Depraved by Trent Evans

Chapter 34

Anson and the others were deep in planning the next steps, and it was then that Jon saw the opening. He needed this more than he’d ever have expected, considering the circumstances.

But he could resist the urge for her no longer.

She held his hand as he drew her silently into the afternoon of the forest, the bugs buzzing, the afternoon unexpectedly hot, almost steamy.

“Where… where are we going, Jon?” Her voice held a tiny note of trepidation, but her hold upon him never wavered.

Good.

He didn’t answer her until they were far enough away from the bivouac, enough distance from the others that he could do what he truly wished with her.

Finding the perfect spot, a tiny clearing with a sun-bleached downed log, its bark almost white with weathering, he turned to her, bringing her hand to his face, kissing her palm.

Her eyes went dark immediately, her nostrils flaring, and at that moment he knew… she needed him to take back that control, if only in these stolen, private moments.

“Take your pants down,” he said against her hand. “Panties, too.”

Yulia was still wearing Lyssa’s spare rebel standard issue, rugged pants, and the distinctive light blue tunic stretched tightly across Yulia’s much more generous breasts.

He waited for her to obey, his cock already aching hard. “Turn away as you do it. And bend at the waist. This how I’ll always expect you to present your ass, understand?”

She faced away, then peered back over her shoulder as she undid her belt, and unbuttoned her trousers. “W-why are you doing this?”

“Because you need it, every bit as much as I do.” He tilted his head, grinning. “You didn’t think I was going to let you get away with what you did to me in the cage, did you? Taking advantage of your prisoner?”

Her mouth fell open, but then she smiled tentatively, skimming her trousers down her legs, letting them drop at her ankles.

“Now, the panties.”

She hooked thumbs in the white cotton, and they fell at her feet as well, atop the tangle of her pants. Her ass, pale and gorgeous, almost shone in the bright sunlight. He touched it, smoothing his palm down her right buttock, giving it a squeeze, shaking it a little, loving the way her lush flesh moved.

“This needs attention, I think.” He lifted his chin toward the felled tree. “Over that log. Bottom up. I want you quiet and still, understand me?”

“I… okay.” She moved over to the log, her clothing wrapped at her feet forcing her to shuffle, her soft bottom jiggling mouthwateringly as she went. He waited until she’d folded herself over the tree, bottom uppermost, thighs quivering fetchingly.

Then he foraged a moment, finding a perfect tree to cut them from. He sliced several slender withes, using the pocket blade he’d taken from the rover to strip the bark smooth, cutting away any buds that might unduly gall the skin.

“You… is that… what I think it is?” Her voice, tremulous and uncertain, called from the far side of the log, her head lifted to allow her to look back at him.

“Yes, it is. You’re getting a switching. I’ve always wanted to do this.” He pointed the bundle of branches at her. “Now, get that head back down. Right down, and be still. You know better.”

She instantly complied, blushing fiercely, his cock throbbing at her sweet, submissive obedience. He’s wondered how they could possibly maintain this power dynamic, considering she was becoming their de facto leader, but he decided to take a chance. Pushing her on this was not only arousing him, it was something he sensed she somehow still needed.

It wasn’t only he doing the evolving. Yulia Wyndham was discovering new parts of herself, too.

He thrilled to it.

“Before I start, I want to make something clear.” He laid the bundle of switches against her bottom. “You’re to be quiet. I don’t want us interrupted. Understand?”

“Y-yes… are you sure we should—”

He slashed the switches across her ass, more a testing stroke to find the range than anything particularly harsh. She yelped anyway, several tiny pink lines arcing upon her buttocks. “I don’t want to hear any complaining. You need this. You’re going to get it. Now, ready?”

“I… yes.”

For a long moment, there was only the sounds of forest, alive all around them, the warmth of the breeze, a tiny gnat alighting upon the broad curve of her bottom. It took flight once more as he laid down the first real stroke, low across the roundest, heaviest part of her ass, lifting the cheeks, sending them bounding.

Her thighs slipped together as she hissed.

“Good.” He stroked the dozen or so lines upon her flesh now, loving the look already. “Very pretty marks already showing.”

He slashed them across her bottom three more times in quick succession, careful to ladder upward a little more with each blow. By the third, she was up on her toes, gasping.

“Oh… it burns!”

“I suspect it does.” He touched the darker marks already swelling along the edge of her right hip where the tips of the switches were biting in harshly. The flesh there would be bruised with but a few more applications.

