Marc wouldn't have expected Karla to give a rat's ass what a Minnesota team was expected to do, given her roots were in Chicago which had no shortage of professional baseball teams, but he had no interest in talking baseball or any other sport at the moment. He made a noncommittal grunt. Adam apparently remained loyal to the local boys of summer from his childhood home.

Anxious to get going on the scene, Marc said, "I'm ready to start anytime you are, Adam."

Adam glared at him. "What time did I tell you to be here?"

Merda. He didn't want to piss Adam off just before putting himself into the man's hands for the intense scene to come. "Fifteen-thirty, Top." Adam's demeanor told Marc he needed to take a subordinate stance with his Marine Corps Master Sergeant now. All too soon he would be referring to him as a Top of a different sort.

"And what time is it now?"

Marc glanced at his watch. "Fifteen-seventeen."

"You still going through with this scene?"

"Yes. All systems go."

"Well, if you want to work with me, you're going to follow orders to the T. Do I make myself clear?"

Shit. Marc nearly stood at attention. "Loud and clear, Top."

Adam returned his gaze to the sports page. After a few more minutes, Marc reached for another brownie. They were damned good. "Did you ask me for permission to have that brownie?"

Adam's question threw him off guard. "No, but Karla offered..."

Adam stood so abruptly his chair hit the backs of his knees and toppled over with a crack. Karla turned and pressed her back against the counter, her eyes wide at the transformation in her husband. Marc had seen Adam in master sergeant mode before, mostly during those early days of Marc's recon training with the other ropers at Pendleton. This must be new to Karla, though.

"This scene began the minute you gave me the all go, devil dog. From this point on, you don't eat, drink, piss, or shit without permission. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Top." Marc dropped the uneaten brownie back on the plate and stood at attention.

"Haul your ass down the hall to the head and take a piss, empty your bowels, and do whatever else you need to. Might be the last time you take advantage of the porcelain facilities for at least the next week. Then I want your ass in the dungeon, standing at attention, and waiting to spill your sorry guts by the time I get down there."

Karla gasped, and Marc glanced at where she stood transfixed, staring at Adam. Her respirations had increased, not unlike Marc's, but for her there was more excitement than fear as the cause.

"Leave your watch and other jewelry on the table. Empty your pockets of anything metallic. Remove your shoes and socks up here, too. Karla will stow everything until you need it again."

What did Adam have planned? The man wasn't into electrical play. Violet wands were Damian's and Grant's area of expertise. Of course, he remembered the use of Tasers in SERE school resistance training. Any one of his Marines would be proficient in the use of those tactics. Marc had no clue who would be brought into this scene. He'd given Adam carte blanche.

What the fuck was he getting into?

Marc leaned down to pick up his overnight bag.

"Drop it. You won't be needing anything in that bag. I'll decide what you need until this scene is over."

Marc followed orders, leaving the bag in the kitchen and hitting the head before taking the stairway to the dungeon. When he walked into the room, he noticed a number of changes. A straight-back wooden chair from the kitchen had been set up behind a utilitarian wooden table about two-thirds of the way across the dungeon, both similar to one from an episode of NCIS. Marc listened for Adam to approach while surveying more of the dungeon. A work lamp, its bulb caged in wire, hung above the chair, reminiscent of something from one of his spy novels. Marc trusted Adam to do what needed to be done, but the level of authenticity surprised him.

Footsteps. Marc moved to...

"I told you to stand at attention."

Too late. "Yes, Top." He stood straight and still, waiting.

Adam walked over to the table and uncovered a tray of implements-leather tawse, steel-gauge needles, a wire brush, dragon-tongue bullwhip, rope, a cock-and-balls chastity belt, and a black cloth. Adam ran his finger over several of the more menacing items, picking up the needle and holding it to the light. Did he know needles couldn't be used if exposed to...

"On your fucking knees, grunt." Without giving him time to move, Adam kicked the backs of his knees and he collapsed into the position. "Eyes on the floor."

Not sure where to put his hands, he kept them at his side.

"Hands behind your back, wrists crossed."

Marc's lungs constricted as Adam worked the rope onto his arms just above the wrists. Without conscious thought, he began to strain against the rope.

