Unfortunate Son (23 page)

He turned to face his scene partner. “Yeah,” he said, holding out a hand. “Griffen, right?”

“Right.” Griffen stood about two inches shorter than Trevor, but he had muscles on top of muscles, and his dark eyes and severe haircut gave him the look he needed to play the Dom role. Trevor had seen one scene Griffen had done with another studio, but he’d never met the other man before.

“Billy went over the scene plan with you?”

Trevor nodded. “Sounds pretty straightforward.”

“You’ve been flogged before?”

Trevor thought the fact that he had was kind of the point of his being here, but ignored the ridiculous nature of the question and nodded again. “Did a few scenes with Kinksters. Got flogged for two of them.”

“Oh.” Griffen scowled, suddenly looking a lot meaner than before. “With Jeremy?”

“Yeah.” Trevor didn’t have a problem with Jeremy, who’d seemed to be a good guy, but it looked like maybe Griffen did.

Griffen snorted. “Amateur,” he muttered. Then he shook himself. “Well, I’ll be pulling my strokes, of course, for the camera. Nothing too rough. But we’ll want to get you pinked up pretty well, so it shows up before I fuck you. I’ll get a safeword from you during the scene, so go ahead and pick something, but you won’t actually need it.”

Trevor gave another mental eye roll. He didn’t think much of Griffen’s attitude. Every BDSM scene needed a safeword, whether it got used or not, and Trevor had enjoyed his shoots with Kinksters, even though he wasn’t that much into the rougher stuff.

A moment from his shoot with Adam crossed his mind, soft tongue and fingers teasing him until he shivered, but he shook it off.
Not much into the super-gentle stuff either
, he told himself, focusing back on the scene in front of him.

Billy bustled back in, looking redder-nosed for the wear, and scampered around the room, checking the lights and adjusting the umbrellas. Emmett moved the tripod camera in closer, and Billy paused for a millisecond to check the view before grinning at Trevor and Griffen.

“Okay! Let’s get things rolling!” Energy practically vibrated the air around him as he grabbed a light meter and hurried over into the scene space. Trevor and Griffen turned automatically to face the lights, and Billy hummed bits of some almost familiar dance tune while he and Emmett finished setting things up. Trevor waited, not patiently, but it wasn’t as if he had much choice about it.

“Got it!” Billy tweaked some settings—
almost as hard as
he’s
tweaking
, Trevor thought—and gave them a too-huge grin. “Ready when you are, boys!”

Griffen moved off to the side, where Emmett waited, holding a collar and leash. Trevor followed, stripped down to the black sport briefs he’d been instructed to wear, and let Emmett buckle the collar on, grateful that he double-checked to make sure it wasn’t too tight. Griffen gave him a raised-eyebrow glance. “On three,” he muttered, and then he counted them down: “One, two, three.”

Even with the countdown, Trevor was caught off guard by how firmly Griffen yanked at the leash, but he kept his feet and followed the other man into the scene area. Griffen pulled him to a stop in front of the St. Andrew’s cross and gave the leash another pull, this time down. “On your knees, boy,” he barked.

Trevor obeyed, going to the floor with practiced ease. Griffen held the leash too tight, though, so he had to keep his head up and neck extended so it wouldn’t cut into his skin. He pulled against Griffen’s hold as a hint, and Griffen lightened up his grip a little, but not enough for comfort. Trevor opened his mouth to complain, but Griffen pulled the leash tight again.

“You don’t talk, boy,” he growled out. “You can scream all you want, but you don’t get to talk.”

Trevor waited for him to ask for a safeword, but the question didn’t come. Instead, Griffen fumbled for the fly to his leather pants with his free hand. “You’re gonna suck me, boy. And then I’m gonna beat the fight right out of you and fuck you into next week. Then after I’m done with you,
maybe
I’ll think about letting you come.”

