.”

  “Oh, but we can, and we are,” Anna intoned, pacing behind him as Darynn slit through each arm, all the way down to the cuff, finally yanking the shredded fabric away.

  “Got your attention now?” Darynn tapped the steel blade against his naked shoulder.

  The man was more powerfully built than Anna had been able to determine during their short initial meeting in that holding cell. He’d given every impression of the spoiled playboy, but now, naked save for the slacks bunched at his feet, she could take him in for what he truly was.

  Though tough to tell for sure with his arms extended so high, his shoulders appeared pleasingly broad, the muscle there hard, and well-defined. The back, wider than she expected, narrowed pleasingly to trim hips, and round, but compact buttocks, the muscles there twitching as if knowing her gaze coursed over them. Though the upper curves still sported a handful of marks from his previous introduction to her crop, the lower slopes looked as pure and unblemished as wind-driven snow.

  Those buttocks would not remain that way for long.

  But it was what she saw emblazoned across the back of his right shoulder. In deep, dark greens
, purples and blacks, a tattoo of a dragon stretched from almost to his spine to just under the crown of his shoulder. It was a beautiful design, but Anna felt something rise within her at the sight of it, a feeling she hadn’t ever expected to experience again.

  Possessiveness.

  But it was more than that, for overlaid over that primitive, territorial feeling was an irritation, a sort of exasperated anger that the ink was there, part of him now as much as his flesh and bone.

  It wasn’t because the mark was there that bothered her. No, it was the fact that it hadn’t been her mark, hadn’t been the tattoo she’d ordered for him, hadn’t been that pain, that ordeal she’d forced him to undergo at her whim.

  There’s danger in this, Anna.

  “I’ll give you half a million dollars,” he blurted out. “Today — if you let me go. I can even pay you in cash if you give me a few hours.”

  “He still doesn’t get it,” Darynn said, sneering, her arms crossed under her bosom. The blonde’s breasts were not large, but they were well-shaped, the snug gray tank top she’d chosen flattering and showcasing her hard, ultra-fit physique.

  Rather than respond to Quinton’s frantic offer, Anna tapped the black flapper at the end of the crop against the under curve of his ass. The cheek flinched, and she pulled the crop back, flicking her wrist as she laid down a stroke every bit as hard as the ones she’d already given him.

  Quinton’s groan was one of pain, surprise, and he looked over his shoulder, though she was unsure if he could even see her.

  Anna laid down three more strokes in a flurry, and he threw his head back, yelling through tightly clenched teeth, the muscles at the base of his throat standing out in stark relief under the harsh shaft of light from above.

  She paused to stroke the swelling, darkening marks laced across the expanse of his ass, the flesh already hot. Quinton was breathing hard, sucking in a deep breath then blowing it out in a way that made the chain above him quiver. “God… that hurts!”

  “I’m giving you three more, Quinton, then we can start again with what’s expected of you when you’re disciplined.” Anna tapped his shoulder, mockingly. “How’s that for a deal?”

  “You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice tight, an octave higher than before. “I’ll make it a million.”

  “Hit him harder and maybe he’ll make it two,” Darynn said, with a grin. “Baby needs shoes!”

  Anna snapped a trio of even stiffer strokes across his shuddering buttocks, the flesh jumping, the marks deepening, a mass of welts decorating the trim, vulnerable backside. He bit off a surprised yelp, his body arching back, his toes lifting from the floor as his cheeks clenched tight, the crevice squeezing to a thin, dark line bisecting the well-punished globes.

  Darynn cocked a thumb toward him. “See? A clencher.”

  Not for long.

  “Oh, Christ, no more! I’ll… I’ll do anything you want. Just… stop!”

  Anna leaned close, staying behind him, not letting him look at her. She ran the shaft of the crop in a sawing motion across his trembling buttocks. “You definitely will give me anything I want, but right now I want you to do as you’re told.”

  “W-what?”

  “You remember your first rule, yes?”

  He nodded, his breath coming in gasps. “Y-yes.”

  “Yet, you’ve been cussing like a sailor ever since. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  He said nothing, and she simply waited, knowing this was a small, but important, step. It sometimes only took the tiniest cooperation, the slightest capitulation to get the chain reaction started, that ever accelerating sequence of events, of thought, that would ultimately lead to what she knew he needed if he was to have a chance at coming through this a whole person.

  Surrender.

  “I’ll be… punished.” He said it as if each syllable was bitterly painful.

  Soon enough, he’d become quite familiar with what bitter pain really was.

  “Very good,” she said, unable to keep the smile from her voice, pure pleasure filling her at his tiny retreat, his first concrete acknowledgment that he knew he had no power here. “And I always keep my word. You will indeed be punished.” She tapped his ass with the crop lightly at each word. “Every. Single. Time.”

  “Too bad about the damned hobble,” Darynn said. “I’d like to see how his balls hang. Got a nice thin baton for them. Little whippy thing. Perfect for the job.”

