Breaking Point Ch. 02

Matilda's eyes focused on the twinkling lights dotting the skyscrapers that stood along the Crossroads Inner Loop highway. Being driven was strange and unsettling; she'd always taken her own car to the office, refusing even to take the trains and subways that formed a network across the city, or to ride in the back of a summoned rideshare. It was easier to focus on the wheel, on the operation of the accelerator and brake, then to be left in the silence and contemplation of finding her hands and feet without anything to do.

She set her hands in her lap, drumming her fingers against her thighs. The window glass of the backseat felt cool against her skin, its exterior surface dotted by the rain.

Jocelyn, however, sat cool and composed behind the wheel, leading the car along the wide arc of the highway as it rounded the city center. The woman hadn't said much of a word since they left the office; the back door of her car had been opened in silence, her hand reaching out for Matilda to sit down inside.

It was rather luxurious, Matilda thought. The car was sleek and elegant, just as Jocelyn herself was. She'd clearly paid a great sum of money for it judging by the dashboard's touchscreen interface and the smooth polish to every interior surface. She laughed to herself in amusement: her secretary seemed far more wealthy than she was, and made that quite clear with everything she owned.

"Where," Matilda finally said, not lifting her head, though her eyes met Jocelyn's in the rear-view mirror, "are we going?"

"To my penthouse, on the west end of Almede District."

Matilda blinked. Outside of the highrise suites reserved for the wealthiest in downtown Crossroads, Almede was one of the nicest parts of the city. It had once been a slum, but the investment of the Nexus Corporation into the neighborhood had transformed it into one of the most up-and-coming blocks of land in town.

"I didn't realize you lived so well," Matilda said, her eyes once more turning to the view outside the window.

Jocelyn smiled. "In fairness, there's a lot you don't know about me."

Matilda nodded. She'd never really talked about anything other than business with her secretary. Or, she realized, much of anyone. That was part of the problem, after all, and if she believed what Jocelyn had sold her own, was exactly what they were going to address.

"What," Matilda said, her own voice sounding distant from her body, from her consciousness, "what exactly are you going to do to me?"

The car shifted, moving onto an off ramp. Outside Matilda's window, the great spire of the Nexus Corporation building soared into the night sky, its rooftop beacon glowing like a star over the cityscape it presided over. Then, as quickly as it came into view, the car turned, sliding under the Loop, orienting itself towards their destination.

"My technique depends on the application of physical and mental pain." Jocelyn eased the car to slower speeds as she spoke, cruising through the valleys cut by roadways between the shops and apartments of Almede District. "As I mentioned in your office, how I intend to reshape you, rebuild you, depends entirely on destroying everything you've been to this point. The way to do that is to push you right up to the edge of your pain tolerance."

Matilda's throat tightened. "What do you mean by pain?" she asked. Her voice trembled, as unsteady as her legs would be if she were standing. Her hand braced itself against the release for the car door, as though she could will herself to jump out of the moving vehicle and run away.

"There's no need to worry. We'll start small and build." The same thin, enigmatic smile Jocelyn wore when she first proposed their project curled her lips. "You will be pushed hard; it'll be easier to show you what I intend than it will be to try to explain everything here. I assure you, however, Ms. Langley, that you will be safe in my hands."

"I can trust you?"

"Absolutely. Will you trust me?"

Matilda closed her eyes. She wanted relief. She thought of her body, her being, being pushed over and shattered by Jocelyn's hand just as easily as her vase had exploded into pieces. The thought of being slowly put back together, veins of gold spiraling around the seams in her body, made her shiver.

"I do."

"Very well."

~

Matilda paused just inside of Jocelyn's home, eyes wide, drinking the sight of it all in.

Like the woman's car, the penthouse itself was sophisticated and luxurious. The entry lead into the main living space, an open room with kitchen and bar counter with polished counters, along with a parlor whose space was dominated by an arcing sectional couch set in front of a fireplace. A pointalist painting of the Crossroads skyline hung opposite the fireplace, while the exterior wall looked out onto a park that bounded the city's coastal cliffs. Rain cascaded down the windows, breaking apart the park's lamp lights into endless stars against the dark waters of the sea beyond.

To either side of the painting, she noticed, were separate doors. One surely lead to a bedroom, she realized, trying to orient herself. The other was, perhaps, a restroom? She shook her head. There had been a small washroom in the entry leading into the condo, and surely there wouldn't be two bathrooms just beside one another.

