by Trent Evans
My world plunged into blackness as something was pulled over my head, cinched snugly around my neck.
“No! What the fuck… no!” I tried to push to my feet, actually making it to one knee before something heavy crashed into my chest, the blow knocking the wind out of me.
I sprawled across the cold floor, someone straddling my back, driving me down to the concrete. The familiar cold of twin electrodes pressed to my neck, just under my jaw.
“Fuck you,” I wheezed, terror spiraling higher within my mind.
Then with an agonizing jolt of electricity, I knew no more.
* * *
Either he was being sustained by a fierce hatred that afforded him superhuman strength, or one Quinton Trask was far tougher than she’d ever have guessed.
She found him as she always did, each time she visited his cell. Darynn took great relish in preparing him, in confining his neck and wrists in the stocks. It had been ten days of solitary confinement since his latest rebellion, and Anna had not even deigned to visit him for the first seven of them.
Time was on her side, and she had much more of it than Quinton had endurance.
He would break. The only question was when.
The shaft of sunlight from above illuminated his face in harsh brilliance, shining down upon the heavy stocks. He knelt naked on the cold concrete, his knees no doubt well-abraded after having gone through this the previous two days. His eyes squinted, the harsh sunshine upon his face rendering the dirt and grime on his cheeks into mere smudges. A small, evil part of her was disappointed not to find tear tracks there. In time.
His dark hair was wild, hanging down across his eyes. She still hadn’t decided if she would make him grow it out, or if she’d shave his little head bald. So many choices.
First though, he had a choice to make, and nothing else would happen until he made it.
He had to choose to obey.
Taking the chair set before him, her skirt rode well up as she sat down. Fortunately, the dark woolen stockings she’d chosen were quite sufficient to keep her legs warm in the dank cell. With the angle of the light shining down over her shoulder, she knew he could make out only her lower body, the brilliance blinding him if he tried to meet her gaze. She liked that very much. She watched him, noting the way his eyes followed as she crossed her legs, her hand slowly stroking one thigh. It was the carrot — the promise — of comfort, if only he would cooperate. If only he would yield.
But she knew he wouldn’t. Not yet. He still had something to prove, though she wasn’t sure yet if it was to her — or himself.
He hadn’t spoken so much as a single word during her previous pair of visits, his verbal responses confined to the groans and crying out he couldn’t quite suppress as the cane laced its lines of agony across his back. She wanted to stripe that muscular, surprisingly round, bottom of his, but she was waiting.
There was so much time ahead of them for that sweet pleasure.
This was the first time he hadn’t been blindfolded as he knelt in his stocks, and she found she loved watching his light-deprived eyes trying to cope with the intense illumination. It seemed she enjoyed watching him struggle with everything.
“We don’t have to do it this way. You chose this.” Wanting to try another tack, she laid an elbow on her knee, leaning forward, playing a fingernail through the sodden hair at his forehead. She kept her voice a soft murmur. “It’s so much better if you just cooperate, if you just submit to me. It’s going to happen, eventually. We both know it. Why put yourself through this torture?”
His head didn’t move as his voice rasped, his gaze dropping. “No more pictures.”
She wasn’t sure she’d actually heard the words. “My my, but you aren’t in any sort of position to make demands, are you? Let’s be smart, let’s be cooperative — let’s be a good boy. You know the one word I want to hear from you.”
Silence.
The bread and water on his tray was untouched, as usual. His body, still sleekly muscled, was beginning to take on a rangy, almost too-lean look. She wondered how long it had been since he’d last eaten. It would be something else he’d no longer have control over when he finally broke.
“Don’t like the accommodations? You haven’t taken so much as a bite of your food in days.”
She’d ordered strict bread and water only as part of his solitary confinement. It aroused her more than she’d expected, refining her control over him to such a fine — and elementary — degree.
“No more pictures… and I’ll cooperate.” He drew a deep breath, the wood of the stocks creaking as he futilely tried to straighten. “This… it’s hurting.”
“I know it is. And it’s going to keep on hurting until you’ve had enough.” She rubbed a lock of his grimy hair between her fingers. “Wouldn’t you like a real shower? Maybe even a bath? I imagine Darynn’s hose must be getting old. And cold.”
“You… please. Whatever you want, I… I don’t want to look at those again. I can’t.”
She grabbed him by the chin, cranking his head up, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “You need to get something through that thick head of yours, Quinton. What you want? It doesn’t matter anymore. Understand me?”
Rather than the usual snarling of obscenities though, he simply gazed at her, his eyes wide. Then he swallowed hard, the feel of his vulnerable throat moving against her finger making her clit thrum. “I just can’t…”
“You can, stubborn boy. You most certainly can.” She leaned in closer, until his nostrils flared, breathing deep of her perfume, the same scent she already knew he associated — and always would — with the woman who held him captive. “Now — what’s it going to be? Are you ready to say it? It’s one simple word. Say it, Quinton. You can just whisper it in my ear. Nobody else needs to hear it. Nobody else matters.”
His mouth worked, his eyes bright, the briefest glimpse of desperation flashing in their gorgeous blue depths. Then he clenched his jaw, his teeth gritted. “No.”
