Depraved by Trent Evans

Chapter 39

The meetings, the preparations, the endless talking. She’d never realized how much being a leader was about talking, talking, talking.

What was worse was she felt like an imposter, as if she were playing charades, a pretender.

But it wasn’t anything of the sort. This was deadly serious.

Ironically, what made it okay, what made it something she could endure, were the nights.

For in the night, she put down her mantle of the rebel, the leader, the soldier.

And knelt at the feet of a man. A man who saw her for what she really was.

Just a silly little girl who longed, right down to her bones, to be loved and disciplined, hurt and comforted. A girl who needed to be reminded—painfully, shamefully, repeatedly—what she was. Who she was.

Because it was the only thing keeping her together anymore.

That first night, Jon had bent her over the modest bed in their temporary quarters, whispering in her ear as he thrust brutally inside her, that outside that door, she was the brave Yulia Wyndham, her father’s daughter, and inheritor of the rebel cause.

But behind that door?

She was just a warm, wet place for him to come.

It should have horrified her, should have caused her to rethink their dynamic. Should have forced her hand in revising their power dynamic.

Instead, it had become the best part of her day, her refuge from the pressure, from her fear, from her doubts.

And it let her forget, if only for a few hours, what all of them must do.

What all of them might have to sacrifice.

Yulia struggled with the dichotomy of being the strong leader in public, while in private she was the degraded, subjugated sex toy to Jon. She acknowledged she needed it.

Which Yulia was the real her? Could she even answer that question anymore?

Did she even have the courage to?

But that wasn’t at all the worst of it, not by a long shot. Time was the worst—because she was running out of it. As the days of planning and preparation ticked down, to H hour, it loomed larger and larger, the sword of Damocles hanging over her, of the moment Jon would set out upon his mission.

All of them knew the odds were long indeed that she’d ever see him alive again.

And yet, she had little choice. It was the bitter pill of leadership, of having to do the right thing, the smart thing, even when it was the most agonizing, heartbreaking thing in the world.

When everything within her cried out the same lament.

No! You can’t do this!

Jon did his very best to distract her, of course. Something she was both grateful for, and at the same time, dreaded.

He’d taken to beginning the training of her ass he’d warned her about that night in the bivouac tent.

She wore a slim butt plug most of the time now, or as long as she could endure it before she whispered in his ear how uncomfortable it had gotten, begging him to allow her to take it out, if only for a little while.

Most nights, she was spanked, or caned, or paddled. Her breasts were constantly sore now, either having been slapped firmly, or throttled mercilessly, throbbing angrily under her light blue rebel tunic, trying valiantly not to let on how much she hurt as she discussed logistics, tactics, and plans for the upcoming operation.

He kept her mind occupied, focused on something other than doom, on hopelessness, on what might be lost.

He wasn’t just her bodyguard now. He gave her consequences, and gave her a reason to be strong. He was her confidant, and her accountability. Her disciplinarian, and her safe harbor.

Jon Rexall, the fearsome HKU, was rapidly becoming the first thing she thought of in the morning, and the last vision as she slipped off to troubled slumber at night.

* * *

He’d barred her largely from orgasms since their encounter in his holding cell, though she was required to make him come daily, often multiple times a day.

That unfairness, the lopsided ledger of her pleasure versus his, was quite satisfying indeed.

His take on her training was simple, cruel, and very, very effective.

She did whatever she was told, no matter what. He indulged himself in her body whenever he wanted, in whatever way he wanted.

“What are you… what are you going to do to me?”

He’d bound her on her back upon the bed, her legs spread so wide, the tendons at her inner thighs stood out taut. He’d pressed those thighs even wider, until she’d complained of the ache.

Then he’d bound her wrists to her ankles, too.

Her ass was plugged with the heavy, stainless version, another from his field kit. She’d graduated from the two smaller sizes, her bottomhole now stretched quite cruelly around the stout metal goad. He traced around the thin, pink circle of her anus where it swallowed up the thick plug.

“Hmm. What am I going to do to you, you ask?” He sat down on the edge of the mattress between her legs. She’d been splayed open like a wishbone. A most appealing vision indeed. He eased a palm up and down the smooth, vulnerable line of her inner thigh, loving the way it trembled under his touch. “I love how you struggle with it, and that it helps keep your mind on your holes—the uncomfortable stretch of the one, and the ongoing, desperate denial of the other. It’s… effective. It’s right. It’s what you need.”

“I… I need to come. Please…”

“No, you really don’t.” He slapped her thigh firmly, and she yelped through gritted teeth. He reached up to pinch and twist one of her nipples as he smiled at her. “You think you do. But if you don’t? You’ll be just fine. Really, you will.”

“I’m going to die if I don’t come!” Her nostrils flared wide, eyes fluttering. “Please let me come, sir.” She blushed as she said it.

