Fighting Dreams Ch. 03

"Did I say you could stop?" He questions as he sits back in his chair. "You're such a stupid bitch...Get. Licking."

Resigning myself to where I am, I make my tongue brush back and forth against the tiling. Mentally, I block what it is I'm doing from thought and instead focus on just doing it. It's just ten minutes.

"Put your arms behind your back."

I fold my arms at the elbow behind me, feeling the position's strain. I have to use my neck, my knees and some strange semblance of balance between my core and my thighs to prevent from faceplanting while still licking according to his command. I feel ridiculous, and I know I probably look it.

Humiliation has always been one of Black's staples. His slaves obey through some fucked up mix of shame and devotion; he thrives on breaking people.

"What's wrong? Don't you like pleasing your master? The way your cunt leaks, I almost think you like being put in your place." The words are said contemptuously down to me as he circles; I'm grateful he hasn't laid a hand on me yet. But he's far from done.

"Put your face and chest on the floor, then show me how you beg to be fucked. Come on, beg little bitch."

Turning my head to the side, I press it low. But getting my chest down? I'm not gifted there and it puts a hard strain on my neck to try when I'm this tightly curled. I struggle with it, but I don't stop trying.

He sighs, and the sound of annoyance makes me cringe. "You have a brain. Use it. Back up your knees, keep your face down," he orders.

I try that, but get nowhere; I can't move with no balance and no ability to lift my head.

"Put your hands down if you must," he snaps after a minute of my bumbling.

Though I hate him, it does make it easier to get into that low slant that puts me on display.

Begging to be fucked? How the hell do I do that? Is he looking for me to finger myself or just display for him? And if I can't speak how can I beg?

There's no time though. So I give a soft little whimper and spread my knees a little wider, rocking and undulating my hips as if I'm being teased mercilessly.

He stares at me for a long moment. It's hard to tell if he's pleased with the result.

"Stop," he says. "Prone, spread wide. Hands over your mouth, head down."

Immediately, I drop all the way down to my belly, put my hands flat between the floor and my mouth and spread my legs wide. This is one position I know well and he seems to find no fault with it.

He gets to his feet. I can hear him walk to the wall. "Not a sound out of your mouth," he warns quietly. "Or you go back in the Box when I see you next."

I'll do anything not to have that happen. There's nothing he can do that's worse than that. I can do this. Just have to focus. Closing my eyes, I bite down against my hand and tell myself that I am going to endure. Not that I have any choice.

Pain rains down on me. Hard. Furious. It's like getting stung by a dozen bees. They sting me on the ass, then down from thighs to butt to calves to feet and back up the other side. Over the ribs then up to the shoulders.

Though I tense and bite into my hand, I make no sound.

I count the seconds down. If I start at six hundred, by the time I get to zero, he'll have to be done... right? Or is that a false hope at this point? Time always runs slower when you are in pain. When is ten minutes going to be-

The door opens.

The timer chimes.

He stops.

"I'll handle taking her out." Isabelle informs him. "King's orders."

I push up to my hands and knees. I crawl to the pile of clothing on the floor and am just about to take my dress from it when Black snaps his fingers to stop me.

"Just the mask, slut. And Isabelle? Take the long way."

Fucker. I can't look at him as he pushes past to the main floor.

Picking up my mask, I carefully slide it back onto its band before I get to my feet.

Suddenly, she clicks the door shut and locks it, holding up a stack of ten minute chips. "Down girl" she purrs. "You're not quite done. King gave me a gift and I'm not going to waste it. Let's see if your mouth is as good as they say it is. Make me cum."

She drops the chips on the table, then lays along the chaise. The red sequence is pulled to her waist and exposes her pale bare lips. They glisten with moisture as I shift between her thighs, leaning down to draw the flat of my tongue slowly through her slit. But she wants none of the sensual as her fingers tangle into my hair and impatiently pull me to her cunt.

Sucking her clit, I wait until her head tips back and she grind impatiently before pressing my tongue against her sopping hole. I can feel the slight resistance to my tongue as I press it as deep as I can into her before drawing it back out. My head rocks with the invisible rhythm of her body's need, building the intensity before I suck hard and long at her little bud.

"Oh!"