"You'd better not move another fucking muscle or you're going to wish you hadn't."

Marc clenched his fists but willed his body to remain still and accept the restraints, even though every nerve in his body lay poised on the edge of fight-or-flight response. After Adam had tied off the end, he hauled Marc up by the ropes at his wrists and would have wrenched his arms out of their sockets if Marc hadn't scrambled to get his feet underneath him fast enough.

"Sit."

Marc walked toward the chair and sat down.

"Did I tell you you'd earned the right to sit in a chair?"

"No, Top." Marc stood and surveyed his options. The only other place to sit was on the floor, and he did so, first going to his knees and trying not to fall over with his hands restrained behind his back.

"Get your ass on the chair."

Fuck. Getting up would be harder than getting down here. Why didn't he make up his mind? Once on his feet again, he waited for further instructions to clarify which position Adam wanted him in on the chair, afraid to make the same mistake twice.

"Sit, facing forward."

Marc got up and sat in the chair as instructed. The light bulb above him shined in his eyes, but only briefly. Adam dangled a ball gag in front of Marc, and fear rose again in his throat.

"Breathe, Marc." Angelina's voice helped calm him.

"Last chance to back out. Do you consent to give me free rein as to what this scene requires?"

Marc still had a choice. Adam obviously meant business. What lay ahead scared Marc shitless, but he could choose to end it now. "Yes, Top. I give unconditional consent."

"You're aware of the risks, including full-on psychosis, hallucinations, torture, and physical conditions intended to make you face your phobias and triggers head on?"

Marc drew a deep breath. I'm doing this for you, amore. I have no choice.

"I fully understand the risks and consent."

He also did this for himself, if he wanted to be honest. He'd been running long enough. Time to reclaim his past and start living his life.

"You've given up use of a safeword. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Top. I have given up my safeword."

"If you have any numbness to extremities, muscle cramps, you name it-report those to me ASAP. I'll determine if you're just trying to weasel out of facing something or if a change of position is needed. Understood?"

"Yes, Top. I understand."

"Evade the questions of any of your interrogators, and there will be consequences."

"I understand, Top." He remembered the sting of the crop and nylon flogger when he hadn't been truthful to Angelina. Adam's punishments would be so much worse.

After a long moment's pause, Adam reached up and turned out the light, but the bulb had been burned onto Marc's retinas where it shone yellow and bright, its cage visible still for several seconds as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the windowless cellar room. Adam placed a blindfold over Marc's eyes. With one sense deprived, he became more aware of sounds in the room. A clock ticked somewhere, growing louder and louder. He hadn't noticed one being in the dungeon before, certainly not a few minutes ago.

Something heavy scraped across the floor and into position nearby. Marc wondered what it could be but knew better than to speak without permission. He didn't have to be told there would be ramifications to that breach of basic protocol. He'd been a Dom long enough, not to mention a grunt serving under Adam. He'd also submitted to Angelina once and his mouth had gotten him in a lot of trouble.

Adam's suede combat boots barely made a sound on the floor. The silence dragged out.

Without warning, Adam ripped the blindfold off Marc's face and hauled him out of the chair by the collar of his shirt. Once on his feet, he shoved him across the floor until Marc's chest rammed against the wall. Adam's voice roared in his ears, his mouth mere inches away.

Adam spoke in a calm, commanding voice. "Your ass is mine now, grunt. You will do as you're told until I release you from this scene. You will answer my questions, every fucking one of them, with total honesty. You understand?"

"Yes, Top."

"I'm not your master sergeant anymore. You will refer to me as Sir. We're in a fucking BDSM dungeon in a fucking RACK scene, not on some military base where I have to comply with the Geneva Convention or the Uniform Code of Military Justice. You got that?"

"Yes, Sir." It sounded strange to Marc to call him sir. Adam wouldn't stand for any of his Marines to do so, nor his Navy Corpsman. But Marc had better get used to it pronto.

Adam loosened his grip and stepped away. Marc remained in place breathing hard and deep, well on his way to hyperventilating before he employed meditation techniques to try and calm his nerves. Adam slipped the black hood over Marc's head. He'd seen them used in scenes to totally block out a submissive's sight. They'd also been used in SERE resistance training.

And at Abu Ghraib prison.