Matilda approached the unknown door, only to pause upon noticing there was a keyed lock on the doorknob. She turned towards Jocelyn, who was just stepping out of the entry, her coat hung in the closet there.

"You'll see what that is soon enough," she said with a smile, then stepped into the kitchen. "Would you like a glass of water before we begin?

Nodding, Matilda made her way over to the bar separating the kitchen from the living room. She had just settled onto one of the stools there as Jocelyn set a glass of ice water down in front of her. Taking a sip, Matilda hadn't realized just how thirsty she was - a combination of her nerves, she supposed, and the whiskey she's had in the office. She greedily drank at the glass, all while keeping her eyes on Jocelyn.

Jocelyn leaned against the counter, meeting Matilda's eyes. "Are you still wondering what I intend to do to you?"

Matilda nodded, her throat too inundated with water to answer aloud.

"I am, quite simply, going to restrain you against the wall of my dungeon. Shackle you in place, and proceed to beat your body until every inch of it bruises." She smiled and folded her hands, one on top of the other, on the counter. "I'm going to lash and flog you, pull your hair like a rope, and make you scream. I may cut you. I may make you bleed."

Matilda's face drained to shock white, and set her glass down on the counter with what seemed an impossibly loud clatter of glass on stone. Her throat twitched. "What," she asked, lips trembling, "are you?"

"A dominant," Jocelyn said, her voice as smooth as silk, "and a sadist. Pain is the instrument through which I extract pleasure and catharsis from others. And I intend to bring every ounce of skill I possess to bear on you, and shatter that exterior you so desperately cling to, just as I promised."

Every fiber of Matilda's being screamed at her to get up and run. She stayed, frozen in place, her eyes wide. "And," Matilda stared to speak, mouth and tongue sputtering over her words, "and if I can't handle it..."

"Then I'll take care of you, bring you back down, and take you home. I owe you no less."

Jocelyn stood, crossing her arms over her chest. "Now, I know you surely have a lot of questions. And I will answer any you may have. But I can see the apprehension and fear in your body language and in the look in your eyes, so Ms. Langley, do confirm for me: do you, or do you not, want to go through with this?"

Matilda swallowed the knot in her throat. "I do," she said, her voice sounding smaller than she intended.

Jocelyn shook her head. "Louder. More confident. Speak from your gut and not from your terror. Does the thought of me pouring down pain on you excite you, Ms. Langley?"

Matilda closed her eyes. Deep down, there was something terrifying about being subject to violence at her secretary's hands. The more she dwelt on the thought of her hands upon her with force and singular purpose, however, the more she felt a heat deep in her belly. No one had ever touched her, much less done so with power. The more her mind sank down into her body, into consciousness of her muscle and skin, the more she realized how hungry her body was for contact.

She sat up straight, setting her shoulders. "I am," she said, speaking through the shake in her voice, "I am at least intrigued by it."

Jocelyn laughed, but nodded. "I suppose that will do."

Stepping out from behind the bar counter, Jocelyn crossed into her bedroom, emerging only a few moments later with a keychain dangling from her finger. She gestured with curling fingers for Matilda to approach as she made her way to the mysterious, locked door that Matilda had noticed earlier.

The lock clicked as Matilda joined Jocelyn's side. The knob turned, opening the doorway into...

Matilda's eyes went wide.

The room was, as she walked inside behind Jocelyn, deceptively simple. Low, warm lighting filled the space, a blessed contrast to the bright overhead lights in the rest of the condo. The space had clearly originally been a bedroom, and even still had a bed set in the center of it.

There was, however, much more.

An X-shaped cross was bolted to the wall at one side of the bed. A long dresser sat on the opposite side, lit by a pair of candles on either side of a tall mirror. She stepped forward, resting her hand against the bedsheets as Jocelyn turned towards the dresser.

"I'm not the only person you've done this with," Matilda said, breath-taken, her heart starting to accelerate.

"Of course not. Domination has been an interest of mine for much of my adult life." Jocelyn's back remained turned as she opened one drawer after another, setting things that Matilda couldn't quite see on top. "This is my passion, Ms. Langley; my hobby, but something much more than that. I take unimaginable joy in breaking people. Why would I not create a space I could freely practice that art in, just as any artist builds their studio?"