She arches with a soft cry under that; her hips buck for more and I'm happy to indulge her as my tongue lashes her clit over and over. I can feel the tension of the orgasm winding under my fingers; I give her no respite from the sensations as I draw my nails down the sides of her hips so that she gasps under the contrast of pain to pleasure.

Making out with her lower lips is easy; I drink in her lust as though it's a wine I can't get enough of. But just as she's about to peak, the door suddenly beeps and slides open.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

King's voice is a quiet snap that ices out the heat that had been building.

Isabelle's hand quickly pushes me away, she crawls back with a deep flush on her cheeks as she hurriedly tries to fix her skirt. "M-master... I-"

He cuts her off with a look before walking over to pick up the chips she'd placed on the table.

"You'll pay these back, my cunt. But you'll pay them back to me triple their value with my favorite game," he remarks as he picks them up one by one until they're in a neat stack. "I don't keep thieves."

From the way she trembles, I know that it's a promise that will be painful.

I back away from her slowly, down to my knees on the carpeting before the chaise as his eyes stare through the mask. There's no leniency in them. "I should whip you for the fact alone that your lips have been on my cunt without permission," he says softly. "But I am well aware of what a conniving bitch she is. Don't make the mistake of touching what's mine again."

"Understood, Sir." I whisper.

"Get out."

I don't need telling twice to leave that red room behind.

The hands in the club take advantage of my state to grope and fondle as I try to locate Slate. My breasts, my ass, even my pussy and belly are stroked at whim by those who hold leashes. In the throngs of the main room, I find myself being spun about by hands and the flow of bodies.

I can't seem to escape the tide. Twisted this way and that, I gasp as two fingers pluck my nipple; a whimper leaves my lips a finger drives up into my pussy and wiggles before tugging free. A light push and then I'm stumbling back into arms the wrap under to grab my breasts in either palm.

Their kneading hold leaves me exposed to the others. Another man's hand slaps my exposed slit harshly, making me yelp. No matter how I try to slip from their hands, they hold me captive as he lays several more while they laugh. But as suddenly as I'm grabbed, I'm released.

Slate's presence scatters them like roaches as his finger hooks in the ring of his collar and pulls me free, leading me from the busy main floor out to the lobby and then down the car.

Mercifully, he hands me my clothes and orders me to dress before we leave.

The car ride feels long with the silence. He hasn't said a word about the marks I came back with or about the incident on the dance floor. I didn't really expect him to. It's not his job to care. It's his job to train me back to what they want. I should just be grateful he didn't let them fuck me on the dance floor. He could have.

In the fog of my brain, I stupidly forget one of the most basic rules of his house.

I go to step into the kitchen from the garage.... And immediately his hand catches me by the hair, yanks me back and pins me down to the floor before he lays five hard swats to my already tender ass.

The hand in my hair releases as I whimper with the sting that radiates through my thighs. I can't help but writhe, trying to get the misery to fade from its hellish throb. Fucking god dammit I know better! Stupid mistake!

"Fuck that up again, and it'll double," he warns before preceding me inside.

Pushing up to hands and knees, I shakily follow after him like a whipped dog.

I crawl to check my schedule, then up to my room to get ready for bed. A long shower, washing off the make up, and taking out my contacts feels heavenly. Even just getting a moment to brush my hair helps calm some of the frazzled nerves that have my thoughts scattered.

Just when I've crawled into bed, he enters. Dragging myself back out, I kneel at his feet with eyes to the floor. His heavy hand sets on my head, not grabbing or petting. Just sitting there as a weight that makes me more aware of him in my space.

"You are going to tell me everything that happened after I left," he orders.

Though my cheeks blaze and I can feel my throat get thick with humiliation, I obey him.

I tell him all of it from my perspective. I tell him of licking the tiles, of being displayed and whipped, of Isabelle's actions and then walking back through the Club like a piece of meat. The more I talk, the harder it becomes but the faster I get it done.

He digests the information in silence for a long moment. I can hear the thudding of my heart in my ears as I wait for his verdict. Part of me expects he'll punish me further because I was late.

"Strip, then get on your side on the bed facing me," he orders as I finish.

