Quintessentially Q

by Pepper Winters

  He took his sweet time choosing from the scattered remains on the carpet. I craned my neck, trying to see, but the strap around my waist and throat pinned me in place.

  Finally, he stalked back, looking chiselled and determined in his black boxer-briefs. His hands stayed behind his back, obstructing whatever torture equipment he planned to use.

  “As much as I want to scar you, etch my name into your belly so you’ll always know who you belong to, I’m not ready. When I break your virgin skin, I won’t stop, and I don’t want to live with yet another addiction.” His eyes flared as if he hadn’t meant to confide those thoughts. His face darkened as he cleared his throat. “I’m giving you a choice. Sharp pain or radiating pain.”

  I blinked, trying to figure out the riddle of what toys Q had behind his back.

  When I didn’t answer, he growled, “An answer, esclave, or I’ll use both. Believe me, I want to use everything on you all at once, but I’m not a murderer.” He lowered his voice. “Well, not a murderer of women at least.”

  The image of Q shooting a man in cold blood slammed into my head—the night he found me, being raped and defiled by Driver and Brute. I hung my head, voluntarily choking myself on the strap, trying to forget.

  “Was that a beg, treasure? You want me?”

  “I think she’s asking you to fuck her. Better give her what she wants.”

  My body went numb at the memory of being taken by force. The pain, the sounds of him rutting like a fucking beast inside me.

  Make it stop. Make it stop!

  “Fuck.” Q closed the distance between us in a split second, and captured my chin. “I’d kill him a thousand times over for what he did, but I refuse to let you think about him.” Q kissed both of my eyelids, murmuring, “You promised you’d only think of our night together. Purge that fucking bastard from your mind. Or I’ll whip it out of you.”

  Q’s odd mixture of sweet and harsh halted the memory and shoved the rape out of my mind, but I couldn’t rid myself of the metallic taste of Driver’s fingers in my mouth.

  I needed Q to whip me; to force me to obey and burn the memories to dust.

  “Hurt me, maître. Make it disappear. I want sharp pain. I want you to slice the evil free.” My breath caught, and my body shook with the beginnings of real fear. I offered myself to Q to help free me once and for all, but I also permitted him to truly hurt me. He wouldn’t hold back—not now.

  The wetness between my legs increased and my teeth chattered as Q sucked in a breath, dropping one of the items in his hands. It slithered against the carpet, lying like a dormant snake; any moment it would raise its head and strike with deadly fangs.

  Q held up his other arm, showing me what he intended to use. My heart rate exploded.

  In his palm lay a cat-o’-nine-tails. The intricate whip handle exploded from one thick cylinder into nine pieces of lethal leather. Each strand was woven with tiny silver beads along the length.

  Adrenaline washed over me. My skin flushed, and I wiggled in the bindings. It looked painful. It looked cruel. It looked like it would pulverize my thoughts and turn my body into a crisscrossed canvas of agony.

  I tried to stay calm, tried to keep my heart from galloping out of control, but shit, I couldn’t. The whip was too dangerous.

  My eyes flew to his. “No. I can’t. It’s too much.”

  Fear swarmed thick and fast as Q smiled thinly, shaking his head. “If this is what it takes to eliminate that cocksucker from your brain, so be it.” He stepped away a little, letting the whip dangle.

  “Q—please. I’m not ready.”

  “You’ll never be ready for this, esclave. I know that, and I hate myself for what I’m about to do, but I’m not going to stop.” He hung his head, watching me from shadowed eyes. “So help me, I want to whip you. Cry for me, Tess.”

  He struck.

  The multiple-beaded whip whistled through the air and licked my naked belly. Each silver bead dug deep into my flesh, singeing me with pain.

  I cried out, jolting in the straps with the heat of the first lash.

  Q groaned, his entire body vibrating, eyes locked on the blush of red already blooming on my stomach. His lips parted as his nostrils flared, almost as if he could truly taste my pain and fear.

  “Don’t hate me for what I need,” he implored, just before he struck again. The bunch of muscles as he swung set his tattoo fluttering with shadows.

  The whip kissed me brutally while the little beads bit with tiny fangs. The first tang of tears burned.

