The Bleakest of Seasons Pt. 02

You're suddenly very sad. Scott is terrified to take the next step and you feel like you crossed a line that you were not supposed to cross. You're suddenly very afraid that you fucked up. And not fucked up in some sort of weird rule that will get your nipples pinched. You're afraid that what you did ruined something on some level.

'Scott... please. I... I don't... I just want you to...'

Abruptly, he moves directly in front of you and grabs you by the carefully braided and coifed hair that was artfully darting down your shoulder. He yanks it savagely and you gasp as he bends you backwards and then pins you to the trunk of the car. You feel his elbow land across your throat and he calmly pins you there with his forearm across your throat. You panic a little and the bags you are carrying drop from your fingers and clatter off the ground.

You feel an odd nanosecond of relief when none of the bottles break. You don't know why.

You claw at his arm for a second as fear drives your actions. Then he simply yanks your head up by the hair and bounces your head off the trunk of the car. You see stars for a moment, then your head whips right, then left as he slaps you, then backhands you the other direction.

You stop clawing at his arm and stop fighting him. You're suddenly very afraid. A moment ago you were certain this had all been one very refined act and your direct appeal to his darker side had failed because he didn't really have one. Now you're certain he has one, because your cheeks still sting from those slaps and you can feel a little droplet of blood trickling down your nose.

'I... I'm sorr...'

'Shut. Your. Mouth.' He growls.

You shut it.

'Addison, you... you do not know what you are asking me. At all.' He says through gritted teeth.

'Yes. I do.' You whisper back. 'You hold it in. All the time. I can see it in your eyes right now. I want to see it. All of it. Stop holding back. Use me.'

'You do not want to play these games with me. I've been... holding this in for so long. I will hurt you. And not in the good way.' He's still angry with you. His grip on your hair, pinning you to the car is like iron.

You shift on the car, uncomfortable in this contorted pose. Your naked leg brushes up against his and you can feel heat radiating off his leg and body.

You feel cold, like you always do when you feel afraid and your adrenaline surges... and when you're pinned against a rusty, dusty automobile by a much larger man that you have managed to make very angry.

You raise a hand to his face and hold it there. Your cheeks still feel hot from the sudden slaps a moment ago, but you don't care. He's so very angry still, his nostrils are flared wide.

You think about what you say next later, and you don't know why you said it. Maybe you were trying to spur him on. Maybe you really did what him to hurt you.

Maybe you wanted him to let go. Just for once.

'Scott. Don't be a pussy. Do it.'

He furrows his brow in disbelief. You grin up at him.

His free fist smashes into the trunk of the car next to your head, denting the metal. You cringe. Your plan is working, but it's working a little too well.

You were aiming for anger, and you got rage.

Abruptly, he yanks you up off the trunk and then jams a key into the slot. The trunk opens with a loud creak, and exposes a rusty old spare tire and assorted trunk junk, from papers to old Coke cans and tools. You just start to notice that it smells a little when Scott yanks your hair and abruptly shoves you completely into the trunk. The trunk lid slams down a moment later and you're left in darkness amid various piles of junk and trash, various things poking you as you lay stunned at this latest development.

You hear him loading the bags into the car, and then you hear the doors slam shut.

He wouldn't.

The engine roars to life, incredibly loud in the trunk no less, and then he peels out of the parking space. You shriek and cover your ears with one arm while you hold onto the rusty spare tire with the other. Scott flies up the series of ramps, and the loose paper and tools and garbage shift and cascade around you.

The drive home takes about fifteen minutes, although it feels like forever in the pitch black, dirty, smelly trunk. Finally, you hear the familiar crunch of the gravel outside his apartment and hear the garage door retracting.

Scott gets out of the car, and you hear him retrieving the bags full of your clothes and shoes and the beer and the rye. You wait a moment for him to open the trunk, but nothing happens. A moment later you hear the elevator open and he steps inside. The door closes, and you hear the lift take him away.

Then silence.

Uh oh.

Time passes. And then additional time passes.

Is he not coming back? How angry is he?

You begin to get panicky. It's really dark, the trunk smells funny and you feel really dirty.

