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Quinton's Crucible: Dominion Trust, Book IV

Dominion Trust : Book IV

By: Trent Evans
Published By: Shadow Moon Press
Copyright: Copyright © 2016 by Trent Evans All rights reserved.
Thirty-six Chapters / 94,532 Words
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As it so often was, my choice was obedience, or pain. 

When they held the whip, or the cane, or the crop, my eyes always focused on the hands. The way the fingers caressed the braided leather of a handle, the way a maroon painted nail would catch the light as the cane sliced through the air, my bound body waiting to be reacquainted with its old friend agony. 

I knew what they wanted, what they expected. But I never cooperated. They’d never make me give it to them. 

I always chose the pain. No matter how bad it was — and there had been times that it was awful — it still paled next to the bitterness of obedience, of bowing. 

To her. Never. 

They liked to make me wait. But it wouldn’t work either. I would endure, and I would prevail. 

The door opened, the subtle zephyr of air across my chilled skin bringing me back to the present. I straightened my back, raising my chin. It was an unspoken expectation that I was to look at the floor in their presence, but I wasn’t about to meekly conform to their insane demands. It would cost me, I knew, but nothing came without cost in this place. I would show them I was no cowering dog. 

I would endure. 

The sound of the heels on the smooth concrete always echoed, and as a result I could never tell how many of them had entered, how many would witness my ordeal, participate in it, savor it. 

Then the heels appeared in the circle of light shining down upon me. So, it was to be only one tormentor this time. I dreaded it when it was only one, for oddly, it always lasted longer, the pain was always worse. 

But I would endure.
“Do you know how long you’ve been in this hole?” 

My blood ran cold at the sound of the silky smooth voice, the cool confidence, the edge in her slightly clipped cadence. It was her. I was certain of it. 

I was afraid, but she'd never know it. 

I would cry out before the end, a seething mass of marks burning across my skin. As always, I'd try to hold back the tears. I wouldn’t let her see them. Not ever. I would not scream. I would not break. 

I would endure. 

My punishment was always merciless, but that wasn’t the worst of it. It was what happened afterward. 

Those words. 

She whispered them against my welted skin, as my muscles trembled and spasmed, pain wracking my shoulders, the stripes upon my back like flames licking my flesh. 

It wasn’t her lash that I feared. 

They were the words she spoke to me, before leaving me to my agony, my solitude. Each time, they threatened to undo me — and each time I heard them, they were more seductive. 

“Surrender to me.” --- 

Finally, the harrowing story of Quinton Trask's ordeal can be told. This novel can be read as a stand-alone, but the experience will be much richer if the reader has previously read Her Troika, Book #2 in the Dominion Trust series. 

Publisher's Warning: This dark romance is intended for mature audiences. 18 and over only! 

This novel contains the following themes or activities: pervasive F/m BDSM, capture fantasy, intense and explicit sex, and other acts of unequal power dynamics. If any of these might be offensive to you, please do not buy or read this book. 

Prologue

A s it so often was, my choice was obedience, or pain.

They never said anything when they came into my cell. Wordlessly, they’d stand before me, the light shining down, illuminating only my naked form, my body clad in nothing but chains. I had never once seen their faces. The light was far too harsh, even when I was allowed my sight. No, of them, I knew only the athletic legs, their boots, the feminine high heels that made them seem to tower over me. Sometimes they were in leather, more often in the mundane. Jeans, shorts, leggings. Once it had been slacks, as if my persecutor that day was on her way to a business meeting, and stopped off for a quick bout of torment for me.

And their hands.

I knew every line, crease, and vein of their slender hands. Some were tan, most were pale, even delicate.

What they did to me was anything but.

As they held the whip, or the cane, or the crop, my eyes always focused on the hands. The way the fingers caressed the braided leather of a handle, the way a maroon-painted nail would catch the light as the cane sliced through the air, my bound body waiting to be reacquainted with its old friend agony.

I knew what they wanted, what they expected. But I never cooperated. They’d never make me give it to them.

I always chose the pain. No matter how bad it was — and there had been times that it was awful — it still paled next to the bitterness of obedience, of bowing.

To her.

Never.

Equally wordlessly, they would string me up by the wrists, and I would wait, in silence, whether gagged or not.

They liked to make me wait. But it wouldn’t work either. I would endure, and I would prevail.

The door to my cell opened, the subtle zephyr of air across my chilled skin bringing me back to the present. I straightened my back, raising my chin. It was an unspoken expectation that I was to look at the floor in their presence, but I wasn’t about to meekly conform to their bullshit rules. It would cost me, I knew, but nothing came without cost in this place. I would be beaten regardless, so I resolved to show them I wasn’t a cowering dog.

