Ember Burn: The Curved Path

* * * *

She won't stay long. She'll only anger him; she doesn't have the strength necessary. She moves like a practiced wannabe stripper... like a married woman who learns the Art of Strippin' to keep hubby's OCS in the doss. There is a subtle difference in good sex... and practiced sex. She knows how to eat a woman out... but she doesn't know drek about me.

She's going on rumor alone.

Her last orgasm pulls her into slumber... thank Ghost. I wait until she's asleep before leaving. The door opens automatically, closing behind me. She'd check the system... but wouldn't find anything. She'd check her body... and find nothing. All evidence would be gone... except for her own memory.

* * * *

Ember Burn - 99.99%

"Patricia's downstairs."

"How is she dressed?"

"Silver spaghetti top, black skirt and stockings and heels. No jewelry... not even earrings."

"Your take?"

"I think she's interested. Other than that I honestly can't say. She's definitely in submissive mode..."

"You don't believe her."

"I do... I just don't think she fully understands what she's in for."

"They seldom do, Donna. Show her to the Hospital Room."

"As ordered."

* * * *

I kept the smile from showing, even in my eyes. Patricia's heels clicked loudly on the synthetic marble floor, bouncing off the walls eerily. I didn't need to see her face to know the questions running through her mind.

* * * *

The Hospital Room is not a place I frequent regularly. It's only used for those Slaves with urine and hospital fetishes. The oddest thing about the place isn't the sickening white walls or the overwhelming smell of scrubbed-beyond-sanitized. It's the lack of medical professionals who've been here... like zero.

The instant I'm seen is a first for both women. Donna in particular; she's never seen me dressed in Shadows, and takes several steps back, a look of wonder wringing her pretty features. Patricia doesn't raise her head.

I stride past Patricia, stopping in front of Donna. She looks into my eyes, the wonder slowly giving way to fear... which excites her. She keeps her breathing as normal as possible as her own lust slowly builds within her. I wait patiently... for three minutes. She doesn't move, nor does she lower her eyes.

"You may want to wait in the Sanctum, Donna." The bowing doesn't quite shield her excitement. As soon as she's out of sight I whirl around, slapping Patricia on her ass with a bare hand. She yelps/gasps, jumping away.

The growl does more than frighten her... it casts a darkness over what I see. I reach beneath her dress, encountering the familiar barrier of pantyhose... a rare item in 2078... and nothing else. No pseudo-panty guard... just thin fabric and the seam, which runs between the cleft of her rear and cunt. I find her clit and pinch. She hisses, fighting not to clamp down... to simply accept. It's a sign of a new submissive.

I tell her to remove the blouse and skirt as I turn around. Somewhere within my Mind I See another body... and know full well what Patricia will experience. The bar looks like the walls, the sick white color making it difficult to find unless you know where too look. Reminding myself to thank Hammerstrike for the lighting scheme I pour her a glass of water.

I watch her drink, totally disinterested in the act. She tries to search my gaze for some clue about my plans. She doesn't see the drain open silently beneath her. Once finished, I nod towards the bar. She pauses, trying to discern where the bar is. Again I slap her rear... harder this time. She doesn't make a sound, but jumps to obey. Even from the back I can see her blend of pain, pleasure, confusion and sexual arousal on her face.

She places the glass on the counter top, and then begins to turn around. She doesn't hear me approach... aware of my presence only when I grab her left shoulder. She makes yet another mistake, bending over. Cocking my head to one side, I instruct her to remain there.

I look at the cat-o-nine tails, the white leather slightly disturbing. Snorting softly, I bring it down over her exposed back. She screams, jerks... and regains her position. I listen for the sobs... striking again at the first blessed sound. Deep Within, that sound brings her image into clear focus. Smiling wickedly, I bring the whip down across her back, drawing back just enough to curl the leather strips in preparation. Flicking my wrist, the tips explode across one ass cheek, obliterating a swath of fabric.

No matter how many times I see it, it still amazes me. Whip the back and very few think to protect themselves. The ass is another matter; nearly every single Slave whips a hand to their rear, hoping to protect their sensitive rear. She learns the lesson when I strike the exact same spot... and her hand and wrist.

"Better."

* * * *

It's too close to the hard style favored by Dungeon Crawlers for my tastes, yet I had to see what he was doing to her.

