Depraved by Trent Evans

Chapter 5

As she began to surface back toward consciousness, she couldn’t understand why her body was moved, this way and that, but her limbs refused—absolutely refused—to obey her brain’s commands to resist.

No! Stop!

“Wake up.” The voice seemed to come to her from inside a tunnel, the sound echoing, distorted. “Time to wake up, girl.”

She opened her eyes, the light blinding. The air was warmer, but not so humid.

The scent of him, a masculine musk unlike any she’d ever encountered, was close.

She remembered it then, the way he’d carted her out of the dense forest slung over his shoulder like a prized kill, brought down in a hunt.

Was that far from what she was likely to be, in the end?

No… just no.

Her chains were gone.

But she was anything but freed.

She was upright, but her arms were raised overhead, thick leather cuffs wrapped about her wrists, which themselves attached to ropes anchored in the ceiling above. Her ankles bore the same thick cuffs, but instead of being tied to the floor somehow, they were linked together by a short, thin length of chain roughly the width of her shoulders.

Other than that, she remained entirely naked.

Pulling at her bonds, she looked about her, the realization of exactly where she now found herself something that made her almost swallow her tongue in fright.

Thick, steel bars surrounded her on three sides, a solid block wall directly behind her.

It was a cell.

And she was locked inside it.

“All the way back to the land of the living yet?”

He strolled into view from the left. Some sort of screen or communications device was propped in one of his hands, while in the other he gripped a thick bundle of what looked like…

It’s a… a flogger. Oh my Gods.

The door, directly ahead, clicked then, swinging open—apparently completely automated—and he stepped inside her enclosure.

His clothes had changed. Gone were his thick trousers and quasi-military uniform.

In its place was a form-fitting gray tunic, the sleeves bare from his huge shoulders down. Tight shorts that came down to just above his knee highlighted the massive, rippling muscles of thighs that bespoke immense, bone crushing power. His shoulders seemed like twin boulders, bulging and flexing with muscle, thick veins visible at the fronts of each one.

And the size of his genitals made her blink her eyes, the shorts highlighting both the thick cock and large, heavy testicles in amazing—and aroused—detail. She thought she could even make out some of the veins along his shaft, so snug were his clothes.

“Seeing something of interest?”

She shook her head, her blush shaming her, making her wince.

“I… why… where are we?”

“You’re safe.” He let the length of leathers fall from his shoulder and he shook them out. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be hurting you shortly.”

Oh fuck.

“Remember your little stunt with your knee?” He held up the flogger. “This is going to take care of that. But not quite yet.”

He took down her arms, letting out the slack in the ropes pulling them skyward.

“First, you’re going to do what I tell you—and cooperate. Can you do that?”

Just do it. He’s only trying to scare you. Do what he says—for now.

“Yes… I’ll…okay.”

“I thought you’d see the light.” He grinned, unlacing the rope from each of her cuffs in turn. But he didn’t unsnap them from her wrists.

She held them up, expectantly.

“Those stay on. They won’t interfere with anything. I can get more than a good enough image with them on.”

Image?

He clipped a stout carabiner to one wrist cuff, utilizing one of the steel rings embedded in the leather, and linked it to its twin, securing her wrists together in much the same way her ankles were. Hooking a finger around one of the cuff’s steel rings, he led her out of the cell.

She shuffled as best she could, the ankle chain forcing her to take tiny, mincing steps lest she topple over.

He seemed only casually aware—or concerned in the least—that she struggled to keep up with him.

The room the cell was within was almost entirely bare, the walls stout cement or masonry block, painted a drab white. In numerous spots on the right wall, various sorts of rings, anchors, and hooks were embedded firmly into the cement.

She didn’t dare speculate what use they’d been put to. On the opposite wall… was a sight that nearly made her heart stop.

Every form of paddle, whip, crop, rope, harness, and strap one could possibly dream up—along with a few items whose purpose she couldn’t hope to guess at—adorned the entirety of the wall, hanging neatly from all manner of hooks and brackets.

It was a panoply of perversion, in her eyes—and it filled her with both dread and something she pushed down deep, its existence itself implying something she didn’t want to accept as reality.

