Quinton's Crucible

by Trent Evans

  Quinton was far more interesting than she dared admit to herself.

  She eased back the hood of her clit, exposing that center of her pleasure to the cool air, to his wide-eyed gaze. His reddened, glistening lips complemented the bright crimson splotches deepening upon his well-slapped cheeks. His chin was slick with moisture, his nostrils flaring as he breathed.

  “You can lick this now too, but when you do, go easy on it. Lick around it, use your lips softly. Caress it with that mouth — don’t attack it. It’s not a box to be checked, a goal to be conquered.” She patted his cheek. “This is your focus now. Make this clit happy, and your lot in life might be easier. This is your ruler. So, you’d better learn how to show it — starting now.”

  This time, she didn’t need to press him between her legs, his head moving willingly between her trembling thighs. She watched a bead of sweat meander down the trough of his spine as his tongue touched her opening once again.

  “Same as before, boy. Start at my ass, then ease up. Finish with the clit.”

  This time she couldn’t help a gasp as he worked at her, obeying each barked order, each admonishment to “lick that more” or “deeper with that tongue, boy” his reticence seemingly melting away under her strict control. Perhaps he didn’t want any more humiliating, painful slaps to the face, or perhaps he was finding that servicing his Mistress’ cunt wasn’t so bad after all. Either way, he was obeying, which was all she really cared about at that moment.

  There would be plenty of time to interrogate him on what he thought of the act. She wasn’t sure if she hoped he’d admit he didn’t really like doing it or not. They both knew such an admission would only mean she’d make it her mission to ensure his sore lips were glued to her dripping sex even more often.

  His tongue rippled against her clit, easing around the edges of it, teasing, and she moaned, not caring anymore about letting him know how much he was affecting her. The thought gave her an idea.

  “Good. That’s a good boy. Suck it very gently… yes, just like that. Oh fuck, you’re good at this! Your poor cock is so lonely, isn’t it? It’s going to stay lonely when I come all over your face too. You poor boy. You sure you don’t like eating pussy?”

  He made an inchoate sound against her flesh, his voice vibrating through her core.

  “Stay quiet — you’ve got a job to do.” Her breath caught as he let her feel an edge of teeth against her clit. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that later on, stubborn boy.” She grinned as she said it, loving his defiant spirit, even as she knew she was going to have to beat his ass hard for it. “Now, suck on that clit, gently, not hard. Your lips move from it, and I’m going to paddle that bottom purple. Suck, Quinton.”

  Then she was grinding against his face, holding him tight, the muscles of his back clenching and bunching as he tried to stay locked to her writhing pussy, her hips bucking now. She threw her head back, closing her eyes, her voice tight. “Oh fuck, Quinton, I’m so close. Keep sucking! Yes… like that, slave. Oh fuck, I’m going to come on your face!”

  She moaned loudly then as her juices began to let down, flooding forth upon his tongue, his lips. Then he drew upon her clit one last time and it exploded, her scream piercing the air as she ground his face brutally hard against her sex. He tensed as it happened, as if surprised at her body’s reaction.

  “Yesssssss,” she hissed, moving upon his lips, his prominent hard chin, wiping her wetness all over his face, his nose pressed deep between her throbbing labia. He began to struggle then, as she kept him pressed hard to her flesh, her thighs closing tightly about his head. He would learn this lesson too, that even his ability to breathe was controlled by his Mistress.

  Then she sagged in her chair, her breath coming in shallow pants, the muscles of her thighs twitching in her post-orgasmic lassitude. She let him go then, and he sat back on his knees. She was only dimly aware of the bright sheen of moisture coating his flushed face, the bright pink blotches on his chin where her wiry hair had rubbed him the hardest.

  His eyes were half-glazed, his lips swollen and red. He looked stunned, dazed.

  Conquered.

  “You were mostly a good boy, Quinton,” she said in a soft voice. She tapped her mound with a single finger, grinning at him “But you’re not quite done. Now, it’s time to show you how to clean your Mistress after she’s done with you.”