Griffen loosened the leash, but just enough that he could turn Trevor and himself at the right angle for the camera to catch every moment when he shoved his cock into Trevor’s mouth. Trevor fought back the urge to bite down and got to work instead, sucking and licking every inch.
At least he’s got a nice cock
, he thought,
even if it’s not all that big
. He didn’t taste like overripe funk, either. The only time Trevor had ever stopped a shoot had been to insist that his scene partner take a bath, not just a shower, and wash
everywhere
this time.

Trevor relaxed his throat and took Griffen in deeper, swallowing around the tip before pulling back to suck all the way up the shaft. Griffen moaned above him, tugging lightly at the leash, his free hand grabbing the back of Trevor’s head and forcing him back down.

“Suck it, bitch,” Griffen panted. “Suck it harder.”

Trevor was glad his mouth was stuffed full of cock. Otherwise he might’ve started laughing. He hoped there were people out there who found that kind of thing hot, because Trevor sure didn’t get much from it. But he followed orders and sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks, bringing one hand up to pull at Griffen’s balls. Griffen groaned again and moved to put his other hand on Trevor’s head, but he must not have realized how tight he still had the leash, because the attempt made Trevor jerk his head back with a gasp.

“I said suck it, bitch!” Griffen yanked again, until the collar cut into Trevor’s windpipe, and Trevor fought him then, ripping at the leash until he got it unwound from Griffen’s hand one turn, leaving enough lead that Trevor could breathe. Griffen realized he’d overstepped and let him get comfortable, to some degree, before he shoved his dick back at Trevor’s mouth.

“Yeah, suck me hard.” Griffen thrust his cock deeper, and Trevor’s throat burned from the combination of nicotine, caffeine, and deep-throating. But he held out until Griffen finally withdrew and yanked at the leash, directing Trevor without words to stand and then pulling him toward the St. Andrew’s cross. Trevor stopped in front of the equipment and waited until Griffen reached for a hand to strap him in. He resisted.

“Safeword,” he whispered sharply. Griffen paused. “Ask me for a safeword or I fucking swear I’m out of here.”

Griffen yanked his hand to half turn Trevor toward the camera. “What’s your safeword, bitch?”

Trevor almost left anyway. He also almost said Kinksters, just out of spite. Instead, what came out of his mouth surprised him.

“Mason,” he said. For a moment, he had no clue where that word came from, but then he remembered. Riley. His full name was Mason O’Reilly Yeats.

He might have walked out then, an image of Riley’s smile filling his mind, but before he could react, Griffen had him turned around and started buckling him into the restraints on the cross. Bound by wrists and ankles, Trevor took a deep breath and reminded himself that he had a job to do, and the rest of it could wait. Right now, he needed to finish the scene.

He could see Griffen in his peripheral vision, but it didn’t prepare him for the hard yank on the leash he still held. “You’re going to learn to behave, boy,” he growled. “Your punishment this time is a good, hard flogging. Next time I won’t be so easy on you.”

He tossed the end of the leash over Trevor’s shoulder so that it hung down in the front, out of the way of the flogger that was about to work Trevor over. Trevor realized then that he hadn’t asked to see the implement that would be used on him. But then, he’d never had to ask before. He hadn’t done that many BDSM-themed shoots, but always before, he’d been shown any paddles, floggers, plugs, clamps, or anything else that might be used. He’d never gone into a hard-edged shoot blind like this.

The vague uneasiness about the shoot that had bothered him since he arrived slipped toward full-fledged terror. He fought it as hard as he could, but with his hands and feet tied, and having no clue what was about to happen, he couldn’t come up with anything to stop his heart and mind from galloping out of control. He began to shake, and just at that moment, the first stroke of the flogger hit his ass. He arched away on instinct, an unbidden gasp coming out of his mouth. That was no easy, warm-up stroke. If this was Griffen pulling his strokes, Trevor never wanted to experience his full strength.

Before he’d even straightened back up, the flogger came down again, just as hard, and within seconds Trevor was crying out and twisting almost continuously, trying to get away from the searing pain. He panted, unable to catch his breath, not even to use his safeword.