I would endure.

The sound of the heels on the smooth concrete always echoed, and as a result I could never tell how many of them had entered, how many would witness my torture, participate in it, savor it.

Then the heels appeared in the circle of light shining down upon me. So, it was to be only one tormentor this time. I dreaded it when it was only one, for oddly, it always lasted longer, the pain was always worse.

But I would endure.

“Do you know how long you’ve been in this hole?”

My blood ran cold at the sound of the silky smooth voice, the cool confidence, the edge in her slightly clipped cadence. It was her. I was certain of it.

Anna.

“Don’t you people own calendars?” My voice was a croak, my raw vocal cords only one of the several mementos from the last time I received one of these visits. “I can’t exactly keep track of the days in here, wherever this is, so you’ll have to excuse me if I haven’t a fucking clue.”

The slap rocked my head to the right, and I sucked in a breath, the heat blooming upon my cheek.

“You don’t ever curse in here.” Her voice sounded from the darkness, her heels clicking slowly upon the cement as she walked around me.

“I’ll tell you what you can do with your fu—”

The hand reached around from behind, closing upon my testicles, the tight squeeze making me hiss. I gritted my teeth as she increased the pressure still further, my body wrenching in the stricture of my suspension. My toes brushed the cold concrete as my legs shook.

“I can go on if you want to keep running that mouth, boy.”

“Okay! Okay!”

With a last squeeze, she let me go, and I blew out a long breath, my chest rising and falling rapidly. I was afraid, but I’d never let her see it. She might make me cry out as the fire slashed across my ass, but I’d never let her see my fear.

The cane struck without warning. It was her way. I’d come to know it well for she’d beaten me before. I was crying out before the end, my ass a seething mass of burning welts, my back striped with fire. As before, I tried to hold back the tears. I wouldn’t let her see them. Not ever. I would not scream. I would not break.

I would endure.

My punishment was merciless, but that wasn’t the worst of it. It was what happened afterward.

Those words.

She whispered them against my welted skin, as my muscles trembled and spasmed, pain wracking my shoulders, the stripes upon my back like flames licking my flesh.

It wasn’t the lash that I feared.

They were the words she spoke to me, before leaving me to my agony, my solitude. Each time, they threatened to undo me — and each time I heard them, they were more seductive.

“Surrender to me.”

Chapter 1

F or the first time ever, Anna wasn't sure she could go through with it.

Sitting there on her deck, high up in the foothills of the Cascades, the cool breeze whispering through her hair, she flipped through the file once again, still not quite believing what she was reading. She'd reviewed it twice more since she'd arrived, hoping familiarity would quell the unease, the doubt.

It hadn't worked.

She watched Darynn and Ivy talking in low, quiet voices, the sound of their words barely audible above the wind. One bold, one cautious, the two women were the team she needed, wanted, both of them more than capable of handling the assignment.

But could the assignment handle the subject?

The pictures were still jarring to her — and not just those showing the victims of his cruelty. In truth, he’d overstepped the bounds of both legality and morality more times than she could count, with plenty of photographic evidence confirming it.

That wasn’t the worst of it though. It was the eyes.

Quinton Trask was possessed of the sort of pale blue eyes that could be those of an innocent, or the cold, emotionless gaze of a heartless sociopath. Which was he?

When she’d taken the assignment, she’d been assured it was the latter, Grayson’s foam-flecked lips and reddened face giving lie to the rage seething within him. He intended to make Quinton pay dearly for what he’d done to the powerful man’s niece.

Quinton could have been much worse to the girl, of course — and Genna had indeed agreed to be bound by her Term — but that didn’t matter to Grayson Corddray. Vengeance was what he sought — and Anna was to be the instrument of it.

“Are we clear on the plan?” Anna took a sip from the warm mug, the coffee searing, invigorating.

The subtle gloss of Darynn’s lips curved, the wolf considering its prey. “Nervous?”

“If you’re not, you’re delusional.”

Ivy, a finger twirled in an auburn curl at her ear, pushed herself away from the deck railing, the thin gray knit sweater she wore hugging her dramatic curves. “I think I’m nervous enough for the both of you.”

Icy blonde, beautiful, and sadistic, Darynn Hauser was well known in the community. The ex-military domme was the perfect Amazonian “bad cop” to the “good cop” in the form of lush, curvy — and deceptively perceptive — Ivy McClellan.