  Chapter 23

  She found Darynn on the deck, the tall blonde pacing along the railing, her arms clasped tight across her chest. Her gray eyes flashed as she spied Anna walking out from the house.

  “You look pissed. What’s up?” Anna took a seat at one of the round glass tables, the black and white striped umbrella shading it flapping in the brisk breeze. It was a cool, crisp day, but the brilliant sunshine made it quite pleasant.

  The look on her friend’s face was anything but.

  Ivy was leaning her backside against the wall just to the left of the slider door to the house. A purple sweater wrapped around her, she sipped from a white mug, her mischievous eyes watching from afar.

  “What the fuck is going on with you?” Darynn didn’t stop pacing as she growled out the words. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Depends on who you ask,” Anna said.

  Darynn stopped in her tracks. “I’m not joking here. You’re fucking this up — royally.”

  “Last time I checked, I was the one who’d taken on this contract, not you.”

  “That’s rich. You asked for my help — and I gave it gladly.” The blonde’s gaze flicked toward the slider. “Once I learned who it was.”

  “What’s the problem, Hauser?” It wasn’t the first time Darynn had gotten angry; she wasn’t exactly known for her serene disposition. But this was… different.

  Something had definitely gotten under her skin.

  “Tell me what it is you’re doing here. This? None of this was in the contract — and don’t try to tell me he wouldn’t shit bricks if he knew what you were up to.”

  “I don’t care what he knows.”

  “Fuck him. This is me — and I want to know what you think you’re doing. Because this sure as hell isn’t what I thought we were supposed to be doing. Not now, anyway.”

  Darynn was right, of course. It wasn’t fair not to tell her — either of them — what was happening.

  She should have cared what Grayson would think, but she didn’t. Not anymore. What Grayson thought he was going to get out of this no longer mattered to her. What mattered was figuring out a way to extricate herself from this mess.

  Darynn faced her, one hand on her hip, the other stabbing a finger at her. “You’d better start caring. He’s not the sort of guy who takes too kindly to being fucked over.”

  “Nobody’s fucking him over, Hauser.” She met the woman’s gaze. “What’s gotten into you? I thought you didn’t give a shit about Quinton?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Darynn scrubbed both hands up and down her face. “I don’t care about him, you idiot. I care about you — and what’s going to happen to you if he finds out.”

  “I… I’m considering scrapping the plan. All of it.”

  Darynn was utterly still for what seemed an eternity, her stare like a thousand-pound weight upon Anna. There was no reason to feel any guilt, to have any misgivings about this. But she did, nonetheless.

  “You’re insane. All the money? He’s gonna want that back.”

  “You can keep your cut.”

  Darynn practically bellowed the words. “I don’t care about my fucking cut! I care about my best friend thinking it’s smart to screw over one of the most powerful men in the country.”

  Ivy lowered her mug, her face paling. “Darynn, Jesus. Keep it down.”

  “He’s not being screwed over — he’s just going to have to accept a change to his plans.” Anna laced her fingers across her lap. “He’s going to deal with the fact that things have changed. A lot.”

  Darynn sat down across from her, laying her hands on th
e table. “I don’t think I’m getting through to you how stupid you’re being. This kid — Quinton — he’s a piece of shit. He’s broken — and you can’t fix him. Is that what all this is about? Are you on another goddamned rescue mission?”

  Anna scowled. “Fuck you.”

  “Yeah, fine, fuck me.” She shook her head, looking down. “I got news for you, Shaw. All the King’s men ain’t putting this one back together. There is no fixing this.”

  “We still talking about Quinton?”

  The blonde’s gray-eyed gaze met hers, and she saw nothing but cold fury there. “That depends on you, Anna. You gonna wake the fuck up and see some sense? Or are you gonna try to retrieve the irretrievable. This isn’t like pulling a rabbit out of a hat. This is more like making the fucking Grand Canyon disappear.”