In one corner, clad in neat, clean white tiles with bright grout at the joints, was a floor-to-ceiling shower—though one, tellingly, without any doors or indeed any barriers at all. It had a grated drain in the floor, the tiled walls adorned there too with several handles, rings, and hooks.

Her mouth was a dry as burlap, her pulse pounding at the base of her throat as she took it all in.

Next to the corner shower was a structure she didn’t immediately recognize, itself forming a tall, glass-encased cell of its own, one side opening on polished metal hinges. A bulky squared-off appliance, suspended from the ceiling by a stout length of flexible mental conduit, filled the space approximately seven feet off the floor, the device adorned with several lenses, lights, and what appeared to be either probes, or microphones.

Or both.

In the middle of the room were several items that looked like a cross between furniture, and a gymnastics or training apparatus.

Though she had a cold certitude any training done in this room was most definitely not of the athletic variety.

“Right this way,” he murmured, leading her toward the glass enclosure.

Her stomach dropped when he opened the door, the machinery above coming to life when he tapped something on his handheld screen, several red lights blinking and a strong, white downlight bathing the floor at the center of the glassed-in cell.

He dropped her wrists, one of his big palms pushing at her upper back.

“I’m… I’m not going in there.” She planted her feet firmly in place.

She yelped as the heavy leather slashed at the backs of her tender thighs, seeming to dig into her vulnerable flesh, white-hot pain searing her.

“You will unless you want more of that,” he said calmly from somewhere behind her. “You’ve already got plenty coming. Don’t add more by being disobedient.”

“I-what is that?” She said it looking up at the contraption over the cell, but not yet stepping inside the glass.

“You don’t need to worry about that.” The leathers pressed menacingly to the stinging flesh of her thighs. “You need to worry about doing as you’re told.”

Sighing, her chest so tight she wondered if she could even draw any breath, she obeyed, moving under the machinery.

The glass door closed behind her, and the man—she still didn’t even know what to call him—stood outside, watching her with a sparkling, avid gaze, his dark eyes alive with anticipation.

If only she had any inkling what it was he was so eager to see.

“Stay very still now.”

The machinery above began to hum, and several flashes emitted from it, along with a click, then another.

“Listen to me, and do exactly as told. If I have to start the sequence over, you’re going to be whipped again. Understand?”

“Y-yes.” She tried to lick some moisture upon parched lips, but its wetness seemed to have abandoned her as quickly as hope threatened to.

“Turn around. Back facing me.”

As she did, she noticed the glass walls seemed to have taken on a shimmering quality, no longer transparent, instead beginning to undulate and brighten, intricate patterns and shapes shifting and melding and reforming all around her now as she watched.

It was both beautiful and unsettling.

Clicks and hums sounded again overhead.

“Right side to me—shoulders back.”

She hated the way her breasts projected when she obeyed, and at the same time, suspected that was exactly why he’d ordered it.

There were further clicks and humming then.

“Left side now—same as before. Press those shoulders back.”

She obeyed, her blush almost fiery, her cheeks had grown so hot.

The machinery overhead now gave off a tiny bit of heat, a faint smell of ozone just detectable on the air as a further set of clicks and hums could be heard above her.

“Bend over.”

“What? No!”

“I wasn’t asking. I’m telling you.” He swished the flogger back and forth in front of him. “Do as you’re told. Now.”

“Why… do you need me to do that?”

But she already knew, the taste of her dread bitter and sour all at once.

“If I have to come in there and bend you over myself, you’re not going to like what happens next.”

“Fuck… fuck…!”

Her mortification threatening to drown her, she complied, the blood pounding at her temples as she did.

“Hands as far down as you can go. More!”

She grunted as her hamstrings began to ache.

“Now, grab the ankle chain and hold.”

She let out a tiny little whine of helpless frustration, shutting her eyes tight.

Further flashes and clicks sounded.

Three more times, he told her to turn and bend in the same way. Each was more humiliating than the last, especially when he ordered her to face away from him and grasp that hated chain one more time.

There was a deep male hum of approval behind her, barely audible over the sounds the machine was making above. “Good.”

With a loud click, the machine seemed to switch off.

For reasons she didn’t understand, she kept her position, her pulse pounding behind her eyes. He said nothing for long seconds, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was drawing out her humiliation intentionally. “You can straighten up.”