It was a calculated risk to rope Ivy into the plan, the use of a female submissive — one just beginning to explore the idea of being the one to hold the whip — seemingly at odds with the harsh medicine that would be required for such a hardened, stubborn subject.

Something told Anna that it could work though. She was going on instinct with the cute little Ivy, but she’d learned long ago that instinct rarely led her astray.

If all three of them could work together, Anna knew she had a chance, a  chance, to get through all the bullshit, all the lies, all the malice that swirled within the troubled young man.

The plan just might work, and for his sake, she hoped she was right.

“Just follow Darynn’s lead,” Anna said, winking at Ivy as she took a second draw from the steaming hot Columbian blend. “The route is simple. Once we’re in place, I’ll take over.”

“I wish I could’ve been there. To see him.” Darynn took a seat in one of the white wicker chairs, the material crackling as it took the woman’s weight. “Was he scared?”

“Hard to tell. He spent most of the interview cursing at me.” Anna set down her mug, remembering his voice, the fury. Rage wasn’t the only thing she saw in him that day though.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

“We’ll see how tough he is once he sees the error of his ways.” Darynn laid an elbow on the table, cradling her chin in the palm of her hand, her fingertips drumming along her jawline. “How is he? He gonna be a tough nut to crack?”

“I suspect so. But it won’t matter.”

“Is it true Corddray imposed no limits? I’ve never… I didn’t know that was allowed.” Darynn’s gray eyes glittered.

“It’s true — he didn’t. But Trask did.”

Darynn’s frown was the cat watching the mouse scramble away at the last moment. Then she grinned again. “What about his body? His ass?”

Anna nodded slowly, knowing where her friend was taking this. “He’s… in shape.”

“I like the ones who actually have an ass. Makes for better whipping. Been a while since I’ve had a chance to practice my patterns.”

Ivy cleared her throat. “Um, patterns?”

Darynn drew imaginary stripes across the tabletop. “Tramlines. I like to see how close I can get them. With luck, they’ll swell and combine into one agonizing mark. A nice healthy ass gives me more room to play.”

“Jesus Christ.” What little color the very fair Ivy had, drained from her face.

Anna frowned. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What about his cock?” Darynn touched her lower lip with a maroon-painted fingernail. “I suppose we can cross that bridge when we come to it…”

“He’s not going to have much use for that cock.”

Deep pink suffused Ivy’s cheeks, but her smile told the real tale. “Not unless someone’s a very good boy.”

Anna had a job to do, one she was being paid handsomely for. Though she tried, she couldn’t say she’d taken the assignment for the money. Her association with the Dominion Trust had made her wealthy already. What Quinton had done to those women disgusted her, the man’s stupidity both frustrating and infuriating.

But what Grayson had ordered her to do to Quinton filled her with revulsion, a deep anger. She didn’t quite know why though. Was it because such things were beyond the pale, even for her? Or was it because she felt Quinton could never be taken that far?

Already protective. Not a good sign.

It was… something else. A feeling. A hunch. Even as Quinton had railed against her, threatened her, the veins standing out at his neck and forehead, she’d seen enough that day, enough to tell her that she’d take the job, no matter the conditions. Perhaps she needed the challenge? Maybe she was bored. But what she saw in Quinton’s hate-filled blue eyes in that musty, dreary interview room had piqued her interest.

She saw a scared boy.

Despite her near loathing of the man for what he’d done, she’d taken notice of the subtle thrill she’d felt at the thought of him on his knees, in chains, that rage transformed to remorse, to pleading.

At that moment, she’d have him.

Once she’d brought him to that place, to that surrender, Anna knew she could work on him — and that it offered a glimmer of hope for the doomed, bitter young man.

If she could find that scared little boy inside.

Chapter 2

still couldn’t get the image of that bitch out of my mind.

Anna was what she’d called herself — though she’d refused to give me a last name. I’d find out soon enough. I knew Grayson would try something, would plot payback for what I’d done to Genna. At first, I thought Anna might have been a cop. The Trust had more cops in its pocket than I had hairs on my head. But her manner, her dress, her cool aloof beauty said she was something else. Something more dangerous than a mere cop.

It didn’t matter though, whoever she was. She couldn’t do shit to me.

Of course, Genna had volunteered for a Term. Gotten herself auctioned off. As far as I was concerned, she got what she was looking for. Anna showing me pictures of what I’d done to Genna’s big, round ass didn’t mean a thing. That was the expected lot in life for a girl serving a Term.