Which he proceeded to give her, methodically striking over the exact same flesh, again, and again, sometimes crossing previous marks diagonally. At the fifth one, she cried out.

“Fuck… it’s on fire!” Her bottom bobbed up and down, her breaths labored. “Fuck.”

“I told you, I expect you to take your punishment quietly and obediently. I meant it.” He laid the switches across her exposed lower back, then crouched down behind her. He palmed the storm of marks, and welts, noting that in a few spots even a handful more strokes risked whipping the skin quite raw. She couldn’t endure many more, but she didn’t need to know that yet.

He intended to give her as many more as her hide would withstand, but he knew there was no way she’d be able to stay quiet for them. He tapped one of her calves. “Step out of your clothes here.”

Waiting on her to extricate her feet from the tangled fabric, him holding the trousers down while she pulled her feet free, one after the other, he rose once more, her panties in his fist. He extricated her belt from the loops of her trousers as well.

Leaning over her, the softness of her punished bottom pressing to his cock, confined as it was behind his zipper, he touched her lips. “Open your mouth, slut. Yes, open—all the way.”

She obeyed, and without a word, he promptly stuffed the panties between her teeth, ensuring the whole of them were balled up firmly inside her mouth. Then he used the belt to secure them, pulling it tight so it galled the corners of her mouth, her pretty eyelashes fluttering in shock as he yanked the leather snug, buckling it at her nape.

Then he stood behind her, watching as she shook her head, in some futile, instinctive attempt to shake the gag free. She rose up a little, her hands going to her face.

“None of that,” he growled, snatching her hands away, pressing her forward firmly over the log, and pinning her wrists at the small of her back. “You be good now. These aren’t going to be pleasant, but I expect you to be obedient and take them quietly for me.”

He palmed her bottom one last time, squeezing and fondling the heavy cheeks, luxuriating in the soft, pliant flesh in his hand. She was absolutely stunning, made even more so by her abject, humiliating, supplicant’s position, thrown over the log, awaiting, anonymous, penitent, for the further tender mercies of the wicked switches.

Unable to delay it any longer, he resumed her punishment, leaning hard upon her wrists to hold them in place as she struggled, and mewled, while he laid lash after lash at a quick, relentless pace, down the entirety of her bottom, then back up again. Her cheeks were glowing a deep pink then, hundreds of lines forming a crazed pattern of torment upon her buttocks. He slashed the cruel switches repeatedly across the backs of her soft, vulnerable thighs then, that pale flesh there calling out for strict correction that matched the swelling welts upon her ass. She screeched at that, clearly audible even through the stricture of her gag, but he ignored it, playing the cruel lash up and down her thighs from up just above her knees all the way to the crease under her buttocks, where he delivered several harsh slashes, over and over, until she shrieked into her gag.

“Shh…shhh,” he murmured, stroking her crimson bottom, noting that two spots on the outside hip might start welling with red if they were struck even one more time. “We’re almost done, Yulia, then we can get you back to camp.”

She looked back at him, twin tracks of tears already coursing down her face, her eyes wild.

“Yes, we’re not quite done. Over you go again,” he said, pressing her head over the side of the log once again. “Be very still for me. I know this hurts, but it’s nearly done.”

His cock was so hard now, he was certain he’d be able to chisel stone with it. He wanted more than anything to bury himself inside the fragrant—and obviously quite wet—slot of her cunt, but he feared they’d likely been gone too long already. He didn’t have time to give her a proper, long hard ride. Perhaps later, if they were discreet enough.

There was, however, just enough time to ensure she’d learned her lesson fully. He pried her bottom open, pressing the cheeks apart, then encouraging her further over the log. “Legs apart, girl. No… no clenching that bottom. Legs apart.” He slashed a quick couple of blows against her inner thighs, and she keened. “Do it, Yulia, or it’s going to be worse for you. Good… more. That’s better.”

She’s stretched them quite wide indeed, the nearly dripping swollen sex below, the cringing, tight brown whorl of her anus now clearly visible. He stroked her there a moment, thinking of delights and tortures he still might have planned for her. She shuddered when he tapped her bottomhole with his fingertip. “So pretty,” he murmured. “But it’s not going to escape correction either, girl.”

Yulia whimpered then as he eased her left buttock aside, and laid two quick, careful blows down her cleft, the tips wrapping around the plump mons. She screamed, her legs pulling close, the cleft becoming a tight line.