Matilda turned, watching as Jocelyn set several instruments out on top of the bed, one by one. Long-handled devices that looked more like exotic weapons than anything intended for pleasure; broad, flat paddles, and a long-tailed cord ending in a coiled, leather barb. Matilda's throat twitched, her fingers curling to either side of herself as her arms hung heavy from her shoulders.

"I've just never thought of this as an art," Matilda said, her voice smaller than she intended.

Jocelyn turned around; a pair of cuffs draped from the fingers of one hand. "It can be, with practice. Sculpting something is an artform; so can breaking the item sculpted. Kintsugi, Ms. Langley. The art of mending the broken. Does it make sense now?"

Strangely, Matilda thought, it did. She imagined herself, shattered like the vase in her office, sprawled across the floor in pieces. Then, she thought of Jocelyn's hands mending her back together with thin streams of gold. "It does, yes," she said, finding the strength in her voice again.

"Good. I'm glad." Jocelyn took a step towards Matilda. "Now, undress. Fold and lay your clothes on the bed."

Matilda blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Jocelyn laughed, one hand resting its palm against her hip. "I imagine you don't want me the ruin your clothes, and I can hardly do what I intend to do while you're dressed. Undress completely, and lay your clothing on the bed."

Matilda brought one hand up to her collar, fingers playing at the buttons at the base of her neck. "That feels inappropriate. You're... you're my..."

"I'm your what, exactly?"

Matilda blushed. What were they? Removed from her office, were they still executive and secretary? Or by stepping into this room, had they become something else? "I'm not sure, now."

Closing the gap between them, Jocelyn stood toe-to-toe with Matilda, her empty hand taking hold of the other woman's chin. Matilda's lips trembled; the grip on her jaw felt frightening, but the warmth of Jocelyn's fingertips against her skin felt intoxicating. A fluttering sigh spilled out of her mouth; her eyelids grew heavier.

"This evening," Jocelyn said, "I am not your secretary, and not your subordinate. I am your top; by the morning, I may be more." Jocelyn's thumb stroked back along the edge of Matilda's jaw. "Will you undress for me, or will I need to do it for you?"

The weight lifted from Matilda's eyes; they opened wide, meeting her secretary's gaze. "Will you do it?"

"As you wish."

The cuffs were tossed onto the bed, while Jocelyn's fingers relinquished their hold on Matilda's jaw. They descended, finding their way to the button's on her boss' blouse, deftly sliding the buttons through their holes. Her eyes remained fixed on Matilda's face; Matilda blushed, glancing down, watching as her shirt opened down the middle and exposed her breasts setting in the cups of her bra as well as the soft curve of her stomach.

Jocelyn's hands slid back up the sides of Matilda's body, palms brushing ever so lightly over her chest, before taking hold of the sides of her shirt and pulling the article down her arms. She stepped back, quickly and neatly folded the shirt, and set it down onto the bed.

"Step out of your shoes."

Matilda nodded; she slipped her feet up and back out of her flats, brushing them towards the foot of the bed. Jocelyn opened the front of her pants, loosening the clip holding them around her hips; the garment dropped to the floor. "Take one step back," Jocelyn said, her voice cool and crisp.

Matilda did as she was told, shaking her ankle to free them from her pants. Jocelyn crouched, scooping the clothing up, folding them as deftly as she had with the shirt before laying them as well onto the bed. "Turn," Jocelyn said, "and face the wall."

Matilda did, and gasped as Jocelyn tugged at the back of her bra, her hands easily unclasping the wire clips fastening it together. The touch of Jocelyn's hands sliding over her ribs, lifting fabric away from skin, the curl of her secretary's fingers around her breasts, pulled the strength from Matilda's legs. She shifted her weight back, resting on her heels, leaning into Jocelyn and her touch.

Her bra straps dropped, sliding off her shoulders. Jocelyn's hands pulled the undergarment away, folding it, dropping onto the pile of clothes now resting on the bed. They moved downwards once more, lightly brushing over the fat resting to either side of Matilda's hips, where they slipped their fingers into the waistband of her underwear. The simple, cotton briefs dropped to her ankles, sending a cold shiver up her spine.

"Step forward."

She did so, wrapping her arms across her chest. Her face buzzed, cheeks warm and bright in color, mind unable to process the reality of being naked in from of Jocelyn. Every curve, every imperfection, exposed and on display. She stood still, unsure of what to say, unsure of what even to do next.

