Being Enslaved 3 Chapter 3

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Watching Byron punish Quinn so savagely, his c.o.c.k straining hard as steel in his pants, I want to rip that whip from his hands and push him off the stage.

I should be the one hurting Quinn, not him. Byron might be close with Congressman Prescott, but he didn't know Lance like I did. He is the boss, though. And I can wait my turn — Quinn isn't going anywhere.

No, she's f.u.c.king not.

I may not like having to wait while Byron has his fun, but Quinn is a pleasure to watch. Her s.e.xy squeals, the way her body quakes, her gorgeous figure — it all goes straight to my c.o.c.k. Locking her into the stock got me so hard, I would have rubbed one out on the spot if I could've.

Is that wrong? Considering what this b.i.t.c.h did to Lance, maybe I shouldn't be so turned on right now. It's probably not what he'd want, but I can't help it. Why, though? I could lie to myself and say I'm enjoying her suffering the same as any Walker resident, but that's bulls.h.i.t. There's more to it than that. I've seen plenty of women in Quinn's place — I've gotten off on their fear and anguish. I've made them hate me, and love me and hate me again. Some have been hard to break — some snapped like a toothpick. It's always enjoyable for me, but it's never… personal.

She's in my head, there's no doubt. I've been antic.i.p.ating her arrival for weeks, but now that she's here, she's not what I expected. Considering she put Lance in the hospital, unlikely to ever walk or talk again, I pictured her a lot tougher. In my head, she's already taken a hundred whippings, all of them in silence; my imagination made her unaffected by pain, either the giving or receiving. That's clearly not what I'm seeing, though. Unless she's faking it — but I'd like to think I could tell. I've heard the real thing enough times.

The good news is that if this is her genuine response to a little pain, she's going to be easy to break. Then I'll have all the time in the world to twist her apart until every notion of defiance is erased.

"Okay," says Byron, tossing the whip aside. "That's enough for today. The a.s.sembly's over. Men?"

With a nod, the guards spring into motion, heading for the women in the auditorium. With practiced efficiency, Corbin opens the shackles on their seats, Hunter cuffs their wrists and Edwin raises them to their feet. When all of them are up, the guards lead the women back to the workshop.

That just leaves me and Quinn; I watch her from behind, relishing her squirming and soft sniffles. She's still processing the pain, and will be for hours. Her backside glows a dark pink from the whipping — lines from the session crisscross her cheeks, and once again my erection stirs. Byron really did a number on her perfect little a.s.s.

I wait until she goes quiet before taking a step. Her whole body jerks, tensing at the sound.

"That's right, I'm still here," I say. "I want to offer you some rea.s.surance, to tell you that if you're obedient, then your stay here won't be so bad. I want to tell you these and other comforting lies, but I won't. Your time here is not going to fly by."

I brush the fresh welts on her rear with the tips of my fingers, causing her to jolt, then add one quick swat with my bare hand. She shouts and tosses back and forth, trying in vain to escape.

"Have a nice night, Quinn," I whisper. "I'll see you soon."

I take one last look at her bruised backside, imagining how sweet it would be to drop my pants and shove my c.o.c.k deep in her a.s.s. She looks so f.u.c.king tight, I could cry. But that's not how I handle the women here.

When she adjusts to her new reality, when she understands that Walker Work Center owns her, she'll beg for some escape from her existence, even if it's only temporary. When constant work and daily pain become her whole life, she'll beg for any comfort I'm willing to grant. And I'll give it to her, despite what she did to Lance. She's going to want me — crave me — and when her residence is up, I'll toss her aside. I'll scar her, and leave her feeling the guilt for what she did to Lance for the rest of her life.

—

Once I'm out of the auditorium, I lean against the wall and take a breath. My c.o.c.k needs a minute to settle down. Quinn dances around in my head though, and I startle when the prison intercom crackles.

"Reed, come see me," says Byron.

I head over right away and knock as I enter. "Yeah?"

A whiskey bottle and two gla.s.ses sit on his otherwise clear desk. His office's familiar tobacco and s.e.x scent hits me as I shut the door.

Byron smiles and bids me to sit down in the plush recliner facing him. "How are you doing?" he asks, pouring the Lagavulin.

"Fine."

"Reed," he sighs. "You know what I mean. She's not just another resident."

I know what he's getting at. "Yeah, because of what she did to Lance. I haven't forgotten."

Byron nods."None of us have. It hurts, knowing what happened. Seeing her here must have brought out a lot of conflicting feelings. Anger, grief — but also excitement, because now you have a chance to punish her for her crime properly."

He lifts his gla.s.s, so I raise mine. "I'll drink to that."

My salary doesn't afford me anything top shelf, so I make sure to enjoy the smooth, hard liquor burn from within.

"I've known Lance almost since he was born… nearly 30 years," Byron continues. "Lance had a promising future. To have that taken away in a moment just isn't fair, is it?"

"No," I murmur, unwanted thoughts springing to mind. I drink them back down before they get in any deeper.

"When Darren and I built our prison complex, I always envisioned Lance taking it over someday, either when Darren retired or became president."

"You did?" I say, unable to hold back a laugh. "Sounds like a lot of work."

Byron wags his head back and forth. "He'd have risen to the challenge. Darren would've pushed him in just the right way. Motivating people is Darren's gift; he could get a sloth to climb Everest."

"I guess."

He pours us each a second gla.s.s and picks up a framed picture of him, Darren and Lance out on the lake, back when Lance was in his late teens. He looks bored, though Darren and Byron smile happily.

"Do you remember that day?" Byron asks.

I nod, recalling the moment I took that photo. I'd only just met Darren. My job that day was to hang onto Darren's camera; expensive, professional and not at all waterproof, I imagined I'd be a corpse at the bottom of that lake if anything happened to it.

"We catch anything?" he asks.

"Ba.s.s, I think. Not a big one."

Byron's face lights up a little. "Yeah, that's right. One of us joked about catch and release." He sighs, shaking his head. "Must have been ten, twelve, years ago. At my age, that doesn't feel like very long. Must be different for you."

"I guess," I shrug, downplaying just how ancient the memory feels.

"Darren didn't talk about it much, but I could tell how glad he was Lance had a friend like you. Almost like an older brother, really. The way you looked after him."

"Thanks," I say, the whiskey flaring up inside my gut. Yeah, I definitely had a hand in keeping Lance out of trouble sometimes, but was he like a brother? I wouldn't know — I never had a real one. Getting dragged on a fishing trip photo-op with Lance and his dad wasn't what I expected when Lance and I became friends. Neither of us wanted to be there, forced to wake up at the break of dawn and then sit quietly in a boat for hours on end. At least we each got to drink a beer.

Still, that day felt like an obligation. I went with them with a job to do, not for fun or so they could bestow life lessons on me and Lance. I didn't feel like family to them that day — I was the hired help. Is that normal?

"You're going to make things right," Byron says.

"Of course."

Byron sets down the photo and clutches a fist. "Lance will never receive justice out there. We can only pray that what you achieve here will somehow, some way, bring him peace."

I don't know if Lance will ever wake up, or if there's anything waiting for him at the end of that long tunnel, but I hope he's watching. I hope he gets to see the things I'm going to do to Quinn.

"Darren plans to sponsor Quinn at the end of his campaign," Byron continues. "Until then, make her suffer."

Getting up from my seat, I look him in the eyes. "I'll make her hate herself for what she did. By the time I'm done with her, she'll be so broken inside she'll thank us for the punishment."

Byron gets up and claps my shoulder. "Good."