Quinton's Crucible

by Trent Evans

  The possessiveness, so unlike her, flared once more, the thought of Ivy laying those soft lips on her Quinton…

  Your Quinton?

  She shook her head at Ivy, who simply touched the top of his head. “Until next time.”

  Then she walked out, her hips swaying as she moved. Anna suspected the curvy beauty was every bit as aroused as she was.

  She didn’t miss the way Quinton’s broad shoulders relaxed ever so slightly the moment Ivy’s heel’s clacked out onto the floorboards of the deck outside.

  Taking a slow breath, Anna turned her attention back to the silent, bound, naked man. “We need to talk about what’s going to come next. Between you and me.”

  His head raised, and his lost gaze met hers. Her heart broke for him a little at what she saw in those eyes, even as it fired her arousal still higher. She’d long ago made peace with being turned on by a man’s vulnerability, aroused by his helplessness — even his humiliation. It was contradictory — and probably fed directly into her deep streak of sadism — but she accepted it as part of her make-up.

  “Why are we even talking?” He cleared his throat, then looked down again. “You’re going to do what you want, no matter what I say.”

  “Probably.” She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. “But we’re going to talk about it just the same.” She allowed the steel to creep into her tone. “Eyes on me. Now.”

  For a second, it seemed he might defy her, then he reluctantly peered up at her. His jaw was clenched tight, though she wasn’t sure if that was yet more defiance, or the fact his ass probably felt like he was sitting on hot coals. Some of the wheals across his buttocks were quite raw, and it wouldn’t take much more to get them oozing the ruby evidence of a slave extremely well-punished.

  Perhaps someday she’d take him that far, explore that dark country with him once he was fully in hand.

  But now was not that day — there was so much more he still had to learn about himself.

  And what it meant to truly submit.

  “Your training begins today, Quinton.”

  “T-training?” His eyebrows were raised so high they practically met his hairline. “What…?”

  “Don’t tell me we’re going to get off on the wrong foot right away?” She frowned at him, the dark urge to discipline him yet again stirring within her already. She enjoyed hurting him perhaps more than any man she’d ever trained — and it wasn’t simply because she was making him pay for his previous horrible deeds.

  Oh no, it was about much more than that, not least the stunning level of arousal she experienced at the mere thought of the rod lacing into his cringing flesh once more, the sweet sounds of his anguish he couldn’t help but make, gagged or not.

  “I thought I was here for… what I did.”

  “You are.” She tapped a long nail against the varnished tabletop. “But part of that atoning for your misdeeds very much involves being trained.”

  “For what?” She smiled at the way he kept his tone carefully modulated, trying not to sound insolent. She wasn’t even sure if he was doing it intentionally, but regardless, she enjoyed the effect.

  “To serve me.”

  His lips moved for a moment as he stared at her, glancing down a second before looking at her once more. “I don’t understand.”

  “What’s not to understand?”

  “Serving you… it’s not really punishment. Is it?”

  She smiled wide at him, a rich surge of arousal flooding up from between her thighs, hardening her nipples, making her breath come a little faster. “Oh we’ll see about that — but it pleases me that you find the prospect less than horrible.”

  His eyes went wide then, a blush flooding up his neck as if he’d just realized what he’d said.

  “I—I didn’t mean.” He shook his head, looking away. “I don’t know what the fuck I mean lately.”

  “That’s another thing, Quinton. You won’t be doing that anymore around me — or anyone.”

  “Doing what?” The furrow at his brow was so adorable, she wanted to kiss it.

  Where the fuck is that coming from?

  It was almost… a sort of affection. It was a feeling she’d never expected to associate with — much less feel for — someone like Quinton Trask.

  “Cursing. Not ever — unless I’m hurting you. And in that case, you’d better be sure your filthy words aren’t directed at me. Am I clear?”

  “Yeah… yes, I got it.”

  “Mistress. I’m growing tired of reminding you.”

  Please give me a reason to remind you some more.

  “Sorry… Mistress.”