Griffen paused, and Trevor opened his mouth to yell “Mason!” but two more strokes hit him across his upper thighs and he could only suck in air. He fell forward against the cross, trying again to get out the word that, he hoped, would make it all stop, but then the flogger came down again, harder than ever, and right across his lower back.

“No!” he screamed, surging into action, twisting and fighting against his bounds. Even the least experienced floggers knew that the lower back was always,
always
off limits. Without the ribcage for protection, the kidneys sat fully exposed to every strike, and it didn’t take much force to leave them bruised or even permanently damaged.

“Hold still, boy!” Griffen’s hand landed on the back of Trevor’s neck, holding him flat against the cross, and the flogger hit his ass twice before returning to stripe his lower back. Trevor struggled even more.

“Mason!” he finally got out. “Stop, dammit!”

Griffen laughed. “We stop when
I
say we stop, boy.”

A voice yelled from off camera, and a switch inside Trevor flipped. He went from mental terror to full-out panic, yanking at the cuffs on his hands, trying desperately to escape from the hell he’d been shoved into.

The hell he’d been living in for five long, desperate years.

Trevor fought against his bonds, grabbing at the chains holding him to the cross and pulling hard, and suddenly, something gave. The cross shuddered and shook, and then, as if in slow motion, it began to topple over.

And Trevor toppled right along with it.

M
OMENTS
FLASHED
like photographs across Evan’s vision: The blurry view of the warehouse’s metal ceiling high above him. The weight of the wooden cross lying on his body. The throbbing in his head and the searing pain in his wrist. Then, people scrambling around him, unbuckling the restraints, lifting the cross away so he could breathe again. Emmett crouching beside him, telling him in a soft drawl to be still and that help was on the way. Emmett disappearing and an EMT appearing in his place, asking questions Evan couldn’t answer.

He felt the prick of a needle in his arm, and then everything faded away.

He opened his eyes to dimmed lights, distant noises, and the smell of antiseptic. His head and wrist still throbbed, and when he tried to move, so did his back. Hell, everything hurt. It was just a matter of degrees.

“Ev?”

Evan turned his head, slowly, to see Cory sitting by his bed. Cory smiled. “Hey there. How’re you feeling?”

Evan blinked. “Hurts,” he murmured, his mouth dry. It took too much effort to say more than that.

Cory grabbed something on the bed. “Let’s get the nurse in here to check on you, okay?”

Call button. Evan would’ve nodded in acknowledgment, but the concept of how much pain that would likely cause kept him still. It only took a few moments for a nurse to come bustling in anyway.

“Mr. Day,” she said, her voice bright but soft. “I’m Carla. You took quite a spill, I hear. How do you feel?”

God, she expected him to talk? He licked his lips and made his best effort. “Head hurts,” he whispered. “And wrist. Back.” He coughed out a poor attempt at a laugh. “Just… everything.”

“I can imagine.” Carla took a look at some monitors. “We’re going to be taking you down to radiology in a few minutes to get some X-rays, and then we can get you something to drink, at least.”

The memory of the lashing his lower back had taken pushed Evan to speak again. “Kidneys,” he whispered. “Check them?”

Carla gave him a look and then shared one with Cory. “The EMTs didn’t mention anything about your kidneys or lower back,” she said. “But they did bring you in on a back board, so they probably didn’t turn you over. Did something else happen?”

“Yeah.” Evan swallowed. “Got hit. Before the fall.”

He couldn’t talk anymore. His throat was still raw, remnants of his rough night and even rougher treatment at Griffen’s hands, and every word made the pain in his head worse. He closed his eyes.

“We’ll check, honey,” Carla said. After a pause, she added, “Your friend here took care of your insurance information and all that.”

“So you won’t go bankrupt or anything,” Cory chimed in. “Though I might charge you for the heart attack I nearly had when the EMT called me. Honey, once you’re feeling better, we have got some talking to do.”