“No… open that bottom, girl. You’re just dragging this out.” He waited, but her trembling thighs showed no signs of opening once more. He tapped the scorched crown of her ass. “I’ll tell you what. You open those legs like a good girl, and be very still and cooperative, and I’ll only give you two more in your cleft—but they’ll be right on your bottomhole. Or, you can continue this disobedience and I’ll give you a dozen more across those poor, welted thighs. Which is it going to be?”

He knew he was being cruel with her here, but he wanted Yulia to feel these for days, to remember this every time she sat down. To know he had her under control, the marks proof of it, seething beneath her clothes. That she would remember her place, even if to the outside world he was nothing more than her bodyguard.

They both knew what he really was to her now.

Reluctantly, she relaxed, splaying her legs wide. Her thighs shook visibly, and her breaths whistled in and out of her nose.

“You’re a sensible girl,” he said, grasping her right buttock, and pulling it away from its twin. With two more harsh strokes, he left numerous swelling little welts down the cleft of her bottom, running along either side of the anus, the whole of the inner slopes of her cleft pink and flushed now. Taking a moment to touch the inflamed circlet of her anus, testing its firmness with his fingertip, he laid one extra lash directly upon it, causing Yulia to rear up, legs extended out behind her, and burst into sobbing tears.

He let go of her wrists and he rubbed her swollen, welted behind vigorously, even as she continued to weep. He pried the gag from her lips, and pulled her up onto his lap. There, she cried, moaning and whimpering now and then against his chest as he held her, stroking her hair, and kissing her tear-stained cheeks, cooing at her to calm down, that it was all over, that she was indeed a very, very good girl for him.

When she’d finally subsided to the occasional sniffle, her entire body quivering like a leaf in the breeze, he bundled her into his arms, giving her a long, firm hug, kissing the crown of her head and whispering how pleased with her he was, how brave and obedient she’d been taking her switching. Then he helped her back into her clothes, Yulia hissing and groaning at the mere touch of the fabric of her panties against her sore, burning bottom and cleft.

Finally, Yulia chastened, her gaze not leaving the ground, he led her once more by the hand like a well-punished girl, back to camp, dusk just beginning to gather in the Emerald Fen.

* * *

The night sky bled from dark blue into purple, darkness threatening. They’d managed to get a tent all to themselves, Anson, Tom, and Lyssa still planning out the operation to begin in the morning.

The same crazy operation she’d convinced them was their best shot.

When did you start posing as some grand strategist, Yulia?

It wasn’t really like that though. It really was something that all of them could see, right away, was indeed the smartest—if risky—way forward. Sometimes, risk was warranted.

And she could think of no other time as important as right now.

Yulia lay on her belly, her head cradled upon her folded arms, listening to Jon work next to her. Her bottom was still a seething, itching, bee-stung storm of discomfort, aching, the aftermath of her switching unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

“Now, lie very still for me,” Jon murmured, kneeling at her side. “This is going to sting at first, but you’ll be glad you had this. The switches left quite a few raw spots on your bottom. This will soothe those marks, ensure they heal properly.”

Yulia gasped, closing her eyes, as the cream was spread upon her buttocks, then down her thighs. The ointment indeed soothed as promised, but it burned, too. She bit into her cheek as the fire sunk deeper into her flesh. “Fuck…my Gods, Jon, that burns!”

“I know it does…I know, just relax into it. Let it do its work. Be good now.”

Trying to concentrate on her breathing, she forced herself to lie utterly still, her throbbing ass and aching thighs burning hot, seething, her flesh feeling as if she were nearly melting in the warm, humid night air. But within seconds, she realized he’d been right, the hurt transforming into almost a tingling, a sensation so intense she could no longer tell whether it was hot or cold, but the sting of it washing away, disappearing more by the second.

“What… what is that?”

“I told you, it will help you. You needed that whipping every bit as much as I needed to give you that whipping.” He stroked her back, his thumb playing within the trough of her spine, his caress so soft, and gentle, so different from the cruelty he’d just displayed to her only an hour prior. “But just because you needed your punishment, doesn’t mean I won’t still take care of you.”

In a way, his caressing of her, his massaging of her sore body, it confused things even further for her. That he was capable of dealing out such torment, and at the same time absolute heaven on Earth, seemed impossible.

And yet, this was happening. She was here lying before him, naked in the night, surrendering her body yet again to his tenderness, his gentleness, a deep caring being displayed that she would never have believed an HKU was even capable of.

But Jon Rexall seemed capable of many things indeed.