  “Stand up.” She barked it, wanting to keep him off balance.

  Surprisingly, he slipped from his chair, rising to his feet. Despite his bound wrists and feet, he still loomed pleasingly over her. All that male power, leashed, harnessed for her use, her enjoyment.

  Sometimes it’s very good to be Anna Shaw.

  Her eyes unerringly dropped to his crotch — what she saw there both surprised her, and was, in a way, touching.

  Though he was still partially erect, his cock wasn’t standing up anymore. His testicles hung low, very swollen, the smooth scrotum flushed a light red.

  “Hurt?”

  He knew what she referred to, nodding, unable to meet her gaze. “I could use an ice pack or two.”

  “You’d better get used to it.”

  His lips pressed to a thin line, but he didn’t take the bait.

  Good.

  “Come over here.” She pushed her chair back, pointing at the floor at her feet. “Right here. On your knees.”

  He didn’t move at first, then shuffled forward reluctantly. Kneeling down, his knees thumped against the floor with a velocity that probably didn’t feel particularly good.

  “You’ll get better at that.” She leaned forward, loving the way his position thrust her breasts closer to him. It was both a tease, and a way of reinforcing her power over him. She knew submitting to a female was galling enough — emphasizing her advantage here, both physically and psychologically, by thrusting those symbols of femininity in his face, was something she very much enjoyed. “Your life up until now has revolved around that cock of yours, hasn’t it?”

  He didn’t say a thing, staring steadily at her.

  “Answer me when I ask you a question, boy.”

  “I don’t know.” His nostrils flared, his eyes flashing just a moment of defiance. “Yes, I guess. I’m a guy.”

  “Not any more you’re not. You’re a slave now. More to the point, you’re my slave.” Anna unzipped the side of the dark denim skirt she’d changed into before she and Ivy unstrapped the hapless Quinton from his bench of woe. She’d had to peel herself out of absolutely sodden panties. There was no way she was going to ruin any more that day.

  His eyes dropped down as she opened her thighs, easing the skirt up until it bunched at her hips. She smiled at the feel of the cool air on her exposed sex. It had been a while since she’d shaved, and the bush she presented to him was thicker than she normally kept it. He’d just have to deal with it.

  “The days of your cock being the center of your universe are over, boy.” She tapped the top of her slit with the tip of her finger. “This is to be your focus now. You wish to please me, yes?”

  He nodded, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes not leaving her sex.

  “Well, pleasing me, means pleasing this. My pussy is going to be the first thing you think of when you wake up, and the last thing on your mind before you slip off to sleep. This is the center of your universe now, boy.”

  His cock began to fill again at the words, and she met his eyes, letting him know she was watching it.

  “Interesting.” It was all she said as she watched it pulse, rising slowly, until it jutted up from his crotch.

  “You like eating pussy, Quinton? Is that it?”

  “I don’t think — I don’t know.”

  “When was the last time you
pleasured a woman with that tongue of yours? Be honest, or I’ll strap that impudent cock until it goes soft again.”

  His eyes grew wide. “No… I’m sorry. I haven’t done it in years — I think I was a teenager, maybe.”

  “Why? Is there something you have against vaginas? Afraid of a nice, hard clit?” She drew a finger through her folds, collecting a thick coating of sticky juices. “Are you one of those foolish boys who thinks pussies are sort of… gross?”

  She’d had a few subs who’d exhibited a mild distaste for it, at first.

  Silly men.

  When she’d gotten done with each of them, lovingly running their tongue between her wet labia was the only thing they could think about.

  Quinton would get there someday — and she knew she was going to love getting him there.

  She touched her wet finger to the tip of his nose. He flinched ever so slightly, but it was far more than she’d ever permit. She wanted her slaves salivating at the mere scent of her arousal.

  Taking hold of a fistful of his hair, twisting hard, she jerked him closer. He put his bound hands upon one of her thighs. Despite the surge of electricity that ran up her leg to earth in her clit, she shook her head at him.