  Through my glassy eyes, Q danced and quivered; my vision turned wonky from adrenaline. I panicked and hated I couldn’t move. This wasn’t fun or sexy or erotic.

  I was a prisoner with a monster who was my master. A man who didn’t trust his own self-control.

  A single tear cascaded down my cheek, and Q’s chest rose with intensity. “I want more than one, Tess.” He came forward and kissed below each eye, whispering, “J’aime te marquer.” I love marking you.

  I shook my head, past being able to talk. Too fucked up with too many emotions. Somehow he turned this against me. I wanted this. I knew that, but Q had blocked me out, embraced his wickedness, leaving me behind.

  I was a stupid girl for thinking I could take Q on. To try and love this man who had so many issues. What made me strong enough to be what he needed?

  Q took a step backward, and I squeezed my eyes. I didn’t want to watch him bristle with lust when he hit me. I didn’t want to witness the way his perfect body flexed as he swung. I didn’t want any part of this.

  Waiting in the dark was an eternity of torture, but Q didn’t strike. I waited and waited, but no whip’s kiss or bead’s bite touched me.

  I hesitated opening my eyes, then my mouth popped wide as a soul-wrenching moan erupted from my lips.

  Q had knelt between my spread and bound legs. His mouth latched onto my swollen pussy, and he licked as if he’d die if he didn’t drink all of me.

  Oh, God.

  His teeth found my clit, and he bit gently. No part of my body existed except that tiny, sensitive nub.

  Q gripped my ass, pulling my pussy harder against his mouth. His tongue speared inside me and I screamed. “Q. Fuck. Please. Yes.”

  He groaned as my body wept. Moisture trickled down my thigh, mixing with Q’s saliva. Holding me captive with one hand, he pushed three fingers deep inside.

  I screamed in bliss as he rocked his hand. His mouth centred on my clit as his fingers drove me into a frenzy.

  My knees trembled, and I wished I could fall—fall onto his mouth, impale myself onto his cock. His fingers were heaven but his cock would be delirium.

  A sharp band of an orgasm built in my lower spine, radiating through my belly to grip around Q’s fingers.

  Instantly, he stopped and stood in one sharp move. I gawked and panted and cursed. My body quaked with the need to come; the need to come apart and surrender.

  Q raised his arm, and the whip licked my lower belly. The nine pieces of leather coaxed red to shadow and pain to flourish.

  I tried to bend over, to protect my innocent stomach, but the cross held me inert.

  Q hit me again, this one higher, just below my breasts. My ribcage bellowed as the tiny beads bruised my flesh.

  Again he swung. And again.

  The cat-o’-nine-tails rained. It felt like Q delivered a thunderstorm: the thunder of his pleasure, my swirling feelings a blistering squall, and nine sparks of lightning all delivered at once.

  I transcended. My body entered a realm of insane sensitivity and I welcomed the whip. The pain morphed into unbearable pleasure until I reverberated with all-encompassing want.

  My thoughts swirled with bright lights and my body wailed for release.

  By the tenth strike, I arched my back, pushing my breasts out, welcoming the gluttony of punishment.

  Q’s breathing rasped, and our eyes never left each other’s. He looked wild and untamed and completely diabolical.

 
Half of me hated him for dragging me over the point of pain and turning me into a monster like him, but the other adored and worshipped him. No sex between us would ever be easy and completely consenting.

  With our gazes locked, Q struck wide. My thigh howled as the strips of leather flayed me.

  “What do you want from me? Why do you let me break you?” he panted, his chest straining with exertion.

  My heart flurried; I wondered if I dare speak the truth. Tell him what I hoped he’d become. The future I dared envision.

  He struck me across my belly, just above the lattice of red from a previous strike. I winced and suffered a wave of pleasure that almost made me come from no other stimulation.

  “Speak, esclave. For every second you fail, I’ll hit you.”

  I gaped, scrambling for the right words.

  I cried out as, true to his word, he hit me again on my left thigh. Branding me with nine matching red stripes and blemishes from the beads.

  “I want you to hurt me, but I also want you to care for me,” I exploded, vibrating with the need to come. It echoed in my teeth, it danced in the pain of the marks. Every inch of me was strung out and on edge.