She worried that the intense relief, even pleasure he was engendering within her risked her losing her moorings with her consciousness, his big hands rubbing, and kneading, and stroking her flesh. He massaged away the hurt, if not the searing memory of her punishment. And even with that, it stoked a boiling heat between her thighs, too. She marveled at how she was no longer at all self-conscious about being nude in front of him, even when he was, as now, fully clothed himself. Yes, in one sense it was embarrassing, even humiliating, but with Jon, it didn’t matter as much anymore.

What mattered to Yulia, more and more, was simply being by his side, at being with this man, regardless of whether or not he intended to hurt her or hold her.

What did it say about her that she needed both from him?

“Oh Gods, Jon, that feels…so fucking good! Don’t stop, oh my Gods, don’t ever stop.”

Jon chuckled somewhere over her, his hands continuing their ministrations down the backs of her still burning, aching thighs. But even there his touch seemed to wash the worst of the hurt away, leaving in its wake relief, and pleasure—and a desire within her for more.

“Spread your legs, girl,” Jon murmured, gently tapping the insides of her thighs. “All the way now. More… yes, that’s my sweet girl.”

She shivered as she lay there, her legs as wide as they would go, spread out upon the sleeping bag laid along the floor of the tent. She could hear faint murmuring somewhere in the distance. The tents at bivouac site were spread out enough to give everyone at least a modicum of privacy, but she knew they had to keep it quiet. Jon seemed to realize that as well.

“When I was giving you your whipping, I wondered something.”

She drew in a sharp breath as his strong fingers drew apart her buttocks, exposing her well whipped asshole to the air.

“I wondered if you’d ever been used here, if a male has ever taken your ass. Well?”

She didn’t understand it—it was a simple, straightforward question—but her face burned almost as much as her bottom had, at even contemplating the answer. “No… no. I’ve never even considered it.”

She jerked as his finger tapped on the very center of her bottom hole, insistent, the gesture pregnant with meaning, of promise, of what she knew she would not resist if he were to demand it of her. “Then it’s time for you to begin contemplating it, Yulia. You’re extremely tight here, and that just won’t work.”

“What do you mean?”

He chuckled again. “I mean exactly what you think I mean. You need training. This bottom hole needs to be stretched. Do you really think you’ll be able to take my cock back here with it as tight as it is right now?”

She shuddered at the implication of his words, and yet, anticipation already built within her, a dark, twisted, urge within herself that she had no idea she harbored. What was he doing to her? What if what he was doing to her…was revealing what was inside her all along?

Was she simply discovering who the real Yulia Wyndham was?

“I… I don’t want to be trained back there. I… there’s no way I could possibly take you… there.”

“Trust me when I tell you, Yulia, you can take me back there. And I assure you, very soon, that’s exactly what you’ll be doing. Whether you think you’re ready for it, or not. I’ll be the first inside this tight little hole. The first to stretch it wide, to make you pant with the pain, with the shame, with the confusing feelings stirred within you as I push deep inside. Oh, Yulia, you should never have told me this.”

Oh, dear Gods!

His fingertip was taken away from her bottom then, and she heard the sound of something slick, something wet. Then his finger was back at her anus, cold and wet now, circling it, the sensation so wonderful, and yet so terribly embarrassing, too. No one had ever touched her in this way, but it seemed Jon would be the first.

And it seemed whether or not she wanted him to was utterly immaterial to him.

“I want you to push back, Yulia, as if you’re trying to void your bowels,” Jon murmured, his fingertip pushing more firmly now. “More… no, much more. Come on, come on. Do as you’re told. Be a good girl now.”

She whined through tight lips as she obeyed him, the sensation so alien, and yet a feeling that fascinated her in some twisted way, as his fingertip finally breached the tight sphincter.

“That’s it… that’s a girl. Open, open. More! Open your bottom, Yulia. I’m not stopping until my finger is all the way inside you.”

“Please, please, Jon!”

“Keep it down, girl.” Jon gently smacked the side of her thigh in admonishment. “Be very quiet, and obedient for me. You want to behave. I know you do. And I know this feels confusing, and embarrassing, but I’m not going to lie to you, Yulia. I like that it feels confusing, and embarrassing. It’s making my cock hard again. So, open your bottom, and let my finger inside.”

Forcing herself to relax, visualizing opening, and opening some more, yielding, his long, thick finger seated all the way inside her.

She couldn’t help tightening upon him, and an entirely new eruption of sensation bloomed deep inside her, something she had no frame of reference for—but at the same time knew she wanted to explore further.