Not quite true, the way he was dressed... the way he looked through me... into me.

Eyes closed, I listened to Patricia's torment. It wasn't long before I had three fingers deep inside my sex. Part of me wanted to see. Part of me... the part I'm all too familiar with... screamed at me to run. Not that I didn't have anywhere to go...

I wanted to see what was in store for me when he finished with her.

* * * *

There comes a point when the only thing in a Slave's entire existence is the Pain/Pleasure... when the impact of whip, hand or whatever ceases to be a concern... when the only thing that really matters is the Oblivion of their situation. Patricia reached that point quickly... which always disappoints me. A crumpled heap on the floor, sobbing in pain and after orgasmic tremors, she looked pathetic. And, as expected, the glint of ecstatic happiness deep within her eyes.

I grab her hair and roughly push her onto her hands and knees, momentarily disoriented by the superimposed Memory. She reacts slowly and clumsily. I leave her there for the moment, returning the cat-o-nine to the hidden cabinet... and retrieving the only black instrument in that collection: a bullwhip. Returning, I fill her cunt with the butt end of the whip. Before her shocked gasp can fully escape I flick her back with the exposed end. It doesn't take force... just impact. She yelps, whimpers, and starts crawling towards the exit.

"Something wrong?"

"I have to urinate, sir."

"What's stopping you?" I growl, striking her back a bit harder.

It's just a squirt, but the effect is immediate. She clamps around the bullwhip's handle... activating the circuitry. The electrical impulses are not enough to do any damage, though a wet vaginal cavern doesn't really concern itself with such scientific matters; the surge confuses her. Clench to push it out or relax and obey. And as she tried to make up her mind, her bladder released, spraying her partly covered mound with golden fluid.

I lean to one side and watch her face. The difference between her and Marsha is evident. Marsha wants the humiliation; Patricia is only now experiencing it. I don't give her a chance to think, fragging her with the charged invader while whipping her rear and back. I hear her choke back tears, and lean close to an ear.

"Get used to the sensation. Even if your Master is your One True Love... this sensation will be with you." The words are low, growled through barely open lips.

* * * *

I can't help but scream; the orgasm is more powerful than any I've ever felt. My eyes snap open. Both hands grip my sex... and I can't stop frigging myself. I curl into a ball... try to slow my breathing.

* * * *

The twins wait patiently in the main hall, summoned by mental command. They've grown accustom to my summons, though they still believe its magic based. Patricia's barely conscious, struggling to keep from sprawling onto the floor.

"See that she gets to her room," I say, dropping the bullwhip. Butt end still deep in her sex, Hey moves towards Patricia, bowing slightly.

"When you've recovered, we'll begin again. She gets two hours of rest, and then return her to the Hospital Room."

* * * *

I hear the silent opening. I sit up and slide from his bed. When he takes a handful of my hair I obey immediately, fishing his member from the black slacks. I don't mind the sudden feel of him in my mouth... then down my throat. I expected it; there's something very dark trying to surface inside Ember. Something I've only glimpsed.

This is not about me, though I know I'll be more than satisfied. I settle down onto my knees and let him frag my face, sucking him vigorously. When he does cum, it becomes very clear that I will not be enough for him. I look up, catching his gaze...

And know real fear in his presence for the first time.

* * * *

Neither of them satisfies me, though Donna comes closest. Fear fills my nostrils, the scent all the more frustrating for the image that refuses to leave my Mind's Eye. Donna is the only one to ever see the face of the Beast Within... and not run screaming into the night, mind flayed beyond all hope of sanity.

She sits there... chained by a fear so primal it cannot be denied.

"Rise." She obeys, never taking her eyes from me... and astounded that she has to look up at me.

I bend slightly, taking one leg in hand. She turns just enough to allow me access to her sex, still entranced...

* * * *

No. This one is not blinded by the denied fury simmering beneath Human eyes. She is not enthralled by the Power assaulting her.

In her eyes I see the fearful surrender of a knowing Slave. I pull out lips into a caring... asking smile. She should not Know the fury about to grace her body, yet she understands her Place.

* * * *

It is pure, unadulterated fragging. I'm just there to provide a body and available orifices. Usually, all I care about is sex. Now I see the difference Ember always spoke about... but I never thought much on.