She blew out a breath, popping immediately upright—then gasping as a wave of dizziness washed through her for a moment.

The glass opened and his big hand took her by the upper arm, drawing her outside. The air was somewhat cooler outside the enclosure—thankfully—though still quite warm.

Whatever ideas or nightmares she’d entertained about what might happen to her following her abduction by a strange man… this most definitely was not among them.

HKUs were absolutely infamous, the stories of women being raped, beaten, and nearly killed something every woman had heard more than once in her life.

There was no way to know what was real, and what was myth… but this had left her entirely baffled.

“Come with me,” he said, completely unnecessarily, as he still gripped her arm like a living manacle.

She couldn’t have hoped to do anything but follow him. “What… what are you doing!”

She tried to stop, but it was hopeless, the bars of the cell door swinging wide, the man dragging her in after him. “What’s… what’s your name?”

There was no reason she could pinpoint as to exactly why she’d asked him the question at that moment. Perhaps it was panic. Or maybe just a way to stall for a few more seconds in the vain attempt to delay what she knew, instinctively, was about to be something very, very bad.

She was right.

Instead of answering her, he yanked her cuffed wrists overhead, unsnapping the metal link and affixing each manacle to the ropes dangling above them once more. He hauled them high, until she was up on her tiptoes, the leather of the cuffs digging into the flesh of her wrists.

His fingertips felt along the edges of the bindings where they squeezed her tightest. He clicked his tongue. “You’ll be fine.”

“Fine?” What are…ah!”

The first blow of the leathers wrapped about her hip, the tips biting into the center of her far buttock, each one stinging harshly.

“Be quiet and still during your punishment,” he said softly, shaking out the flogger.

“How can I fucking do th—” She groaned, another blow smacking across both buttocks, the far hip again taking the searing tips directly, though slightly lower this time.

Already, her breathing was almost frantic as he took a single step back. She could almost feel the weight of his gaze fixed upon her burning ass. “Please don’t do this.”

Schlack schlack schlack

Three rapid blows followed in quick succession, and she swung partially, rearing up as the pain flared hot, an almost bee stung feeling suffusing her flesh.

“Quiet.”

Schlack schlack schlack schlack

She reared her head back and cried out, the strikes all along the lengths of the backs of her thighs. The pain was far worse there, seeming to burrow into her flesh.

Fuck. Fuck! No more!

She lost track of further blows, twisting her body to and fro to try to mitigate the torment as they kept coming, and coming, and coming. Every inch of her skin from the tops of her shoulder blades to the backs of her knees was struck repeatedly, some of the blows making her shriek at the stinging pain.

Finally, she hung limp by her wrists, her hands aching, the skin abraded by the edges of the leather bonds. Her hair was sweaty, her cheeks wet with tears she hadn’t realized she’d shed.

Her entire back throbbed, her thighs seeming to ache angrily with the rhythm of her jackrabbit quick pulse.

“Next time you think about kicking me, or kneeing me—or striking me at all—you’ll remember how you feel right now, won’t you?”

She panted, her head hanging down. It was impossible to make sense of the overload of sensation, of being drowned by the pain until her legs went limp with it.

“Answer me!” he barked, the warning in his tone shocking her back to semi-coherence.

“Y-yes… okay… I’m… sorry.”

He didn’t reply, but she hissed, wincing as he touched her lower back, fingertips gliding along the upper swell of her bottom, straying down into the cleft of her buttocks for a moment.

“Excellent marks here. Nothing that will bruise too much, but very pretty. Do they hurt?”

“Gods, yes!”

She hated that he’d asked it. Any person with an intellect north of drooling idiot could conclude she was in serious pain.

Asking the question wasn’t to ascertain truth though.

It was to cement the lesson.

And she despised him for it.

Despise him? Then how do you explain that?

The that in question was another reaction she didn’t have the courage to confront. At least not at that moment. She’d… think about it later.

Much later.

The heat within her sex was bad enough—and was difficult to explain away in any event.

What she was most concerned about though… was her captor noticing the slickness making the lips of her pussy very slippery indeed.

What was going on here?

Maybe the stories weren’t so far off after all?

When he said it, she almost yelped, the deep bass of his voice loud in the space.

“My name… is Jon Rexall.”