Even if she would never, ever, admit it to her former captor, now bodyguard.

“Now, that’s not so bad, is it?” His finger thrust slowly inside her gently, the sensation it elicited each time it moved making her moan, causing her to squeeze down tightly upon him. “Oh, how I love the way you tighten up on me. I can’t wait to feel what it’s like to have you squeeze this fiercely around my cock, Yulia.”

Though she knew he couldn’t see her face, she hid it within her folded arms anyway, a sudden heat at her cheeks betraying both her mortification, and the animalistic, primal pleasure, the forbidden feeling deep inside she couldn’t hope to explain or make sense of.

She had no doubt that he would use her regardless, whether or not she had made sense of any of this at all.

Long minutes elapsed, his finger moving in and out of her most secret place as Jon cooed to her, telling her how pleased he was with her obedience, with her submission, his hand stroking the curve of her hip gently. His touch was solicitous, tender, almost proprietary. It was as if by forcing her this way, he was staking yet again an intimate, secret claim upon her body, upon her emotions, and indeed, upon even her mind.

For what other man had ever moved her to such deep emotion, and sensation, and the most profound self-discovery of a woman’s secret needs?

Remarkably, she grew almost used to the sensation of him being inside her, and relaxed, surrendering to it, allowing the pleasure to come to the fore, that the acknowledgment of the taboo, dark, twisted, nature of what he was doing to her only enhanced the appeal of her being forced to endure it. It was something else, a truth she knew she would take to her grave, rather than even consider disclosing to Jon.

Finally, he let her lie in peace, packing everything back up into the case he’d retrieved from his rover—he’d called it a ‘field kit’—though she has no real idea of what that actually meant.

As the inky blackness of a forest night descended upon them, Jon curled up behind her, the heavy, hot bar of his erection lolling across the sticky, tingling curve of her bottom as he pulled her in close to his body. She stirred, pressing her ass against his genitals.

“Stop that. This was a punishment, girl. Hardly makes sense to reward you with my cock now, does it?”

She whined softly against her arm, but ceased her movement as he squeezed her hip in warning. “Enough.”

They laid that way a long while, and her mind wandered, playing the day back in her mind, and it was at that moment she remembered something that had been plain as day.

Anson’s change in demeanor.

“Did you see the way Anson tensed up? The way he grew angrier, less patient?” she asked.

“When?” Jon splayed his hand upon her belly, stroking her there in a way that made her sigh. She could get very, very used to the way he touched her.

“After they found Petra. I swear, when he came back out of the med tent, after seeing her, he was almost a different man.”

Jon made a low sound. “Even more determined, was how I’d perceived it. Am I missing something?”

Yulia smiled against her arm. “I’m sure of it. I’m telling you, Jon, there is… something else going on there. Something missing.”

“Do you remember how they were—Anson and Petra?” Jon paused, squeezing the gentle curve of her belly, his fingertips playing down into the fringe of her pubic hair. “Before the Schism?”

“A little. I was younger. They… got along well, I guess. Anson and Petra weren’t around much, and rarely did I see them together. But what I did seemed… friendly enough. Even then though, there was tension between my dad and Beckett. Enough that it was something a stupid little girl could pick up on.”

He said nothing for a long moment, then cupped the weight of her breast in his palm. “I want to ask something of you, but it’s not to hurt you.”

“Okay…”

“Where was your mother? You never… you never speak of her.”

She smiled again, looking up at him to hopefully make him at ease, even if still, a tiny piece of her felt the faintest of bittersweetness at her mother’s mention. “I never knew her. She died giving birth to me. Dad called me her ‘parting gift’—her last declaration of her love for him.”

“I’m… that must have been… difficult.” The sudden awkwardness to his tone, if anything, endeared him to her even more. It was a tiny glimpse at something resembling vulnerability in a man whom up to that moment she’d regarded as something between a machine and a superhuman force of nature.

“It’s not so bad.” She grimaced then, her heart twisting. “Not having Dad… is very hard. But it’s easier for me, knowing he’s up there—reunited with her.” Tears suddenly sprang to her eyes as she imagined it. “Both of them waiting for me… someday.”

She thought of Anson and Petra again, if only to keep the hurt of her father’s death at bay in the moment.

Jon’s arm slipped underneath her head, and she rested her cheek upon it, sighing in sweet, contented pleasure as he gently squeezed and caressed her breast in his big, calloused palm.

She did wonder still, about those two. What was really going on there?