He filled me totally, slamming into... then beyond... my uterus. Pain lanced through me, quickly overwhelmed and amplified by his powerful thrusts. I flung my arms around his neck, pinning my leg to his chest. It hurt... and I didn't care.

I didn't care... because of that smile. Sad... apologetic. I didn't count my orgasms, I just came and came. I don't remember him pulling free, or spinning me around. I lifted my face from the comforter on his bed as he filled me again... with even more power than before. I can't think... only react.

* * * *

I tuck her into my bed, swallowing the last drams of guilt. Donna's served me well since arriving. Now, body pushed beyond endurance, she sleeps the Sleep of the Dead. Her entire body is slack; even her eyes seem to lack the energy for REM sleep... dead man's floating in their sockets. I lower my head, respecting such a sacrifice. The Beast Howls... and I agree. It should be her.

Instead... I turn, leaving Donna to sleep... and heading for Patricia.

I stride by the Twins. Fear quickly and utterly crushes their surprised looks. I don't spare them a nod, moving towards the Hospital Room.

I don't spare Patricia a look, simply moving towards her with purpose. Her mouth opens and she takes a step back. Rage glances over my eyes.... forced more by Honor than any Natural instinct. She wants to know if it is wrong to do such things to one you claim to love. Foolish; that is a question for those claiming moral superiority. I have no such arrogance. No need to lord my own moral code over everyone... sad habit most religious souls seems to enjoy. Grabbing one breast I drag her from the painfully bright area...

And into the Dungeon.

* * * *

Ember Burn - Time

Time is a precious commodity. Whether Bleeding the Edge in some corp Zero Zone or shaving black ice while trying to out deck otaku... all while streetsams and go-gangers sling lead... Time is important.

Consider Patricia and her Visit. Aside from the Time I've touched her... she's been alone. I'm fairly sure she had Thoughts, and can easily retrieve them. And now the Twins prepare her for an unknown time span... where her only guarantee is pain. Pleasure is assumed... a foolish habit some possess... and cannot shake.

I spend part of that time observing her. Hey and Yo move quickly and efficiently... even taking the time to let Patricia select her own outfit. Normally I'd examine this process. She'll pick something plain. A teddy perhaps. Or the standard leather straps placed to allow nipple and clit access. How boring. No style... just patterned tastes. I do take a Moment to laugh at Yo... who rolls her eyes at the final selection. Crotchless white lace body suit with spaghetti straps. See?

The twins move to the door, standing silently. Patricia stands still for about two minutes, then starts examining the room. I'm actually quite proud of the Dungeon. In the far right corner sits the Alter to Darkness... the local Hardcase name for an area that's Classic Gothic BDSM. Jacob's Cross. Chains. The wall looks like it came directly from a musty old tomb some taffeta clad vamp sleeps in... and I even have a coffin for the truly disturbed.

But the tech makes the place what it is. As Patricia walks around the horizontal rack I bring up the Universal Eyeball. I can monitor everything: heart rate, pulse, vital stats MIT&M docs would kill to get even in a Delta clinic. She lets her hands roam over the wood. Judging from the readings, she's in awe.

The rest of the Dungeon is my own design. Some say it mirrors the den. Others think I have a doctor-nurse fetish, a line of thought stemming from the clean surfaces, the menacing chrome-black shine and the cool blues and grays that adorn the various instruments. And calling them torture devices seems... twisted. There are two walls that separated the Goth area from the rest, and next to one stands a weight machine. Nothing special... until you examine it closely.

When she finally gets there it takes her three good looks to figure out the function. Straddling the center area, a small horse, activates it. The soft ping follows a gentle female voice. The instructions are simple and soon she's doing a mild work out and getting fragged by the smallest vibrator the device offers. She does one set of ten then stops, the machine whirring down quietly.

Simple? Well... she was free to leave. Leg restraints can easily prevent that... and then there are the other settings she wasn't told. Like the one that frags her constantly... if she doesn't work out. The micro-horse sits on a rotating platform, ensuring that at least one simple change... from front to back lat pull-down... possesses a constant frag-session. No rest for the wicked, neh?

Next comes the free weight bench... complete with weights. And, if you happen to examine the floor, hidden manacles. Padded, though the material can... and often does... carry a small electrical signal capable of overriding the impulses of the brain. Keeps the extremities immobile. Though, with even a bar on it, the thing goes inert. Won't have accidents like that.