Genna had the sweetest tits too. Firm, heavy. I could still see the way they bounced and shuddered as I took the braided crop to them. She made too much noise though.

I preferred silent tears in my bitches.

She whipped well, though she was terrible on the track. Probably should have just kept her chained in my room, her talents better utilized sucking my cock and warming my bed.

The cars on I-5 had slowed almost to a crawl. The traffic in Seattle was positively awful now. It didn’t matter what time of day it was, always traffic.

At least it gave me some time to think. Putting Genna out of my mind for the time being, I thought of my more pressing problem.

Breanna.

Taking Breanna had been a complete disaster. I should have been more patient, planned it further. I hadn’t honestly thought Kurt and his dipshit friend Derek would have chased after her. Breanna was a slave, just a cunt. They were surrounded by cunts. What made hers so special to them?

I’d planned to have Breanna and Genna pull a tandem cart. I’d even had the tack and harness made, though I didn’t have Breanna’s exact measurements. There was an underground racing circuit always hungry for new entries. She would have been perfect.

If Kurt and Derek hadn’t fucked everything up, that is.

That day at the auction, I’d seen Breanna up there, obviously a novice, her body trembling even as her deep pink nipples stood up tall and proud. Every man there wondered what those nipples would feel like on our tongues, how they’d look, inflamed, red, swollen, freshly pierced with rings.

I’d wanted Breanna instantly, despite my original intention to bid on Broughton’s whore wife. I liked the older ones, the ones with experience. I could see it in their eyes, the first time I fitted the collar about their throats, tightened the leather. In their eyes, you could see it play, almost like a movie. All the moments of pain, or ecstasy, or fear. The older ones wore those experiences like a badge, no matter how much they tried to hide it.

And I loved basking in it, resolving myself to add to those experiences, to take those slaves further than they’d ever thought they could go, to reduce them to nothing more than toys, playthings for my amusement. Ripe, pliant flesh just made for the whip, their cries almost as sweet as their tears.

Even in the quieter moments, deep in the night, when I allowed them into my bed, I was thinking, remembering. I’d eagerly look forward to the next time they were between my shafts, the next time my cock was deep in their throats.

The next time I’d show them what being owned really meant.

I took the Seneca exit. It wasn’t the best one for Columbia Center, but with the fucking logjam of cars choking the freeway, getting off of it as soon as possible was the better idea. The sky was an angry gray, as if threatening rain at any moment. In other words, a normal day in Seattle.

“Fuck, you’ve gotta be shitting me,” I said, slamming the brakes. The BMW stopped on a dime, as always. The cars ahead weren’t moving at all, the taunting glare of bright red brake lights surrounding me. The first few drops began to patter on the windshield as we sat there, the street absolutely clogged with cars. Two vehicles ahead, a massive panel truck was spewing both acrid diesel fumes, and the blue-white smoke of an oil leak.

And there I was trapped there, inhaling all of it, as stuck as I’d felt that day in the holding cell. I didn’t really have anything to fear from Anna — or from Corddray. My father would take care of it. He knew what I’d done wasn’t really all that serious. Just a little fun with the fluff that constantly was passed back and forth between members of the Trust. Genna probably got off on it. Several of the girls who’d come through my clutches before her definitely had, their pussies dripping at the mere sight of my whip.

The rules were only there to keep people who didn’t know what they were doing from fucking up. But I definitelyknew what I was doing. This would blow over. My dad would kiss Grayson’s ass, maybe offer him a few nights with my stepmother — there’d been more than one huge business deal sealed with such a bargain — and things would go back to normal.

That is except for Kurt and Derek.

Pricks.

I knew they’d be watching Breanna like a hawk now. They wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Though I hated Kurt, he knew how to handle himself. He was ex-military, and it showed with how he ran the farm. Fucking full of himself. Derek might have been ex-military too, though he was so stupid I still couldn’t quite believe he’d even have the noodle to pass basic. Probably a jarhead, if anything. The Marines liked ‘em nice and dumb, didn’t they?

No, this time, my plan would be foolproof. I’d have that big-titted slut all to myself. And I’d have a little revenge on those two assholes who were so possessive of her.

While I didn’t go in for most of the bullshit rules, regulations, and rituals of the Trust, there was one principle that I was always behind.

The women were assets.

And as such, they were something that could be bought, sold, traded, bargained over. They were the glue that held the whole edifice together, the lubrication that made the engine purr smoothly.