  “I can handle this. I’ve handled worse.” The blonde’s fury had surprised her, though it shouldn’t have. This was a radical change from what they’d planned.

  “You can handle it by yourself then, Anna. I’m out.” Darynn burst up, running her hands through her hair as she turned for the door. “I can’t believe you’re fucking doing this.”

  Ivy held out a hand. “Darynn, wait—”

  “Stay out of this, Ivy,” she snarled as she yanked the slider open. Darynn looked back at Anna one last time. “You sure he’s worth pissing this away?”

  Anna knew her friend was talking about more than the contract, more than potentially her status and privilege as an associate of the Trust.

  “Doing the right thing is worth everything,” Anna said, peering up at her. “There used to be a time that you believed that.”

  Darynn stiffened at that, but her lips twisted. “There was a time I thought my best friend wasn’t a crazy fucking bitch too.”

  Then she was gone, disappearing inside the house.

  Ivy took a seat at the table, her heavy mug clinking against the glass as they both listened to the faint sound of Darynn gunning the engine of her truck, the distinct sound of flying gravel as she sped down the driveway.

  “I only want to know one thing,” Ivy said, her voice as soft as the wind. “Please tell me the truth.”

  “Lot of good that’s done for me today,” Anna muttered, lifting her chin in the direction of the driveway — and her departing friend.

  “Has he gotten to you? Quinton?”

  Anna said nothing for a moment, her finger tracing a slow circle upon the glass tabletop. “If I knew how to answer that, I’d know how to break this to Grayson Corddray.”

  Despite what she’d said to her angry best friend, the words were hollow — perhaps more wishful thinking than fact.

  Ivy touched her hand. “I know I’m the last person to be giving someone like you advice.”

  “You’re the exact person to be giving me advice,” Anna said, giving the sweet woman a smile she didn’t feel.

  “If he has… gotten to you. Then you have only one choice.” Ivy squeezed her hand gently. “You have to do what’s right for him.”

  “And what is that?” Anna genuinely didn’t know — and never expected Ivy would have the answer. How could she?

  “You have to protect him.”

  The words had Anna’s jaw dropping open, the truth like a shot to the chest, the gravity of it sinking in her belly.

  “Protect him from what? Me or Grayson?”

  The redhead’s eyes caught the sunlight as she chanced a sly smile. “Both.”

  * * *

  The leather of the gag was overwhelming. Not just because it kept me from even forming the most basic of words, but because of the smell. It was everywhere, seeming to sink into my very skin. It was the scent of subjugation, of submission, the undeniable proof of my surrender.

  But that was far from all.

  The blindfold ensured I was locked in my head, wrestling with my thoughts, my fears… and my desires.

  You aren’t desiring this!

  I wasn’t sure if it was angry professing of the truth, or a desperate losing bid to deny the inevitable.

  To deny a dawning realization.

  The bedspread was at least soft and cool beneath me, and if anything, the blindfold helped calm me, affording a sense of being locked within something that was a shelter as much as a prison. My cock had finally deflated as I waited there, bent over the edge of the bed. My pelvis, and especially my balls, ached still, that pain becoming all too familiar. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, down there in my prison, but it was bad enough. Was it possible for one to get used to blue balls?

  I had a feeling I was about to find out.

  My shoulders ached, the way my arms had been bound behind me uncomfortably tight, but tolerable. It was so odd to feel my own elbows in my palms. I knew my shoulders were going to scream tomorrow.

  Worst of all though was the way she’d left my legs loose, dangling, the bed high enough that my feet rested easily on the floor, high enough to spare my knees. My ass fairly writhed though as I feared what was likely in store for me next.

  Would she whip me? The mere thought of that god-awful strap had me shivering. The cane was, in a way, even worse, that focused agony something that seemed to freeze me in place while it clawed and tore its way deep into my flesh. I didn’t know which was worse.

  Or maybe she had something entirely new for me to endure. Another way to enforce, to punctuate, her new dominion over me.