Last along the wall are the bikes. The open seats tell the tale there. Well... part of the tail. She doesn't see the concealed wheels that allow each machine to be easily moved.

Corner... and one runs into a small end table and the lamp. Those always draw attention; they're designed by Nero's ex... the cheating slitch. A slender black pole runs nearly to the ceiling, where three arching limbs curve, each ending in parabolic black plumes. Capable of various lighting effects... including limited trideo projection... they cost a cool grand... if she's still alive.

The table itself is rather barren. One lone ashtray... that never gets used. I don't have a no-smoking policy; the Visitors have silently agreed to keep the healthy atmosphere. Not all people are rotten slags. Next comes a sofa. Dark shimmering blue, the cushions are hand made. Couldn't tell... and that's wiz by me. The synthleather's coating makes easy cleanup. Only a few newbies actually H-line on it, and they're quickly and gently admonished. That's for sitting... or practicing spanking.

The most... and least... obvious area is the sunken center. That's where Displays happen. Hammerstrike's work is exquisite; thirteen different ceiling arrangements. Chains. Spreader bars. Ropes. The floor houses several poles and a horse. Patricia makes her way around, her body only now beginning to react to the slight dip in room temperature.

There's a wide area directly across from the entranceway. That's the Decorated Area, used for whatever and supplied by the Ammo Dump. That name is blamed on the Twins. Two doors... one leading to a dressing room designed by Morgana. Shoes galore, and enough outfits to make even the most jaded participant drool. Some of Sid's works are bid on from time to time, commanding large prices might I add. I make a note to have Deborah speak to Sid about throwing a fashion show after this mess in the CDZ is quiet.

I open the door. The Twins move smoothly, giving Patricia some warning. I hear her rise, padding softly on the cool floor. I raise my right hand, palm towards her. She obeys quickly and properly... and I try not to vomit.

"How long do you think you can last?" I ask. She looks towards the Gothic dungeon, her face trying to calculate the Time.

"Not there; you're not ready." True... but not the only reason. She's not worthy. Petty... but I make the rules. Her confusion slides from my notice as I mentally instruct the Twins. Yo struggles to hold on to the brief contact, her arousal oozing into her muffled breathing.

"How long?"

"One hour... please."

Time is a precious commodity. One hour is meaningless. The runners are going over their plans, checking their equipment... doubting themselves even as they salivate at the prospect of a big run. Donna will be up, though her Thoughts will be everywhere for quite some time. I will be here and Elsewhere...

There are slave capable of eight... even ten hour stretches. Daylong stretches are not unheard of... though they take quite a toll on both Master and Slave. And she... wants an Hour. She could be preparing her husband a meal. Preparing for tomorrow. Something... anything. She chose to take this hour... to be tormented. Tortured. Sexually abused and humiliated. I let my eyes slide over her.

Once again... Sheep. This is an experiment... for something she may or may not want from the man in her life. Or woman... it doesn't matter to me; she's not serious. This is a game to her. It takes me several moments to Remember... once everyone was at this Crossroads. Once.

I stand here now, and I will not let anyone continue on blindly. Perhaps that is what many find so abrasive about me. So utterly ruthless and unemotional. True... yet I will not lie. I Show only the Truth and Facts and Logic. I leave my emotions out of things because it is best. She won't Understand. Time is precious... and this hour will not be wasted.

The Twins return. Hey carries the rope, the same color blue as the cushions... with gray threads here and there. Yo carries a leather flogger and the ball gag. Patricia's eyes light up, then glaze with the appropriate fear. I don't even consider smiling as Hey binds her breasts. I take the whip as Yo passes, letting its weight hang in my right hand. In truth; I'm oblivious to it. To her. Only the Twins matter. Patricia whimpers. Hey slaps one tit viciously. Patricia jerks her eyes to me.

That's when it hits her. For the next hour... she's a thing. She eyes the whip, but only briefly; she's enthralled by the look on my face. If it were the sneer of evil, that would comfort her. No; the look of indifference... the look that does not count her existence. She doesn't hear the ceiling open. When Yo puts the ball gag in, she fights. That's when I smile; the fear has finally reached her soul. And, for the briefest of Moments, she remembers the Time. One Hour.