I looked up at the soaring Seattle skyline all around me. How many of those buildings were built because some asshole wanted to impress a piece of tail? I knew for a fact that several of them were built with Trust financial backing, Trust political connections — and more than a few secret deals.

lot of pussy was traded in those deals, some willing, some not so willing. To a certain type of powerful man, a nice, obedient cunt held more value than a million dollars. I knew how things really went, what really made this city — and others around the world — tick. It wasn’t always about money.

And yet, there I was choking on noxious car exhaust, stuck in the same shitty mess along with a thousand piss poor punters.

“Fuck this.” I picked up my phone, looking around for any cops, then dialed William. He’d been with me since I’d become a full member, but I hadn’t much use for him until the night everything went to shit.

And the night Brayden betrayed me.

I’d given him a promotion — and not only because he was the few remaining men on my crew whom my Dad hadn’t shit-canned that night.

Unlike my erstwhile right hand man though, William at least was loyal — and he was thorough. I didn’t really like the way he coddled the bitches who I’d purchased — he was way too gentle for my tastes — but he always made sure the sluts were ready to race, or fuck — or both.

A guy his size was nice to have around in a tight spot too. Though not quite the hulking monster Brayden was, William had bailed me out more than once — though I’d never let him know I was grateful. It wasn’t a good idea to let associates know that you owed them one. Much better to keep them guessing — and mindful of who worked for whom.

The phone rang twice, and then he picked up, as always.

“This is William.”

“I’m back in town. I want you to find out when the next auction is. I’m buying another one, since I doubt they’re going to let me have Genna back.”

There was silence for a moment, and I looked at my phone, wondering if the connection had dropped out. “You there, William?”

“Yeah… I’m still here. Look, I… can’t do that.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I wiped a hand over my mouth. This was not like him — at all. The man was always efficient, never questioning my wishes.

“Apparently, I don’t work for you anymore.”

What in God’s name is going on here?

“I don’t think I heard that right. Say again? I mean, I thought you said that you don’t work for me. Is that right?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Did you fall on your goddamn head? You work for me until I say otherwise. Now, whatever the fuck is wrong with you, get it straightened out, because I’m not in the mood for bullshit.”

“No bullshit, Quinton. I’ve been ordered to cut ties with you.” William took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not supposed to even be talking to you. My ass would be in a sling if they found out I’m telling you this… but you gotta listen to me. You need to lay low. Really fucking low.”

“Grayson can blow me. Fuck him. He’s just an old man who—”

Then the line went dead.

I tried him again, my fingers stabbing at William’s name on the phone’s contact list. I listened to it ring repeatedly as I finally reached the entrance to the underground parking garage, turning my car down the ramp and into the shadows.

Giving up and throwing my phone onto the passenger seat, I snatched the ticket from the machine, the punk kid at the attendant’s station not even looking up from his iPad as he pushed the button that raised the gate.

Of course, everyone expected Grayson would be hot pissed. But everyone also knew that any person with the last name of Trask was all but untouchable. William was just spooked, that’s all. Still, the fact that someone had reassigned him… wasn’t good.

Because the only two people who could have done that were Grayson Corddray, or George Trask.

“Fuck me.”

A little trip out of town might actually be a good idea after all. It would be a chance to relax, think things over — and figure out who I could possibly replace William with. I wasn’t about to let this change my plans though. I’d still get my hands on Kurt’s slut, eventually. It was only a matter of when, not if.

Making the turn toward my reserved spot, right next to the elevators, a white cargo van backed out in front of me. I slammed on the brakes, the squeal from the tires on the smooth concrete like the scream of a frightened woman.

I rolled the window down, leaning my head out as I gunned the engine. “You fucking blind? Jesus!”

Then my head rocked forward as something collided with the back of my car.

What the fuck?

As I turned to look back, another white van pulled up beside me, the side door sliding open with a hollow, oddly menacing sound. A grinning blonde woman in a black, form-fitting jumpsuit stepped out.

“Hello, Quinton.”

“Who the fuck are—”

The burst of pain just under my left jaw had me seeing stars, my eyes rolling back, every muscle in my body spasming in agony. A cry was torn from behind my clenched teeth as I flopped in my seat, my head lolling backward. Then the pain was gone, the memory of it still making my muscles twitch like a landed fish.

I found myself staring up at the charcoal gray headliner of the roof of my beamer, gasping, my speech slurring, my mouth seemingly unable to form words. Cold electrodes were pressed to my neck again, the darkness already crowding upon me from all sides.

My last memory was of the car door opening… and the clean, flowery scent of a woman’s perfume.

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