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Anne wakes up with a start, and finds Adam Quinn standing outside her cell.
"What do you want?" she asks, sitting up. She can't be bothered to keep her tone civil after his betrayal two nights ago, "Done thinking about whether you're a dishonest bastard?"
She flexes her wrists, glad that she's finally been untied to allow her to sleep.
"I know you're upset, but I never told you that I would let you go. I told you that you had to convince me," he closes and locks the main door before walking over to her cell door, "And I've been doing some reading, so I think I've got some more tests you can do to convince me of your innocence. That's what you want, right?"
She already knows, from his tone and the sadistic glint in his eyes, that she isn't going to like what he has planned, but she wants her freedom more than she wants to tell him to fuck off, unfortunately.
"I'm surprised you can read," she says, unable to resist.
To his credit he just smirks. "If you weren't a witch, I'd like you."
Anne rolls her eyes. "Sounds like you've already made up your mind."
Quinn shakes his head. "No, no. I'm a fair man," he says, ignoring her derisive snort, "If you work hard, you can definitely convince me."
Quinn unlocks her cell door and she doesn't bother to try to escape, knowing he's already secured the door. He goes to sit at his desk and beckons her over. She opens the door and walks over to stand in front of him.
He pulls a small leather bound book out of his pocket and opens it, holding it out for her to read.
Dæmonic Sexuality: wytches and dæmon sex fests
"Are you joking?" Anne laughs, incredulous, "You think I've been having sex with the devil?"
Quinn doesn't laugh, he just raises an eyebrow at her, "Have you?"
"Not before two nights ago," she responds, crossing her arms.
Both of his eyebrows raise before he clearly realises what she means. "I don't think you realise how serious this could be for you."
"Why don't you just tell me what you want, Lord Quinn," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"This book says that there are tests a witch hunter, like myself, can do to establish whether an accused, like you, has been cavorting with demons. If you pass the tests, you're innocent. If you don't, you'll be charged with witchcraft."
"Fine." Anne says.
"What?" Quinn looks momentarily taken aback by her agreement, "You agree to the tests? Whatever they entail?"
"Do what you will. I've nothing to hide."
Quinn flicks through the pages in front of him. "There are three tests; an inspection by the witch hunter, a deviancy test, and a reactivity test," he looks up at her and smirks.
Anne had expected something like this, but she's still slightly surprised he would dare to push this so far. But, she supposes, who is there to stop him. Anyone with any influence has been taken in by this charlatan. And there is a very quiet voice in the back of her mind that says being 'inspected' by Adam Quinn wouldn't be the worst thing. Although, she might need to establish which way the reactivity test needs to go to prove her innocence first.
"Go ahead," she shrugs, "Like I said, I've nothing to hide from you or anyone else."
Quinn pauses again for just a moment. "Right. Yes," he stands up, "Remove your skirt."
Anne thinks about asking him to look away, but it feels like that would be losing somehow. Besides, he's about to see it all anyway. So instead she maintains eye contact as she unlaces her skirt, and the hoop skirt underneath, and lets them drop to the floor.
She takes pleasure in watching his eyes flick down to take in her now bare lower body as she steps out of the skirts. He steps forward and picks them up, placing them inside the cell, although not out of concern for the material.
"Lean over the desk," Quinn says, gesturing to his desk.
Anne walks forward and leans over the desk, resting on her hands. He moves behind her and pushes her hips forward so they're against the edge of the desk and then pushes on her back so she is pressed flat against the cool wood. Her corset making the angle uncomfortable, but she doubts he cares.
Bent over like this she feels exposed, and the air in the prison feels cold against her exposed flesh, making her shiver.
"Are you enjoying this, witch?" Quinn sneers.
She presumes it's a rhetorical question, so she doesn't dignify it with an answer.
At first Quinn just leaves her there on edge, waiting to see what he does next, but then he puts a foot between her feet and kicks her legs wider. She bites her lip to stop herself from making a noise, unsure what might have come out.
He walks around behind her, still silent as he appraises her. He steps back towards her and she jumps as she feels his fingers brush against her sex.
His fingers move across her folds and she bites her lips against a moan.
It's only when he dips a fingertip inside her that she realises he's still wearing his leather gloves. She can already feel herself getting wet, which she hates.
"You can't just push inside me without something to ease the way!" she hisses, hoping to hide the fact she probably doesn't need any oil at all.