  He paused, relaxing his stance to run the cat-o’-nine-tails through his hands like one would with a pet. “I do care for you. Too damn much. You’ve turned me inside out and changed my entire world.”

  Everything crunched to a halt. I never expected him to be so honest. Maybe he dropped his walls when he cast away the barriers to his demons.

  We didn’t move as if terrified we’d break the moment. Our souls were stripped bare and free for the briefest of moments.

  Q’s pale eyes darkened, hiding his vulnerability. He ran the whip through his strong fingers once again.

  I trembled in the bindings waiting for the next strike, dreading it, wanting it, craving it.

  “Jusqu'où tu me laisserais aller?” How far would you let me go? He murmured so low, I barely heard him.

  My heart stopped beating, and I came up blank. I couldn’t answer his question. I didn’t know my boundaries; I didn’t want to put limits on learning how to coexist, and I definitely didn’t want to show the depth of fear I had that Q would eventually go too far and kill me.

  Q’s eyes met mine. He let the hand holding the whip fall to his side. He rolled his shoulders, and my skin sprinkled with goose-bumps. The air crackled with sudden energy.

  Q bowed his head, staring at me from under his darkened brow. “I understand why you won’t respond, esclave. I don’t have an answer either.”

  I gulped as he took one step closer, obliterating the small distance between us, bringing his heat and proximity to scald my skin.

  His free hand cupped my throat over the strap while his hips pressed against mine hard and quick. “You didn’t struggle when I cut off your oxygen before. Why?”

  I shook my head, trying to pry free, but his fingers stiffened, holding me just as firmly as the leather across my limbs. Q breathed hard, never looking away from my eyes. The pale green faded as his pupils dilated in pleasure. “You let me decide how far to go,” he whispered, amazement in his tone.

  His fingers tightened around my neck, hurting the already bruised column of muscle. My heart raced and bucked as more adrenaline exploded fast and swift, arcing in my blood. But I refused to beg to be released or for Q to be careful. This was a battle he had to win with himself.

  Every shallow breath was a hardship as Q slowly cut off my air supply. When I grew lightheaded, Q licked his lips and bent to kiss me. The rough dominance of his fingers didn’t match the soft, sensual kiss he bestowed.

  He didn’t kiss me. He worshiped me.

  Every whisper of his tongue paid homage. Every hitch of his breathing sent my heart speeding until it was a blur in my chest.

  Strapped to the cross, all I could do was let Q give what he wanted. His erection sprang harder against me as he thrust his tongue deep, licking my mouth, devouring me.

  Breaking the kiss, Q stepped back, holding up the cat-o’-nine-tails. He draped it on my shoulder and very, very slowly let it fall, so it tickled and trickled down the left side of my body. I shivered as a bead caught my nipple, sending it peaking into a painful tip.

  Inch by inch, Q watched the trail of his whip on my belly and hip, falling like a waterfall of leather to kiss my welted thigh.

  Thoughts raced in Q’s eyes, and I wished I could decipher him; unriddle him and find the key to owning him heart, body, and soul.

  Pulling back, he hooked his thumbs into his boxer-briefs and pulled them down. My mouth went instantly dry. Watching this man strip made every part of me combust into a rain of fire.

  His cock sprang free, heavy and heated with need. The discarded boxer-briefs fell to his ankles, and he kicked them away without care. So proud and sure, almost cocky and arrogant, but the cool aloofness I mistook in the past was actually tightly reined passion. A will of iron that buckled and strained to stay human all the while urges beat him to submit.

  Discarding the whip with a flick of his wrist, Q dropped his hand to wrap around his thick girth. He stroked once, twice. His long fingers fully encasing himself as he pumped strong and sure.

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

  Everything inside quivered. The just out-of-reach orgasm echoed in my pussy, clenching, calling to Q’s perfect cock.

  I wanted to be Q’s fingers. I wanted to be his flesh. I wanted to be his cock receiving such pleasure. I wanted everything about him, and yet he gave me nothing.

  I trailed my eyes up his physique, over his rigid stomach, skittering over his intricate tattoo, along his chest, up his stubble-smooth chin and parted lips until I finally looked him in the eye.