You feel around and find the latch. You fiddle with it and try to pop it open until you crack a nail. Then you stop, sucking on your sore cuticle and feel sad for yourself.

More time passes. It's starting to get to you. You bang your fist on the roof of the trunk a couple of times in frustration. After a few whacks, you stop. Your hand and your finger hurt now.

'DAMMIT SCOTT!' You scream suddenly. And suddenly the tears are flowing again. You're jammed into this tiny, dirty, pitch black trunk. Things are poking you. You feel filthy and disgusting and you're certain that the ridiculously slutty dress, the porn star makeup and the tantalizing hairstyle have been ruined.

Abruptly, you hear the elevator. The engine whirs and the lift slides slowly down to your floor. Somebody, (Scott you hope.) walks over to the car and you hear a key in the lock. The trunk wheezes open and the sudden light punishes your retinas.

'DAMMIT Scott! How could you...'

Slam! You're in the dark again.

'Noooo!' You wail.

You hear him walk back to the elevator, and a moment later the door slides shut and he disappears back up into his apartment.

You weep in frustration, but you're pretty sure you know what this is.

He's giving you a taste. Just a taste. He wants you to know what he's willing and capable of doing to you. Because he wants you to back off.

You're not going to. You curl into a little ball and try to ignore the various scraps of paper and debris poking and chafing you.

A short while later, the engines whir to life and the lift slides down to your floor again. The same casual footsteps lead out to your car, the key fits into the lock and suddenly bright white light pours down on you.

You force yourself to not scream at him again. The penalty is apparently more trunk time and you're already sick of it.

'You're done screaming now?'

'Yes.' You reply meekly.

'Good. Get out of the trunk and come with me.'

You clamber out of the trunk and stand up in front of him. You're still pissed off at him, but you asked him to play mean and he showed you that he could.

He looks you up and down, then pulls out his cell phone and takes a picture of you.

'Why did you do that?' You ask quietly, seething just a little.

'I wanted a memory of this moment.' He says without looking at you.

He turns and heads to the elevator, beckoning you to follow him. You step behind him quietly. Your dress is ruined, covered with dirt and rust stains and something black and greasy. Your hair is messed up, and you feel the makeup the woman spent so much of her time and your money on smeared and stained from your tears.

You both enter the lift and exit into his apartment a moment later. He points towards a small table in the kitchen and two battered chairs. You obediently head towards the table and spy your bottle of rye and a shot glass. There's also a yellow ball gag with a strap and a pair of handcuffs.

'Sit.' He commands. You do.

He lowers himself into the seat next to you. Then he reaches over and pours you a shot of the rye.

'Drink it. Now.'

You take the shot glass and press it to your lips then bang back the shot quickly.

You shudder. This rye is strong and has a smoky aftertaste.

'Addie, I'm only going to say this one time. And then you get to choose what comes next. I want you to have that choice, not because I'm afraid of what I'll do to you, but because you keep pushing the boundaries and I want this decision to be on you.'

He pours you another shot and orders you to consume it. You do with a little gasp.

'This isn't a fun little sex game you're asking for. I'm going to violate you and do things that you haven't considered. I'll abuse you verbally, I'll hurt you and I'll degrade you. I'll do things to you just to change your expression and just to fuck with your head.'

He fills the shot glass again, then motions at you once more. A moment later it burns in your stomach.

'I'm not going to give you any limits except for ones I choose. I'll fuck you in any hole I choose, punish you in any way I see fit and violate you in whatever way I think will fill you with sorrow and anguish.'

He pauses, looks at you. You're shaking as you listen.

He pours you yet another shot. You drink it, grateful for the sudden warmth.

'If you want to go back to what we had, I'll do that. We can go snuggle on the couch or take a shower and act like mildly perverted people. Or if you think I've been a complete dick you can walk over to the elevator and walk down to the car and I'll drive you back to the restaurant and you can take your car home and never talk to me again.'

He pours you another shot. You pick it up and toss it down quick, trying to ignore the fact that you've had five shots of alcohol in five minutes.