Quinn's fingers withdraw and he reaches into a black velvet bag on the desk beside her head and pulls out a small vial which he uncorks. She almost laughs when she wonders if he will rub the oil into his gloves when she feels him tip the oil on her directly. It starts at her tail bone and runs down her, tickling across her arsehole and dripping down to run down her pussy.
He runs his fingers across her now slick folds and presses two fingers inside her, making her gasp uncontrollably.
"Hmmm, quite tight," he comments, and she hopes his leather gloves hide how she tightens around his fingers. His fingers move in and out of her steadily, thoroughly, twisting and spreading, leaving no part of her unchecked. She knows it's not supposed to feel good, but the knowledge that he is fingering her with those leather gloves on makes her throb. She tries to focus on not thinking about how good it feels, because if she's not careful she'll be dripping down her thighs soon.
It feels both too soon and not soon enough when his fingers withdraw and she tries not to whimper.
"Right, that's your cunt examined." She flushes red at his words. "Now, onto your hands and knees on the floor."
Anne stands up gingerly, trying not to show her legs are shaky, and positions herself on the floor. "What does a deviancy test involve then?"
"A witch who has been cavorting with demons and letting them defile her, to further her wicked agenda, will show signs of her most intimate muscles being tired and worn from overuse," he reads from the book, "The book recommends the witch hunter puts objects of varying sizes inside the accused and make her crawl around to test those muscles. If the item falls out, it's a sure sign she's been fornicating with the devil himself."
Quinn sounds so sure that Anne almost feels sorry for him, and she resists the urge to make her feelings known about what a crock of shit she knows that to be.
She also wonders what objects he's going to use, and tries to convince herself the shiver she feels is from fear, not apprehension.
Quinn rummages in the velvet bag again, and she turns her head to try and see what he pulls out. "Eyes front," he snaps and she looks back out in front of her.
He crouches down behind her and spreads her pussy with his fingers, exposing her hole. "We'll start with something small," he says, and she feels him press something cold inside her.
She tries to relax, to make it easier to take whatever the item is. Quinn pulls his fingers out and she clenches, trying to work out what it is. It's small, because she can barely feel it now it's warmed up to her body temperature. Then Quinn must let go of the rest of it, because it falls against her skin, making her flinch in surprise.
"Is that my necklace?" she asks him, turning her head again. He spanks her, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind her to follow his rules, and she turns her head to face forward again.
"Yes. I thought we could start off with something easy for you. Break you in gently."
His tone is anything but kind, and she knows it's more that he's getting a sick sense of enjoyment at seeing her gold necklace trailing down her pussy, stuck to her slick folds and brushing against her clit, than from any real generosity.
"Crawl."
She vaguely thinks about refusing, but she's come this far it would seem a shame to throw it all away now. So she starts to crawl forward on the cold stone floor. She focuses on trying to stay as tight as possible as she moves forward.
"I want you to crawl over to the cell door, and then back again." Quinn says, and whilst she can't see him she can tell he is smirking.
She crawls forward and as she moves the necklace moves, tickling her clit softly. It's not enough to stimulate her properly, but it's enough that it's all she can think about as she crawls, and she can feel her inner thighs getting wetter as she moves.
Anne reaches the cell door and then turns around. Quinn is sitting in his chair, watching her intently. She glances down to his trousers, and the dark material does a good job of disguising it but she's almost certain he's hard under them. She isn't sure how that makes her feel.
He beckons her over and she crawls until she is sitting at his feet. "Turn around," he says, "And move forward a bit so I can check it's still in place."
Anne does as he asks and he crouches down behind her again. He reaches out to take hold of the necklace and his fingers brush against her far too much to be accidental. He finally grips the chain and tugs on it, slowly sliding it out of her.
"Did I pass?" she asks, her voice sounds annoyingly breathless.
"Mmmm," he agrees, "But this was the smallest item. Next is something you should be familiar with, witch."
"I'm not a witch," she says as he reaches into the bag.
Quinn lets her see the item this time. It's a medicinal tincture bottle, one of the many that Quinn and his band of idiots had confiscated when they had ransacked her home and taken her prisoner. It's not a small one either.
He spreads her again. "You know," he says, pressing the base of the bottle against her entrance, "If I didn't know better I'd say you were enjoying this."