“I wonder what your troops out there would think of you, if they could see you now. Your cunt on blatant display. Bottomhole plugged tight. If they could hear you begging like a horny, desperate slut to be allowed to have an orgasm? Not very becoming of their fearless leader, I don’t think. They might just conclude such a girl is little more than a common whore.”

Her blush darkened to crimson, and she looked away, a deep furrow of woe across her forehead, her hopes dashed. It was one of his very favorite sorts of moments with her now. When she’d truly surrendered, no matter how much her body still fought his control.

He tapped the end of the plug clearly displayed between her obscenely spread cheeks. “How is this then? Comfortable yet?”

“No… sir.”

“Ah, well, you’ll get used to it.”

She glanced at him, hope in her blue eyes. “Can… can I take it out for a while?”

“Are you in pain?” He played with the plug, easing it out a tiny bit with his fingertips.

“N-no… it’s just, uncomfortable.”

“Then the answer is no. Discomfort is part of this, girl. Proper training of your ass does involve discomfort, at times.” He pressed the thick plug home once more to the lovely sound of her groan. “You’ll live.”

The wet, open slot of her sex though, its fragrance heavy on the air, was too much for him to resist though. He leaned forward, hands braced on her inner thighs, and drew his tongue through her lips, from the perineum all the way up to the hair of her mound.

She cried out in surprise, head falling back as he did it again. “Please…oh, that’s… so good.”

There was real surprise, even shock, in her voice, and it drove him onward. He’d planned on simply edging her tonight. But as his own cock throbbed in his pants, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to stop at just that.

Her taste was absolutely mouthwatering, and within seconds he was ravenously feeding on her, licking and sucking at her pussy, splaying the lips wide to allow him to taste every part of her. The girl’s clit was swollen even more than usual, the hood partially pulled back, and he sucked it into his mouth, her entire body trembling as he did.

“Please… please… let me come… please!”

He looked up at her, licking her thick juices from his chin. “What would you give me in exchange for an orgasm? Hmm?”

Her head lifted, and she met his gaze, her eyes wide, frantic. “You… will you? I’ll… I’ll do anything.” Her head fell back to the mattress as he firmly sucked her clit, swirling his tongue over it again and again. “Oh fuck, anything, sir. Anything!”

Alternating long, slow licks of the flat of his tongue against the entirety of her slit, with quick, firm working of her clit, and around the base of it, he had her moaning loudly within a minute. But he wasn’t even thinking of stopping.

“Do you like it when your pussy is licked, slut?”

“Oh fuck… yes. Yes!”

“I thought you might. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you come.”

He brought her to one edge, her thighs shaking dramatically when he pulled away. He thought she might go over, so he carefully spread her labia, and applied two crisp slaps to the exposed clit. She bit off a shriek, flashing a look of shock, and hurt, and frustrated anger at him.

“Why? Why did you…? I was so close!”

“Precisely the reason why, silly. You don’t have permission to come.” He caressed her inner thighs. “Think of it this way. I was helping you, preventing you from disobeying me. Actually, it’s rather kind of me, isn’t it?”

She groaned in pure frustration, her hands pulling at the bonds lashing them securely to her ankles.

Then he did it again. And again. Slapping her poor inflamed clit each time her thighs began to shake, her muscled tensing. The last time, she actually shrieked, and he’d had to clap a hand over her mouth to muzzle her.

But it didn’t stop him. He worked her, mercilessly, until her pussy was leaking so much, her perineum was bright with her fluids, the butt plug slick with it, a growing dark patch spreading upon the sheet below her.

The room was thick with the scent of her—and he loved it. “I think you should thank me for looking out for you.”

“W-what?”

“It’s polite, after all. Thank me.” He palmed her hot, wet cunt in his hand. A warning.

“Th-thank you… sir.”

“For?” He squeezed her mound firmly, taking the soft, hair-covered flesh there between thumb and forefinger and shaking her slightly. “Be clear with your thanks, slut. Otherwise, I might think you’re being… insincere.”

“Thank you! Thank you, sir. For helping me… obey. Please believe me!”

Triumphant, he rose up, planting his hands at either side of her, looking in her eyes. “I think I believe you.” He kissed her then, hard, plunging his tongue deep in her mouth, loving the idea that she was forced to taste her own wetness upon his lips. He kissed her for a long while, taking his time, tasting every part of her, until she was panting, her eyes closed, her bound, naked body writhing.

As he slipped two fingers deep inside her pussy, she reared up as far as her bonds allowed. He reveled in how different her cunt felt with the thick plug stoppering her bottom. It didn’t stop him from plunging his fingers still deeper, and from playing cruelly with her cervix, again and again, until her belly was quivering, little yelps and whimpers pouring continuously from her swollen, kiss-reddened lips.