  Quinton’s thighs squeezed tight, his legs forming one column of naked flesh. Darynn gave her a wink, the corner of her mouth curling.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to whip you some more, Quinton. You know this though.” Anna stroked the swollen line of a welt with the flapper, and he hissed. “After I’m through with you, you know what I expect, right?”

  “Yes…”

  She lowered her voice, the sound harsher than before. “And if you spit on my crop again, you’ll be one sorry boy, I assure you.”

  His entire body shuddered then, but surprisingly, he didn’t respond. Darynn’s eyes glittered as she looked on, giving Anna a little nod. She knew the sadistic blonde had been looking forward to this for a long time.

  And her wait was finally over.

  Anna slashed the crop across his upper back, and he jerked in his bonds, the pink line deepening upon flesh as yet unmarked.

  Taking up an easy rhythm, she paced back and forth behind him, drinking in his groans, his pained gasps as she crisscrossed his entire back with crop marks, the flapper leaving reddish smudges toward the right rib cage.

  His first cry, bursting forth through clenched jaws, came when she dropped another stroke across his ass, the mark crossing several previous welts. He muttered something under his breath, and she found herself hoping he’d manage to avoid cursing. Though she’d be lying if she said she wouldn’t enjoy it, she hoped he wouldn’t give her yet more reason to lay even more lines of fire across his backside.

  Finishing up with a quick flurry from the line of his shoulders all the way down to the upper slopes of his buttocks, she finally stopped, Quinton sagging in his bonds, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

  She allowed herself a quick caress of his ass, feeling the fine musculature of his buttocks, savoring the heat of his punished flesh upon her palm

  Words seemed beyond him then, and Anna smiled in the darkness.

  She brought the crop around and his body visibly cringed from it, the man already aware on a very instinctive level what the implement could bring him. But he froze as she lifted the leather up to his lips.

  The seconds slowed as she waited, knowing what happened in the next few moments would affect everything that was to come.

  Then she felt him press his lips to the shaft of the crop. It was more of a peck than anything, really. But it was enough.

  “Good boy,” Anna murmured, squeezing his buttock possessively, making him hiss again.

  It was the first trial of many to come.

  And Quinton Trask had passed it.

  Chapter 7

  The pain was so bad I couldn’t even verbalize it. Did words exist for such anguish? They probably did, but I was too deep into it for higher thought, for anything more sophisticated than pleading in my head for it to stop.

  I tried to catch my breath, my chest tight, as if it had been bound in steel cables. Every muscle thrummed, the tension in my flesh fighting a losing battle with an inevitable fatigue, my strength flagging more with each second, a heaviness seeping into my limbs.

  It was then that I remembered what I’d done. That I’d dealt out this — and worse — countless times. I still didn’t feel I’d been wrong, but I’d gained a new perspective as profound as it was unwanted.

  She wanted to change me, punish me until I broke, until she could brainwash me, or retrain me, or whatever psychobabble bullshit she thought she was an expert in.

  I sure as fuck wasn’t going to make it easy for her though.

  “We done here?” I didn�
�t look up at Anna as I said the words, but I could feel her anger, her frustration.

  “I fucking knew it,” Darynn hissed from somewhere behind me, the woman’s hatred pulsing, menacing.

  Then Anna sighed, and the sound held a note that made me smile. Now she knew, now she understood I wasn’t some run-of-the-mill project, some weak-kneed shit she could break down with a little pain. I was made of a helluva lot tougher stuff than she’d ever encountered before.

  So, if that’s true, why’d you kiss her crop?

  It didn’t mean anything. Really. I told myself at that moment that it was the key to ending the pain; simple cause and effect, no emotional meaning to the act. I still wanted to believe that. Maybe it was just a moment of weakness? It had passed, like a storm, never to be seen again.

  I hoped.

  Anna crouched down in front of me again, and I looked at her. The hardness, the cool regard, was back in her eyes. I didn’t know what to make of it — which I knew was exactly how she wanted it. Did she hate me like Darynn did? I didn’t really believe she did. Something about the way she’d treated me, a hint of understanding, if not outright sympathy.

  I didn’t want her sympathy though. It was a ploy, a way to get inside, to play games with me. I wasn’t stupid. And perhaps now, she knew it.

  “I’ll always give you a choice,” Anna said softly, her eyes unblinking as she looked upon him. “And this time’s no different.” She glanced up at Darynn, then met my gaze again. Reaching into her jacket, she dropped a manila envelope on the concrete in front of me. “I’m going to let you out of your bonds, and when I do, I want you to open that envelope. Look inside. Then you’ll tell me what you see.”

  I didn’t answer her. I was going to make her show her hand. I wasn’t going to comply until I could figure out what she was up to. Understanding her motivations was the key to getting the fuck out of there. I’d wait.