She sighed, then rose to her feet. He stiffened, his head swiveling as his eyes tracked her.
“What are you doing?”
“So, he’s alive after all?” She ruffled his hair, then patted his cheek. “Since you seem to be deciding not to cooperate — again — I’m going to choose from the implements Darynn left out for me, pick out a nice, tight length of rattan, and give you a stiff caning. Again.”
“Don’t do this. I-I’ll… don’t do this.”
Plucking the lithe cane from the array set out on a rolling cart behind Quinton’s kneeling form, she took up a position at his left, flexing the rattan between her hands. The broad plane of the wood blocked him from viewing her, but she knew he could feel her closeness, that knowledge overlaid with the dread of the punishment she was about to mete out.
His back was already scored with the livid welts, the blooming bruises, mementos of his previous appointments with pain from the last two days. She was running out of room to safely lie down more lines of fire across his flesh there.
“I said I was sorry!” He lunged futilely against the stocks, the heavy wood frame moving not at all, anchored as it was to the cement floor. “I don’t know what you want from me!”
“Oh yes, you do, boy.” She worried the smooth, round muscles of his buttocks with the hard tip of her cane, indenting the flesh, making him hiss. His balls, full and heavy, swung between his legs.
“Please…”
She smiled, but wasn’t about to let him off the hook. Her nipples were hard as stone as she peered down upon him as she spoke, as if she were addressing his naked, trembling ass. “Please what? You know what I want to hear.”
“I can’t do this. You know I can’t.”
Regarding his vulnerable backside for a moment longer, she tucked the cane in the crook of her elbow, crouching down behind him. She’d told herself she wouldn’t indulge in this yet, but seeing those smooth, powerful cheeks, all that barely leashed strength in those muscles, made it impossible for her to res
ist. She placed a hand upon each cool, taut buttock, and he clenched, the cleft of his ass reducing to a narrow seam.
“Oh no, you don’t. Loosen them, Quinton.” She gave his ass a crisp slap, the sound echoing in the shadowed chamber. His muscles tight as bowstrings, the handprint bloomed upon his flesh, quite visible even in the low light. The sight made her want to take a bite out of that helpless bottom.
She was going to need a change of panties after this session.
His breath whistled frantically between his teeth, his feet, tightly bound in stout leather manacles bolted to yet another anchor in the concrete, scrabbling at the floor, trying vainly to find purchase.
She smacked his ass again, even harder, and he grunted.
“Don’t! You… can’t!”
“There you go with that word again,” she said, her voice a feline purr. She pressed upon his cheeks. “Open them.”
“I don’t — I don’t do… that. There. I’m not like that.”
He sounded as if he could barely form coherent speech.
Afraid. Good.
“But you had no problem taking Genna’s ass, did you? I think we might even have pictures of—”
“No!” The force of his cry startled her, the fear in his voice now making it tremble.
“Do it.” She tapped his buttocks with the rattan. “You make me tell you again, and it’s the rattan across this tight little ass. The choice is yours.”
Watching him closely, she was sure he’d disobey her order. Surprisingly, his muscular buttocks haltingly, reluctantly, relaxed, the cute little cleft yawning open once more.
She eased his cheeks apart, and his breath caught, his struggles ceasing. The sight of the tight, cringing anus made her grin, her belly fluttering, clit pulsing. Though Darynn hosed him off regularly — the video Anna had watched of one of the sessions was sufficient to have her clit standing up hard and throbbing — his scent was strong, a masculine musk, with an almost earthy note.
“You don’t do that, you say?” She shook her head in mock solemnity, even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “One of the things you need to put out of your mind — right now — is the silly idea that this”—she tapped his tender anus with the tip of her finger—“is exit only. Those days are over, Quinton. Get used to it.”
“I’ll say it. I’ll do it!”
“I think you know it’s too late for that, boy. You refused to cooperate, refused to do as you were told. Now, you’re going to be punished for it… except not how you might have expected. Maybe once you’ve had your little ass stretched a bit, you might be more inclined to obey, yes?”
Her own words had her breath coming faster, the vision of his abject vulnerability both sweet and calling to the predator inside her. She’d show him what happens to men who violate a woman’s trust, men who abuse their power over a submissive entrusted to their care.
And perhaps in the process — if he were lucky — he might learn a thing or two about himself.
She placed the rattan on the cart, retrieving two other items instead.
“Oh Christ,” he hissed under his breath as she spread the cold gel over his anus, his musky scent suddenly overlaid with a faint note of vanilla. “I can’t do this. I’ve never… I don’t know how!”
Placing the stainless steel against his opening, she gently stroked his bottom. “All you have to do is let it in. When I push in, you push back — like you do when you’re voiding your bowels. Understand me?”
He merely trembled in his bonds.
She slapped his right bottom cheek, and he jerked against the stocks again. “Understand me? I want an answer out of you.”
Normally, she’d have used a finger, then two, to open up the anus of a male who’d never been penetrated — but this was no normal situation. He was being punished — and he would be. The plug she’d picked was admittedly a beginner, little wider than her finger at the tip, with a very gradual broadening sufficient to break in a virgin ass.