'But if you really want to Addie, and I gotta say, I recommend A or B over this option heartily, you can pick up those handcuffs and cuff yourself, and then you can take that ballgag and strap it into your mouth. Just know that when you do that, I'm going to take you into the ladies room and do everything you asked me to do to you and redefine your understanding of the word 'regret' in the process.'

He pours you a shot and then sits back.

You look at him. He's not angry anymore. He looks resigned. Whatever happens next is whatever happens next and he's going to deal with it no matter what the outcome.

You put your hand on the ballgag, and he says one last thing.

'If you put that thing on, I'm going to break you. And you need to know that when you beg me to stop, I won't. And I won't care.'

You shudder. The son of a bitch is making you choose. He's put your options on the table and let you decide. And he's made no bones about it and what he'll do to you in each scenario.

Going home is not an option. It never was. You could sooner cut off your own arm than leave him right now.

But going to the shower and letting him clean you is desirable. He's skilled, knowledgeable and he knows you and what you love. And you know just from your little time in the trunk that he knows what you can barely tolerate too.

And you want it. You want to see him at his darkest.

You pick up the shotglass and down the last shot. The alcohol now surging through your system makes you feel lightheaded and terrified and incredibly aroused. You place your hand on the ballgag and pick it up, looking at it carefully.

Only Scott would have a ballgag with a bright yellow happy face.

You slide it into your mouth and then slip the straps around the back of your head to tighten and lock the straps in place. The handcuffs follow, sliding easily onto your wrists and then locking down tight.

It's done.

He just watches you for a moment, then shakes his head.

'You know what pisses me off Addie? I was content. I liked what we had. I did. It satisfied me. I thought it satisfied you too.'

He sighs, pours himself a shot from the rye bottle and then bangs it back. Then he turns and looks at you and your blood turns to ice.

'Apparently not, because here we are.'

He grabs you by the arm and yanks you to your feet. He marches you towards the ladies room, and as you get there you see he's crossed out ladies and written the word 'HELL' in bright red marker on the door.

The door pushes away and you see the opposite side of the washrooms. You pale a little as you take the place in.

The front of the area is the same as the boys room, sinks and running water on one side, lockers on the other. More space is allotted to stalls as there are no urinals here. Just past the stalls lies the shower however, and what you see in there makes you pale.

Scott has installed two heavy metal bars into the wall and they jut out underneath the shower heads. A pair of chains with manacles hangs from the ceiling, and a medical stand with an enema bag and hose stand in the corner. A table set away from the showers has several whips, canes, paddles and floggers as well as other devices that you don't recognize.

Next to the table are a pair of video cameras, one on a tripod, one loose. A plastic bin holds straps and manacles and additional restraints, some of which you do not recognize.

Holy fuck. This is going to be hard.

Scott lets you take it in for a moment, then leans over and whispers in your ear.

'Remember, when you break, and you can't take anymore... I do not care.'

You look up at him suddenly terrified. Why didn't you just stick with the cuddling?

'Kneel.' He orders you, and you obey. You bend at the waist, and feel your ruined, dirty dress slide up and reveal your ass. One rogue nipple pops out and immediately turns hard. He looks down at you, then picks up something from the table. It's a bottle of lube. He unbuckles his belt and the pants slide down to the floor, followed by his underwear and socks a moment later. He's behind you immediately, and then you feel his lubed up wet fingers sliding roughly inside you seconds later.

You squeal. He ignores you. His fingers swirl around inside you and then almost as soon as he withdraws you can feel him penetrating you. As scared as you are and with the inclusion of the lube, your sex is sopping and ready for action. He's fully inside you moments later, and he enjoys himself quickly while gripping your hair for leverage. His pelvis smacks off your behind again and again as he uses your roughly and without foreplay. He only stops when he grunts hard, and you feel him spray his seed deep inside you.

You enjoy that moment, because while he's frozen and still, he's deep inside you and he just used you for pleasure without caring if you had any. It's different, scary and kind of terrifying.

He withdraws from you after he feels satisfied, then starts trussing you up and securing you.

A heavy leather collar fits snugly around your neck, and a padlock seals it in place. Your arms are raised over your head and your wrists are secured to the collar, insuring that you can't do much more than flap your arms.