She shakes her head, but she can't help but moan as he presses the bottle inside her slowly. It's a stretch, and in any other context she would find the stretch delightful. She forces herself to remember who is doing this to her, to try and take the edge off.
It's such a tight fit that he pulls it out slightly and presses it back in, making her moan again. "You're clearly desperate for this… but it's such a tight fit perhaps you are telling the truth…"
"I am!" Anne gasps.
Quinn slides the bottle the rest of the way inside her. "Better to be safe than sorry, though. Now crawl."
It's harder not to dislodge the larger item as she crawls forward, because if she tightens her muscles too much she squeezes it out of her, but if she doesn't tense at all, she can feel it working its way out of her as she moves. Being soaking wet isn't helping her right now either.
She's slower this time, but she finally reaches the door and turns around. Quinn is watching her again, his hand pressing against the now obvious bulge in his trousers. Ten minutes ago she wouldn't have entertained the idea, but she's so worked up now that she finds herself wondering if he's planning to use that as part of her reactivity test. The thought makes her flush red and she watches him as she crawls back towards him.
Anne assumes the same position as last time and he crouches behind her, checking that the bottle is still firmly inside her. "Good girl," he mutters, sliding the bottle out slowly. She feels empty once it comes free, and she almost asks him to put something else inside her.
"Well done, you seem to have passed that test too."
Anne lets out a sigh of relief, not because she has any doubt around her innocence, but because his test is so arbitrary it would be all too easy to fail it on one of his whims.
"Just the reactivity test to go." He runs his hands across the skin of her hips, and it's not lost on her that he's becoming more and more brazen now. His excuses to touch her are flimsy at best and she can't help but smirk.
"How does that work, then?" she asks, trying to keep her tone as innocent as she can.
"Uh," he pauses, and she wonders if he'll try to save face by reaching for the book, but he's clearly beyond worrying about that now, "Witches who have given their bodies to the devil are punished by being deprived of pleasure. An accused who can… find peak pleasure is surely innocent."
It's weak, and she wants to call him out on his blatant lies and chasing of his own pleasure, but she's aching herself now and the thought of being brought to orgasm on his gloved fingers is enough to send another surge of arousal through her.
But she says nothing, because she doesn't want to make it too easy for him.
They both remain silent and still for a moment, until he finally touches his fingers to her soaked pussy again. She guesses that showing her pleasure would stand in her favour this time, so she moans and pushes back against his fingers.
He seems to get the message because his leather covered fingers press inside her for a moment before moving down to her clit, alternating between firm circles and small back and forth movements. She arches her back and moans again, so on edge from the rest of the evenings activities she can already feel her whole body tensing.
"I'm going to—" Anne gasps and comes against Quinn's fingers, pushing back hoping that he will get the message and push his fingers inside her again.
She sobs when he does, the feel of the leather sliding against her slick walls and his fingers pressing against the spots that make her cry out, prolonging her pleasure and making her moan.
Her orgasm finally fades and he slides his fingers out. She can hear him pushing his trousers down and she turns her head to look at him. "Do it!" she says, feeling so drunk on pleasure she can't help herself.
Quinn takes himself in hand, lines up and pushes inside her. He grips her hips and chases his own pleasure, with no more thought for hers.
She cries out as he presses her against the ground, slamming into her. "I knew you were a little slut. So desperate for my cock, weren't you?"
"Yes!" The word slips out unbidden, and she bites her lip to stop herself from saying anything else. Once this is over, she swears to herself that she will never go near him again. When he reaches down to grab a fist full of her hair, pulling her head back, she questions how likely it is that she keeps that promise.
Anne reaches down to touch herself, tightening around him as she gets closer and closer to the edge again. He pushes in one last time and spills deep inside her, groaning through gritted teeth. She orgasms again as she feels him come inside her.
He pulls out and stands up, walking towards the cell door leaving her on the floor. "Get dressed. I'll arrange for your release in the morning."
She tries to make eye contact with him, to see if he's telling her the truth, but he wont look at her. She thinks that's probably more telling that he is being truthful than if he was happy to look at her.
"Thank you, my lord," she says as she stands up and goes into the cell to put her skirts back on. She's not sure exactly what she's thanking him for, but it doesn't matter because he simply locks the cell door without another word, leaving her alone in the prison, awaiting her release in the morning.