  “You don’t use those hands unless I tell you to.” She shook him sharply by the hair, a pained sound escaping from his clenched teeth. “And you definitely don’t touch me — ever — until given permission. You understand me?”

  “Yes.”

  She wrenched on his hair, and he winced. “Try again. Louder.”

  “Yes, Mistress!”

  “There, isn’t that better?” She cooed it as she spread her wetness around each nostril, painting his nose with it. “Take a deep breath, boy.”

  Amazingly, he did, his cheeks flooding crimson.

  His abject obedience had her clit throbbing, her nipples hard enough to etch glass.

  “That is your Mistress — that scent is all you care about now. Not that cock, not whatever it was your silly little mind was consumed with before. Here? In my house? Wearing my chains? Your only concern is making this pussy happy.” She thrust two fingers inside, the wet sounds jarringly loud. “Very happy.”

  Pulling her sodden fingers free, he seemed to know what was coming, his eyes closing.

  “Open up.” Her nail prodded at the corner of his mouth.

  Reluctantly, he complied, letting her push the digits inside. “Take them all the way in. Going to be good practice for what’s coming too. Taste me.” She smiled down at him. “You know I expect you to lick all of it off. You’d think I wouldn’t have to instruct you on that.” She sighed dramatically, taking firm hold of his hair once more, as she pulled her fingers from between his lips.

  Leaning down, her nose almost to his, the spicy note of her arousal strong, she looked him in the eyes. “You will always — every fucking time — lick me clean. Completely clean.”

  Then she slapped his face with that same wet hand, his wide-eyed expression equal parts shock and pain. Before he could register what she’d done, she smacked his other cheek, harder this time, his head rocking to the side.

  “Do we understand each other?”

  She squeezed his locks still further, and he grimaced. “Yes, Mistress.”

  “You’re a good boy.” She patted the cheek she’d just slapped, an angry mark already blooming upon his skin, the distinct image of multiple fingers beginning to take shape in the red splotch filling in. “Well? I’m waiting.”

  Presenting the fingers to his lips, he quickly licked them. Watching him patiently, she made soft, encouraging noises to him as he fervently worked.

  “Much better!” Then she pinched his chin between thumb and forefinger, and brought his lips to hers. The whites shone in his eyes as she kissed him deeply, allowing her tongue to wander into his mouth. It was only when he seemed to relax slightly, his own wet tongue stirring against hers, did she pull back, smiling at him again.

  “You see? When you please me, you might be rewarded.”

  Staring at her for another long moment, he seemed stunned into silence. Right where she wanted him.

  “Now then. Back to the subject.” She sat back, her fingers easing through the dark, wiry hair covering her mound. Her breath caught as she used two fingers to spread apart her bright pink labia, the motion moving her hood against her aching clit. She knew she was but a breath from exploding like a supernova.

  She just hoped she could hold out until his sweet face was buried deep in her cunt before she did it.

  “Get to work. I want to see what your technique looks like now — then we can work on training you to improve it. For your sake, I hope you remember how to do this.”

  Swallowing hard, he met her gaze. She wasn’t sure exactly what she saw there, but she thought most of all, there was the sweet glimmer of fear, as if he doubted he’d be able to perform up to her standards. It only ramped her arousal up still higher.

  Anna very much liked her slaves to fear her displeasure.

  Taking hold of his hair once more, she drew his face against her sex, his nose probing into her pubic hair. “You don’t stop until I give you permission.”

  His tongue snaked out tentatively, swirling at the tip of her slit, clumsily seeking her clit. She sighed, yanking him back harshly. He brought his hands up in a protective motion.

  “Don’t you dare move those hands. Keep them down.”

  He complied, but he glared at her, both his cheeks bright red now, as if he’d just come in from a long walk on a cold night.

  “If that’s what you think is eating pussy… then we’ve got a lot of work to do to get you trained up to my expectations. Your poor little tongue is going to be very tired, my boy.”