Bracing his weight upon her thighs, no doubt making them ache as he forced them the tiniest bit wider, stretching those taut tendons even further, he freed his cock from his pants. Her head was lolling side to side, her eyes half-closed, the girl almost delirious with need.

Without another word, he plunged inside her, his cock spreading her wide. She cried out, eyes flying open as she realized what he’d done, then they closed once more, her mouth yawning, her nostrils flaring. “Oh… my Gods… yessss.”

Taking up firm, long strokes that had him bottoming out each time deep inside her, she was at the precipice within seconds, her pussy so tight around him, her juices dripping down his swinging balls below.

“Please… Jon, please! May I come?”

He thrust even harder, punishing, hurting, staking his claim upon her body in the most elemental way a man could. She moaned and panted, pleading incoherently now.

Finally, pushing as deep as he could go, his pubis grinding against her hard little clit, he growled the words.

“Come, Yulia. Come on my cock.”

Within seconds she was moaning louder, her pussy clamping down upon him with a surprising strength, and then she arched up, her face going beet red, the veins and sinews standing out upon her neck as she groaned even louder. She quivered, and yelped, her body shaking with the power of it.

He didn’t let her off though, grinding that clit again, grasping her helplessly displayed breasts, and squeezing them harshly in his hands. “More, slut. I want more.”

She worked her cunt against him feverishly, frantic, until she writhed once more, her long, lost moan as if her soul was actually leaving her body. Great floods of her juices poured out around him, hot upon his skin, and she finally sagged down upon the mattress again.

It was only then that he allowed himself the full range and strength of his thrusts, pounding into her, holding her cruelly by her breasts, crushing and twisting her nipples in his fingers as he fucked her, shaking the entire bed with each brutal drive inside her.

With a last flurry of desperate strokes, he grunted, throwing his head back as he spurted deep within her sex, again and again, the pulses of his cum still coming, even as he pulled out of her, thick arcs of it spraying the sodden pubic hair matted to her plump mons, more of it wetting the splayed, gaping opening of her cunt.

Finally spent, he panted as he used the head of his cock to push that little extra bit of seed inside her, where it belonged, then wiped his softening penis upon her inner thighs.

She seemed almost inchoate, barely aware as he carefully undid her bonds, testing her wrists gently as he freed each one to ensure they hadn’t lost circulation. She sighed as he did it, a lazy smile curling her lips. But she said nothing, merely looking upon him as he slipped the last of her bonds.

Drawing her up, he held her in his arms tightly, holding her head to his shoulder, stroking her hair, simply enjoying the moment of holding her warm, naked body to his.

She tensed a little in his grasp. “Oh Gods… look at the bed.” She hid her head against the hollow of his neck as he peered down. The patch of wetness she’d left upon the sheets had grown huge.

He grinned in satisfaction though, his enjoyment of it greatly enhanced by her sweet shame at the wantonness of her cunt. “I’ll spank you in the morning for that if it will make you feel better, girl. It’ll help you can clear your conscience of your transgression.”

She shuddered against him, drawing a long, quivering sigh. “Yes… sir.”

He put her down on her back again, and quickly shed his clothes, Yulia’s avid gaze not missing anything as he revealed himself to her. Simply watching her watch him was already making his recently spent cock begin to twitch once more. Soon, he’d have to be inside her again.

They laid down then, and he draped her over his chest. Her eyes were already closing as she molded her body to him, the hot wetness of her cunt pressed to his thigh as she looped a leg over the top of his own.

He stroked her back, played with her hair, as he laid there in the dark, listening to her breathe, the cadence of her respiration slowing, then slowing still more.

Her murmured words surprised him. “I’ve been thinking… a lot. About the two faces I have to present, these… dual lives. What I have to do… out there. And what you make of me… in here.” She breathed in deeply, the heavy weight of her breasts stirring pleasingly against his chest. “Which one is the… real me?”

He thought about that for a while, running his fingers through her thick, silky hair, loving the play of its softness upon his skin.

“I think… they’re both you. Even if you think they contradict the other.” He kissed the top of her head. “Those two sides of you… they don’t have to make sense. If they work for you… that’s all that really matters. Nobody else has to know.”

“Thank you, Jon.” She pressed her lips to his collarbone. “Thank you, so much.”

She didn’t say anymore, and he was glad for it, content to lie there with her in his arms, in the silence of the night.

It wasn’t only Yulia struggling either. What he’d begun to feel… he had no frame of reference for it. It was beyond lust, and want, and mere sexual need. It was… deeper.

He wanted to be with her, to protect her.

To make something meaningful, something lasting with her.

What was that though? What did it mean?

It was bitter irony, that. To discover this entirely new, awakening side of him… mere days before he had to march off to his almost certain death.

These few moments in time, alone, with her in his arms. They would be enough though. They had to be.

Because they were all he’d ever get.