  It felt as if the world exploded on its axis, tripping, spinning, hurling me headlong into sin and debauchery.

  “You want me. Don’t you, Tess.” Q’s voice dropped to gruff and midnight. Still stroking himself with one hand, he came forward and cupped between my spread legs.

  I moaned as his touch acted like gasoline on an already blazing inferno. “Q, please,” I warbled, my tongue too heavy to form proper sentences.

  His fingers were little sticks of dynamite, and I begged to light them for a cataclysmic explosion.

  He swayed toward me, stroking himself harder, drawing drops of glistening pre-cum.

  My heart roared in my ears. I fought the restraints. I needed to be free. I needed to lick and bite him. I needed to fuck him with an urgency I’d never felt before.

  Q tutted under his breath. “You want to be free?” He nuzzled my neck, licking at the sore skin from his earlier bite. “You’ll never be free again. Je te garde pour toujours.” I’m keeping you forever.

  Oxygen no longer held merit as Q inserted two fingers deep inside me, pulsating in time with his strokes on his cock. I bucked, desperate to get closer. Fingers weren’t enough.

  Take me! Own me.

  Q groaned as he fisted himself, working harder. “Fuck, I want my cock inside you. To be deep in your darkness, your wetness, your fucking sweet pussy.” He pressed another finger deep, and my back bowed.

  I moaned, eyes squeezed shut against the siege of euphoria. “Do it. Please, God, do it.”

  “So eager. So keen,” he growled, his hand working harder, fingers throttling his cock.

  I moaned, nodding. “For you, yes. Always for you.”

  He trembled, groaning under his breath. “Only for me, esclave. All mine.” He fingered me harder. His thumb found my clit, swirling in time to the tempo he set. Rocking, possessing, mind-shattering.

  His thumb was magic, conjuring swirling, sparking energy to centre on his touch. My stomach tensed as my core tightened around him, demanding to be filled, to be satisfied and taken, but Q just kept up the maddening erotic beat. Thrust, swirl, thrust. His hand worked his erection, bringing more blood to his cock, so it heated and wept with clear liquid. Liquid I wanted to lap. His balls tightened, sitting high and full, straining with the need
to come.

  With his fingers still deep inside me, Q stopped stroking himself to fumble with one of the straps around my wrists. I groaned as the tightness released, letting blood gush into my hands.

  He never faltered in his rhythm as he undid the cuffs around my neck and other wrist. When I was free, he placed my hand on his cock.

  His velvety heat was like the trigger on my release. My body clamped around his fingers as the first ripple milked him hard. So fucking good. My hand squeezed Q tightly. He hissed, but I didn’t care. All I could focus on was the heady thrill of finally giving in to the body-aching orgasm.

  I felt eternally heavy as if gravity increased a thousand fold and then I let go, embracing the next wave of my orgasm, pulsing around my heart, wrapped tight around my spine and inner thighs, blazing with need.

  Q slapped my hand away from his cock and withdrew his fingers.

  No!

  I gasped as the orgasm faltered, and, with no stimulation, receded like a pitiful wave.

  “Why? Let me come. Please, let me come!” I begged, reaching for him with my freed arms.

  He ducked out of reach, unleashing my ankles before standing again. Trailing his fingers over my torso, he turned his hands to claws, raking nails across me. He didn’t break the skin, but the burn activated the whip marks, encouraging pain to smoulder. Reaching my waist, he undid the final strap and pulled me from the cross.

  With a grim mouth, he murmured, “I’m not done with you yet. When you come, it will feel so fucking unbelievable you won’t be able to move.”

  He gathered me into his arms, pressing his forehead against mine and breathing deep. “Promise to obey everything I say. If you even think of rebelling or speaking against me, I’ll not be held accountable. T’as compris?” Do you understand?

  I was speechless. For Q to demand I obey him, to allow him full control and acceptance never happened. He got off on fighting, on denial. I wanted to ask so many questions, but held my tongue and nodded.

  I would’ve promised to do anything if it meant I could finally come.

  Q backed away a little, crooking his finger for me to follow. “Come here.”