Still, it wasn’t going to be comfortable for a true neophyte. She was sure a man like Quinton had never so much as devoted a single thought in his life to something being put in his ass.
He was about to receive an education on that subject.
“Push back now… that’s right. More — no, now it’s tightening.” She gave his ass a quick slap, but relented, Quinton blowing out a tense breath. She pressed the gleaming plug to his anus once more, pushing, then backing off, then pushing again. All the while, she closely watched for the tender flesh to open, to reluctantly swallow the cold steel.
“Breathe out… and push. Push.”
“I can’t do this!”
“Yes, you can. We’ll stay here all fucking night if we need to, but we’re not done until your ass has taken this plug. How long this takes is up to you. Now, push back.”
His groan was low and long, but it was more fear than discomfort. The first time one’s ass was taken was always confusing, humiliating, and yet, fascinating. She imagined for Quinton the shame of it overwhelmed everything though.
She found she liked that very much indeed.
“Push, boy. Take it in… that’s right. Take it — good.”
He grunted as his anus spread widest around the base, shrinking tightly against the narrow neck of the steel, the smooth hilt — engraved with the initials AS in a flowing script — now the only part of the plug visible, huddling between his rounded, muscled buttocks, the paleness of his flesh marred by the dark outlines of her handprints upon his skin. His balls had tightened, no longer swinging freely.
“How does it feel?”
“H-hurts.” His voice was little more than a raspy whisper.
Rising, she walked around to the other side of the stocks, standing over him, taking hold of his hair and cranking his head up so she could look upon him. He met her gaze, his eyes frantic, his lips a tight line, jaw clenched. His cheeks blushed a deep red, though whether from embarrassment or exertion she couldn’t tell.
She very much hoped it was the former.
“I don’t think it’s pain, Quinton. That plug is nothing. Before I get done with you, your tight little ass is going to be taking some monsters that’ll make that one feel like a walk in the park.” She moved even closer, such that he could no longer meet her gaze, her now seething sex, hidden behind the protection of her skirt, but inches from his face. She kept her voice low, a menacing murmur. “I think it’s the shame. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“No.” He shook his head, the wild locks swaying, the ends whispering against her stockinged thigh. “Take it out.”
“I don’t think so.” She gave his cheek a gentle pat. She tapped a finger against her lower lip, remembering the way his scrotum had pulled taut between his legs. “I’m wondering about something though.”
Moving back around to the other side, she knelt down on the hard concrete. His knees must have been in agony at that point.
Good.
Reaching under him, she grinned, her breath catching in her chest in almost giddy excitement. Wrapping her hand around a very thick, very hard cock, she pumped him slowly, squeezing. “Quinton? What’s this? I’ve done nothing but hurt you, degrade you, subjugate you. I’ve even penetrated your rather reluctant ass.” She let a mock surprised tone slip into the tone of her voice. “So, why is your cock hard?”
He refused to answer her, so she pumped it again briskly until he gasped.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you like to have my plug in your ass.” She pinched the head of his penis between her nails, hard enough to make him distinctly uncomfortable, but not truly hurt. “That steel making your little bottomhole ache right now is engraved with my initials — just like the much bigger plugs you’re going to become intimately acquainted with. How does that make you feel, Quinton?”
“Take it out… please.”
“No.”
She stroked her fist up and down the length of his shaft for a minute, his flesh hot against her palm, until his hips b
egan to buck, his grunts becoming quiet, muffled moans. Then she stopped, using a fingertip to collect some of the wetness slickening the head of his cock.
Rising, she walked around to the front of the stocks once again. Holding him still with a fistful of his hair, she painted his upper lip with his own sticky essence, leaving it glistening. Then she took her seat before him again, crossing her legs demurely.
Clasping her hands in her lap, she met his frightened, confused gaze.
“Now, then. I think you have something to tell me, don’t you think?”
* * *
She waited for me. There was no way she was going to let me get away without answering. But I didn’t even know what the answer was.
My ass throbbed around the plug, each time the thought accompanied by a burst of heat at my cheeks. I didn’t want to let her see it — that weakness, that humiliation.
My shame.
I’d never had anything in my ass before. Not once. I had no frame of reference, no idea what to expect.
But of all the things I might have guessed would come of it, my cock standing up hard and aching was not one of them.
What did that even mean?
It means you’re losing it, Quinton.
Was I? Or was I simply acknowledging cold reality? If it wasn’t money she was after… then her goal was to break me down. Into what? A mindless wretch? Her sub?
I froze at the idea, my anus squeezing tight, the merciless plug reawakening that ache. It felt distinctly uncomfortable back there, an unrelenting pressure accompanied by a disturbing feeling of… vulnerability. Of being broken open, unable to hide anything anymore.
I thought of how many times I’d sunk my cock into the girls I’d bought at auction. The times I’d fucked Genna’s ass.
A wave of nausea swept over me at the thought. Was this how it felt to her? No — it hadn’t aroused her. At least, not like… this.
“I asked you a question.”
Her voice was firm, but soft. I’d come to dread it, for it was the voice I always heard before she punished me. The voice of pain, the sound of my own subjugation.
My cock jerked at the thought.