"Take one step back, and then get on the balls of your feet." Marc complied. "Lean forward, and press your nose against the wall. Stay there until I tell you otherwise."

Marc moved into position quickly, feeling off balance from the get-go. Silence. Time crawled by, as far as he could tell. How long had he been in this position? A cramp seized his calf, but by lowering his heel and stretching out his calf muscle, he eased the pain away.

Where the fuck had Adam gone?

Click-click-click-zzzzt!

Marc's forehead slammed against the brick wall, crushing his nose as pain radiated from his side. Dio, Adam had zapped him with a stun gun or Taser.

"What the fuck, Adam?"

"What did you say?" Adam stood to his left, judging by the direction of his voice.

Marc pushed himself away from the wall and tried to resume a normal breathing pattern.

"Sorry, Sir. I just didn't expect that."

"Good. Now why didn't you tell me you had a leg cramp?"

Adam shot him full of electricity for not reporting a leg cramp. Shit. Marc's heart beat double time.

"I took care of it myself, Sir."

Adam hit him with another jolt of electricity to his side, and Marc screamed in pain as his knees nearly buckled.

"Since when is a chickenshit like you able to take care of himself? You were given a simple order to tell me when you have a cramp, numbness, anything like that, and you couldn't even do that. It's my job to assess your condition. If you withhold information, you're going to get hurt-unintentionally-and piss me off. Got that?"

"Yes, Sir. I understand." He still didn't comprehend the need for extreme force, though, just for working out a problem on his own. Marc had been taking care of himself a long time. He didn't need to have someone baby him.

"Back in position." Adam yanked him slightly sideways. Disoriented, Marc stood a moment trying to determine where the wall was in relation to his face.

Click-zzzzt!

Marc jumped away from the sound before he realized Adam hadn't hit him with it this time. With his hands tied behind his back, he couldn't reach out and feel for the wall. He had to trust that Adam had placed him where he needed to be. Slowly, he leaned forward. Just when he thought he was going to topple forward onto his face, his forehead made contact with the wall. He quickly adjusted his position so only his nose touched.

His muscles ached from the stun gun. Surely Adam hadn't gotten access to a Taser. It wasn't an Air Taser for sure. Maintaining the stress position became harder now. The only thing breaking the silence was the ticking of the clock. Marc didn't know if hours had passed or mere minutes. He hadn't heard Adam move or even breathe for a while and didn't know if he had stayed in the room. Responsible Tops never left restrained bottoms in a room alone-ever-so Marc trusted that Adam was still with him.

"At ease."

Relief at hearing Adam's voice again washed over Marc as he relaxed, lowered his heels to the floor, and stood upright. He flexed his legs at the knees, trying to get the feeling back in them.

"Did I give you permission to move your legs, grunt?"

Marc straightened his legs and stood still. "No, Sir."

"You always this slow to follow commands?"

"No, Sir. I'll do better, Sir."

"It's my job to see that you do." Adam paused before adding, "Maybe we need to make you a little less comfortable." Adam stood behind him now and began cutting through the rope, not worrying about saving it for a future scene.

Once freed, Marc waited for instructions before massaging his sore arms and shoulders. Permission didn't come.

"Strip."

It's just Adam.

He removed his outer shirt and khakis then his undershirt. Standing in his boxer briefs, he hoped Adam would be satisfied and not demand the full monty.

"What part of strip don't you understand, you devil dog?"

Being naked definitely would increase his anxiety level and vulnerability. Marc sighed and shucked them off. He wasn't sure what Adam wanted him to do next, so he waited. After what felt like maybe twenty minutes, Adam grabbed his forearm and pulled him backward. Marc fought to remain standing, having no idea where Adam was taking him until he felt something pressing against the backs of his knees.

"Sit!"

Marc hoped there was a seat behind him as he eased down. When his naked ass slapped against a cold, hard surface, he breathed a sigh of relief. Even if this was part of a mindfuck and not an actual chair at all, at least he hadn't wound up sprawled in a heap on the ground.

Adam tied his ankles to what must be the legs. He jerked Marc's arms behind his back, and Marc's fingers latched onto the slats in the back. Definitely a chair. Adam soon had him restrained so that he couldn't move.

"What's your name?"