Reluctantly, I lay facing him, looking anywhere but his face. His hands explore the welts in my skin tenderly. When he has checked my front and right side, then he turns me down to my belly so that he can see the extent of the new damage.

"I'm going to lather you in lidocaine to cool these. It's going to sting," he warns as he pulls open the drawer next to the bed. "But it'll save your skin."

The splurt of gel is cold enough to make me gasp, and he's right. It does sting. But the coolness is welcome as he smoothes it over my rear, thighs, and calves. He rubs it into my shoulders and sides thoroughly, then coats my lower half a second time.

Calm beneath his hands, I close my eyes and just absorb this little bit of care. It doesn't mean anything. But it's better than being broken apart any further.

Like this, he reminds me of Reg.

Rather hands off compared to the others, following a more natural set of rules. He uses me, but its not all as a sex obejct. Just as an asset to handle what he doesn't want to. He expects more independence, and he treats me accordingly. He's not all bad. He's just... business. And can I fault him for it? That's all this is to anyone.

"Slate?" I whisper.

"Hm?"

"Thank you," I murmur as I stare at the coverlet.

"You're welcome, Jazz," he replies as he sits on the bed beside me. Silence hangs for a moment, he weighs the question before airing it.

"Why did you join the House?"

The way he asks me is like so many others. Like it is something that makes no sense to them; that they can't even comprehend under what circumstances I might submit to this life. They don't understand why slavery would be better than where I was going to be. How could they though? They've never been in that position. Especially ones like him.

"Because it was either join Reg at the House or end up tied in a stall at Bolton's," I whisper, feeling a little tension at the bare mention of that name. "And he was going to give me back to Seth Martinez when he was done."

"Bolton's a breeder."

He knows exactly what that would have meant for me.

Gears behind his eyes are turning rapid fire; I can almost see the smoke between his ears. "But Martinez is one of the worst. How'd you get tangled up with them?"

"Mom liked drugs. She ran us out of the house, then took loans she couldn't afford. When she OD'd, there was nothing to pay back the debt. Seth sent Bolton to collect them from me." Nothing makes you sign quicker than feeling a barrel against your temple.

"When was this?" he asks.

"About eight years ago..."

"Then you and Reg were already involved by that point," he surmises with a frown. "King was pressuring him to either sign you or drop you since it'd be longer than usual. Didn't he make an offer to settle it?"

I nod slowly, squeezing the pillow a little tighter. "Yeah, he did. He took me back to his apartment, sat me down at the table, and made me lay it all bare. Everything they'd said. Even some things they'd done. Then he gave me the choice. Sign the dotted line, he pays the debt outright, and I'm indebted to the House... or not."

Slate stares at the wall, rubbing his temples. "So you signed with us."

"No, I didn't," I correct him, curling up.

"I was scared. It wasn't until after Bolton's crew broke into my apartment about a week later that I did. I realized I wouldn't be able to hide from Seth. I signed that next morning, and Reg being Reg made me sign for double the debt since I'd been an idiot."

"He's always been a dick," Slate says, setting the cream back on the nightstand. "But I would have done the same."

"I hated him initially for it. But we figured it out and I've been trying to pay out the House ever since. But with all of this...I don't know what's going to happen."

"That would depend on your master. What were you doing for Regulus?" Slate muses, turning to gently rub a missed line of gel in.

"I was working for his company in a variety of roles and he credited the hours toward my debt. Obviously, that's gone now. And I'm not sure I'm going to be able to finish my certification course to do finance because of the rotation which means I'll end up deeper in debt."

He sits silently, digesting everything I've told him as his hand strokes through my red hair. For several minutes, he just sits and thinks. "You may, of course, use your free time to work on your certification while you're with me," he says quietly. "But when it comes to working after, pet, that's entirely up to whoever claims you... for now, your main goal should be to pass training so that you make it there."

His hand pauses its stroking and draws the covers up around my body. "Rest, heal, and we'll discuss tomorrow's schedule at breakfast. Expect that it will be a busy day."

When the light flicks off, my body finally gives up and I sleep.

"Jazmine."

I hear his voice, but it can't be him. He wouldn't be here. He's not allowed. And even if he was? He doesn't want me. He wouldn't have surrendered me to the House if he did.