A hand pressed lightly against her back, right between her shoulders. "Walk over to the cross," Jocelyn said, her voice cool and relaxed, "and relax your arms. Let them hang loose at your sides."

Shaking, Matilda moved towards the apparatus on the wall in front of her. It seemed frightening, stark in its simplicity. As she stood in front of it, the leather covering the front felt cool against the rounded peak of her stomach.

Out of the corners of her eyes, Matilda watched as Jocelyn stepped behind her. Warm, soft leather tightened around her wrists, followed by the firmness of the woman's hand taking hold of her arms. One by one, they were lifted overhead; one by one, the restraints were hooked and secured to the loops at the upper reaches of the cross.

Again, just at the edges of Matilda's vision, she watched as Jocelyn picked up one of the instruments on the bed - a long, wooden handle with soft cords of some material she couldn't identify at a glance - and turned back towards her. "Two final things," Jocelyn said. "In the event that you cannot take anymore, that you feel in danger, you will say the word 'red', and I will stop. This is critically important. Do you understand?"

Matilda swallowed the saliva filling her mouth. "I understand."

"Lastly," Jocelyn paused, letting silence hang in the air for a moment, "From this point forward, you are to refer to me as Madam."

A single step forward. Matilda's lips trembled as fingers curled around locks of hair at the back of her head, and pulled back. "Is that completely understood," Jocelyn asked, bringing her words to a fine point.

"Yes," Matilda said, digging her teeth into her lower lip, "Madam."

The first bite of Jocelyn's tool against her back stung; it was light, fleeting in its stroke across her exposed back, but bit nonetheless against pristine skin. She whimpered, the sound quiet as it trickled over her lips, a twitch shaking through her spine as the blows came first from one direction, then another, and then another still.

They started slow at first, gradually building speed. As it did, Matilda's felt her fingers curl, the tips of them arching towards the cuffs at her wrists. The tips of the tool's tails slapped harder against her skin, their fine edge leaving fine welts that she could feel burn at her back.

The strokes stopped, momentarily; Matilda gasped for breath, wondering what brought about the pause. It was only a moment later that Jocelyn struck at her, hard and sharp, at an angle from the back of her shoulder and down across her ribs. A scream broke free from Matilda's mouth, her hands curling tight, toes raising her feet beneath her before settling back down again.

Jocelyn laughed. Matilda could feel her lean in, the woman's breath tickling at her neck. Sharp-edged nails dragged across the lines stinging across her back. "That," Jocelyn said, a devilish playfulness in her voice, "got a reaction out of you."

"Y-yes," Matilda panted.

Jocelyn stepped back suddenly, and brought another hard stroke across Matilda's back from the other direction. "I'm sorry," Jocelyn said, the tone of her voice as cutting as the flogger in her hand. "Yes what?"

"Yes Madam!"

Three more strokes, each from a different direction, beat across Matilda's back. She screamed until her voice cracked on the last, raising herself once more on the tips of her toes. Jocelyn returned to lightly beating the tips of her weapon over Matilda's back. Matilda shuddered, tilting her head between the arms of the cross, resting her crown against the wall in front of her.

She jerked her head back again, however, as the tool swept from side to side across her back, starting beneath her shoulders and moving downwards. Each stroke made her cry out, made the breath catch in her throat, made her legs shift and wobble beneath her. Downward they beat; digging from side to side, from just below her shoulders to the curve of her bottom. Jocelyn coo'd with delight, pulling her arms back, unleashing two violent, vertical strokes, one top to bottom against each cheek.

Matilda fell back against the cross, breath panting, as Jocelyn turned and laid the instrument apart from the others on the bed.

She retrieved another: longer, with thick, braided leather, the ends tied in tight knots. "You handled the initial beating well," she said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Initial?" Matilda said.

"But of course. That was merely the appetizer." Jocelyn turned and rotated her wrist, beating the rope-like cords against Matilda's back. Matilda groaned through grit teeth, her arms tensing. "Now, for the next course."

Jocelyn accelerated her pace more quickly, this time. The cords of this tool bit harder, dug down into the skin. Matilda felt like her back was being cratered, pummeled and pounded by this terrible device. Her body twisted one way, then the other, reacting to the beat of each tail against her skin. The sensation became like white noise in her head; prickling and loud, drowning out all other thought. She had a meeting tomorrow, didn't she? Or maybe she didn't. What was it about again?