  She touched her swollen labia, running the tip of her finger down her seam. “You’re going for my clit right away. No. Do not do this. Your job is to warm me up, to worship my pussy with that tongue, those lips, that face. It’s all mine — and you will service me the way I like. I don’t care how long it takes. You’re going to learn how to use that mouth properly, Quinton.” Pulling him against her again, holding him tight, she let her head lean back, the feeling of power over this man only making her sex drip still more. “When you start, use the flat of your tongue. Stick it out — just like how you’d lick an ice cream cone.” Incredibly, when she pulled his face back enough to see it, he complied. His pink tongue was long and broad.

  Very nice.

  She’d have to talk to Leah about the possibilities there as well.

  “Good boy,” she said, patting his cheek. “Run that tongue between my lips, slowly, gently. But before that, we’re going to get one thing out of the way right now. When you’re required to service a pussy, mine especially, you better put out of your mind right now any idea that the only thing you’re doing it licking cunt. There’s a lot more there than just a clit. Start low — I want that tongue right on my asshole. Keep it there until I tell you.” She slid her hips forward a little, still holding him by the hair, spreading herself still wider to give him access. “Get right in there,” she said, holding him, guiding his face against her.

  She sucked in a quick breath as his nose eased between her labia, the hot, soft, wet tongue plastered to her bottomhole.

  Oh God, that feels so good!

  Her anus was exceptionally sensitive, and she intended to instruct him on the proper way to lick her there as well, but for today it was just a taste — she smiled at that — of things to come.

  His breath was so hot against her tissues as he held still, obediently waiting, his broad tongue spread upon her secret hole. It was a sweet, quiet moment that she held him there, drowning in the erotic, lustful power at having him perform so intimate a service — and directed entirely by her.

  It was a twisted turn-on to her that she was using his face as a glorified sex toy.

  “Now lick — slowly. One long stroke through my lips.”

  He obeyed and she shivered as he did it, his tongue running up her p
erineum, then slipping between the labia.

  “If you can’t taste me, you’re going too fast. There… slower. Slower.” She sighed. “That’s it.”

  The tip of his tongue rode up toward her clit, and she stopped him with her hand. “No. Not yet. Again. This time, as you lick between the lips push your tongue deeper.”

  When he didn’t comply right away, she jerked him by the hair. “I shouldn’t have to ask you to start. You should have already been licking. Now, tongue on my ass, stubborn boy.”

  The hot, wet tongue pressed to her secret opening again and she sighed. “Now, go.”

  Again, his soft tongue slowly explored — and again, he had to be pulled up short from licking her clit, no matter how much it wanted to be licked.

  This time she pulled his head back so she could look at him. In silence, she stared into his eyes, searching them. Then she slapped his face again. He gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing, and she slapped him across the other side.

  “We can take all day doing this if you like, boy. You will learn how to service your Mistress. How long it takes is entirely up to you.”

  “Okay! I’m… I’m sorry!”

  “You can show you’re sorry by actually listening to my instructions.” She gave his head a sharp shake by the hair, his wince making her smile. She yanked him back down then, pressing his face to her throbbing pussy. “Now, get back to work.”

  Pleasingly, he began to comply with her directions, licking deeply through her slit, but stopped well short of her clit. Again and again she had him work her, sometimes simply running his tongue down each side, lovingly caressing her labia, at others, making him force his tongue into her as deeply as he could, the sensation making her gasp softly each time he did so.

  She was using his face as little more than a masturbatory aid, and she smiled, knowing that was how it should be. He was becoming less Quinton and more of a thing, a means to her pleasure — whether it was by means of his now-tiring tongue, or the sounds of his anguish as her rod tormented his punished flesh once again.

  Finally, she barked at him to stop, and she pulled his head back once more. Her clit was so hard and aching, it felt as if it might explode, her training of him leaving her constantly on the brink of orgasm. She was pleased to see his cock was down again. He was — finally — focusing on her pleasure alone. In time, simply being ordered between her legs might make him hard — or it might not. Every man was different, every submissive interesting in his own ways. She looked forward to seeing what sort he evolved into.