He shoves you against the support bars under the showerhead and secures your now immobilized arms to the hard point with snug plastic zip straps.

He returns to the table and then pulls out several lengths of chain and a heavy leather belt. The belt locks around your waist, and then d-rings embedded in the leather attach to a chain that locks your pelvis to the wall.

You think you know what's next. Scott shared a picture with you one time, and he said it was his favourite picture ever. The girl was secured totally, hard tied with chains at the waist, neck ankles and wrists and contorted into an unbelievably exposed position on a dirty mattress. You feel the manacles locking around your own ankles and know that he's attempting to present you in a similar fashion.

The manacles are attached to chains, and Scott connects them to the top bar through another ring and then forces your ankles up until you have to contort and hang from the bars spread wide and splayed open. Scott checks the tension, then tightens the chains up some more until you squeak from being bent nearly in half with your ankles secured inches from your ears.

Scott looks satisfied, then he goes and picks up the loose video camera. He also trains the tripod mount camera on your as well, and then moves in with the shoulder mount camera to get a good look at your face.

'Hey Everyone, this is Addison. Say hi Addison!'

'Mffgerh?' You mumble through the gag.

'Addison is a silly little cunt that wants to see how sadistic I can be. Isn't that true Addison?'

You flush. He's really crawling into your head now. He knows you think your formal name sounds like a porn star, and he's using that to reinforce the predicament you let him put you in. And he's started to talk dirty to you. Cunt will be just the start of his lexicon of filth that he'll rain down on your head.

'Mgghddswed!' You respond.

Scott chuckles, then reaches out and tugs down the neckline of the ruined slutwear you purchased. Your remaining covered nipple pops free and between the adrenaline, the chill in the room and the fear that Scott is building in you it makes it hard as a diamond in seconds.

'You know Addison, I was going to strip you, but I like this look. The dirty slutty clothing just kind of suits you so well.'

You blush again. He knows being dirty drives you insane. He's not pulling any punches, just like he promised.

'And look here folks, we've got some fresh come dripping out of Addison's snatch.'

You blush even deeper. He kneels and gets a close up shot of his semen dripping out of you and sliding down your leg.

'Tsk Tsk Addison, you're a mess. But I have good news for you.'

'Mgfgsffe?' You ask, curious and concerned about what he considers good news.

'Oh Addison, soon you'll be a lot cleaner inside than out.'

You groan, he's going to give you an enema. On camera no less.

You're wrong about that at first, because he heads back to the table and sets down the portable camera, then starts to browse the table with the punishment implements. You watch in alarm as he picks up a stiff, rigid cane and then wanders back to you.

Horrified, you watch him stand to your side and then slowly trace a finger down your thigh. You shudder, he's going to beat you now, and this is going to hurt.

'What do you think Addison? Six strokes each thigh?'

'NRRGTSSGG!' You plead.

'What? Ten? All right Addison, if that's what you want.' He says with a smile.

He leans over to you and whispers in your ear.

'You silly whore Addison, wouldn't you rather be cuddling on the couch right now?'

You frantically shake your head yes.

'Ten it is then! What a painslut you are Addison!'

'NGGGHHHH!' You scream.

He lines the cane up at the top of your left thigh, places the supple wooden striker against your skin, then rears back and slashes it across your thigh.

You howl, it feels like he just laid a line of fire across your inner thigh. A moment later he places a finger against your skin a few centimetres below the first strike.

You beg and plead through the ballgag, but it doesn't help as he meticulously lays ten vicious strikes across your thigh until the last one slashes across your vagina as well. It sears you, and you want to tear yourself off this wall and run away.

It doesn't happen, you can barely even squirm. And as you wiggle and squeak and cry Scott switches sides and then you feel his same measuring finger against the inside of your other, unpunished thigh.

Swish. CRACK. Shriek!

Swish. CRACK. SCREAM.

He doesn't dawdle, but he measures each strike and when he finishes, you're sporting deep red and purple welts from the back of your knees and almost halfway up your buttocks. You lay stunned against the wall, the pain so mind boggling that you can barely think.

Scott examines the welts. He nods his head, satisfied that he delivered on the suffering that he promised you. You groan into the ballgag and plead with your eyes.