  My cheeks heated at the thought, but my cock stirred too.

  No!

  Was it because I was being made to experience this? Was it possible I was aroused by that? It went against everything I knew about myself, everything that had ever aroused me. But maybe it wasn’t as simple as that? Maybe it was because she made me go through it. Was that the key to all this? Was this all leading back to my need to please her, to make her happy?

  My need to endure.

  I didn’t even know anymore. Where necessity, and sacrifice, and survival instinct ended, and where need, and desire, and terrifying fascination began.

  The sound of the door opening had my heart seizing in my chest. A zephyr of air whispered over my clammy skin, and I tightened my legs, my buttocks clenching instinctively.

  “Don’t,” her voice said. “That ass of yours is going to be hurting in just a few moments, and there’s nothing you can do about it. If you’re good, and obey, it might not be so bad though. If you don’t…”

  Oh, fuck.

  My hard cock jutted against the side of the mattress, and I brought my legs together, hoping to hide my shame, the evidence of my body’s complicity with her desires. I didn’t want this. I couldn’t want this. It would hurt — I knew that. I’d hate it. I’d rage against it, pouring my vitriolic groans and cries and curses into my gag.

  And yet my cock was hard, and pulsing, and ready.

  Why?

  It was if I could even hear the currents of the air around me, every sound amplified, the meaning of even the faintest whisper of noise, the subtlest vibration, taking on outsized, irrational importance. The sound of clothing being removed made me freeze. Was she undressing? I wanted to look upon her. I could admit that now. My imagining of what she looked like naked intruded on my conscious thoughts more often than I’d ever admit to my tormentor, the conductor of my anguish.

  The focus of my desires.

  “No!” I snarled it into my gag, and she laughed, the silken sounds of her mirth only stoking still higher my defiance, my anger, my frustration.

  “That sounded suspiciously like ‘no’ to me, Quinton. Is that the word you tried to say?” A hand wrapped around the nape of my neck, squeezing. “Nod yes or no.”

  I nodded, struggling against the grip of her hand. She only squeezed hard, taking hold of the hair at the back of my head and hauling me up, the roots screaming. Her breath was a warm threat at my temple.

  “I thought we talked about that word, boy. I don’t ever want to hear that word from you — whether that dirty mouth of yours is gagged or not. You understand me?”<
br />
  “Fuck you!” It was nothing but garbled gibberish, but she knew just the same. Letting my head drop to the mattress, she moved behind me.

  You stupid fuck, Quinton! What are you doing!

  Something hard and smooth slammed against my ass with a force that drove the breath from my lungs. I froze with the shock of it, the pain not registering for a moment. Then it sunk in and I pressed my face to the soft blanket below me.

  A paddle!

  The wood pulled away and I tried not to tense, knowing it would only increase bruising. It slapped down again, this time on my left cheek, and I bit hard into the leather, blowing out a breath through my nose as the pain bloomed hot.

  Three more blows followed in rapid succession, one to the left again, and two to the right cheek. They left me stamping my bare feet against the carpet.

  “Keep that ass nice and loose. Be a good boy.” The gentle, calm tone of her voice belied the cruelty of her words.

  A flurry of smacks landed, alternating upon each cheek, heat rising higher and higher until I roared against my gag almost continuous, the paddle sickeningly seeming to stick against my skin after each blow. I knew this was going to leave terrible bruising; how often had I left bruising on the women I’d punished with the wooden paddles in my own collection?

  This punishment was the worst yet, eclipsing even the strap, and at least as agonizing as the cane. This torment was different though, the pain suffusing my entire backside, sinking deep with a fiery ache that was as difficult to describe as it was to endure.

  Finally, the cracks of the wood against my flesh ceased, one edge of the paddle prodding the lower portion of my seething, aching left cheek. “Still feel like using the word ‘no’ with me?”

  I shook my head, sweat flying off the tip of my nose, my breaths coming in pants.