"Jasmine, wake up," his voice urges quietly.

Slowly, I rub my eyes and open them as I sit up.

There he is, sitting on my bed. That handsome face, the deep wells of his eyes that match the lines of emotion written in his face call to me. Even the light stroke of his thumb over my hand lulls me into the calm he creates.

But when Regulus kisses me, my heart breaks in my chest. Tears slowly drip down my cheeks. You gave me up. You surrendered me. Why would you be here for me now? You hate me.

He sighs, using his thumb to brush them away. "Oh little one, I know. I didn't have a choice," he murmurs, cupping my face in his hands. There's regret, pain in them as he looks at me. "But I will bring you home as soon as I can. Right now, I need you to listen to me carefully."

I nod automatically, staring into those warm eyes that I've missed for so long. Though the fog of sleep still holds me captive, I struggle to stay with him. "I'm listening, Master."

"What's rule one?" Reg asks me quietly.

I frown and dreg it up from my memory. "Everybody lies," I murmur. "They play for themselves only."

"Good girl. What's rule two and three?" he presses urgently. He's eyes flick to the door; there's sounds of stirring beyond it.

"No matter what happens, my Master loves me and I belong to him. He will take care of me," I repeat from memory. He'd made me write it a thousand times when I'd tried to self-destruct. "And rule three is Obey Master and then the House."

I frown, trying to put this together in my exhausted state. Why is he making me repeat my rules? He knows them. He set them. Is he afraid I would forget them?

His lips press to mine, and for a moment, I feel the warmth I've missed. But all too soon he draws away as footsteps sound in the hallway. His eyes stare deep into mine, his words sit with the weight of his command.

"No matter what happens, no matter what they tell you, remember your rules," he murmurs as he presses a kiss to my forehead and lays me back into my bed. "I will take you home when this is all over. Just trust me."

I wish I could, I think as the covers pull tight around me. I want to stay awake, to ask him to explain it all, but my body betrays me and I sink into the blackness.

In an instant, hours have passed.

By the time my alarm blares to tell me it's six-thirty and time to get up, I'm not even sure if it was a dream or real. All I know is that the day looms ahead and my ass is still sore.

I dress in the clothes laid on my bed, then crawl down to the kitchen and start breakfast. By seven, I've put the plates on the table and cleaned the cooking dishes. I start on my list as I wait for him.

He comes out from the office thirty minutes later than his usual time, and his eyes are ringed by dark circles. It's clear he's hardly slept. "Get me coffee," he orders shortly as he sits at the table.

Uh. I stare at the coffee cup by his left hand. "It's on the table, sir," I answer cautiously, not wanting to contradict his order, nor question it. "Would you like a new cup?"

He looks down at the cup, picks it up, and takes a long drink. Running his hand through his hair, he stares at the wood table. "Bring the whole pot, and brew another. You may stand to do so."

Mystified, I get up and walk to the counter, bringing the entire twelve cup carafe on a hot pad, and starting another to brew. As I return to the table to sit, he snaps his fingers and points to the cushion on the floor beside his chair. So I'm not out of the dog house yet.

I kneel there beside him as he eats. He doesn't usually deny me a meal, but then, I don't think he usually misses a cup right in front of him either. Something this morning has shifted like a cloud over him. Is he just tired? Or did a deal go south on him? I wonder.

When he finishes, he pivots in his chair so that I kneel between his feet, staring up at him.

"There is a change in your schedule today. Go upstairs, shower, and then wait for me," he orders. "I'll bring you your clothes."

Confused, but obedient, I head back up to the bathroom and strip. Everything comes off, and then I go under the water to scrub myself clean once more. As soon as I'm finished, I wring my hair and put back on the leather collar as I wait.

When he arrives, he pauses in the doorway. I'm naked and waiting in my deep kneel for him, just as I would have thought he'd expect of me. The black panties and lace bra are my only adornment beside the collar that's loosely buckled at my neck.

He takes my chin in hand firmly.Then he slaps me across the cheek so hard that I tumble from my knees before him.

"You disrespectful little whore," he growls as I raise my hand to my throbbing cheek. His eyes are raging winter blizzards; his expression is murderous. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"