Fighting Dreams Ch. 04

Author's Note: Welcome back to part four. You already know this is a dystopian debt slave story, and you already know there's no guarantee of a happily ever after. You also know that things are going to continue getting worse before they get better for our lovely protagonist.... And I do mean quite a bit worse.

This chapter contains: branding (tattoo), body modification (piercing), punishment, bukkake vibes, reluctant piss play, drugging, exhibitionism, and orgasm control.

Please do not copy this work without permission except for your personal enjoyment; all rights are retained by SimplySilver.

Chapter: Shifting Nightmares

The ride to the House is silent. Devon doesn't have a residence; he lives at the House. He's the only leader who does. Then again, he runs the Basement, so it's probably easier to be there so that he doesn't have to drive in the dark hours of the morning.

I anticipate us going to the Basement, but we don't.

Instead he takes me through the hallways, up the elevator, and scans us into the eighth floor. When the doors open, we're standing in his flat, and I can't help but stare a little at the sight. I've known Dream to be a luxury personality, but seeing it? Purple for walls? And is that a chandelier?

Fur throws, post modern chaise lounges, and exposed chrome never looked so elegant. The Godfather would be proud... The man may be halfway off his boat but he's got an eye for arranging.

He uses a tug of the leash to bring me into the moment, and out of the elevator. "Now, now, staring is rude, Jazzy," he chides as he tugs me along, through the open kitchen and living room spaces, and down a hallway hung with strange art of bodies and flowing smoke.

"Four years, sweetheart, and not once have I had the pleasure of getting you to myself. You were just too good," he muses as he types numbers into a keypad beside one of the doors. "I was almost jealous of him for getting to keep you so secluded from the House. I don't think there's ever been one so carefully protected...until now."

I hold my tongue; there's not one question in his words but they are making me increasingly dread being in his grasp in such an intimate space. Dream jealous? Of what though? The door clicks and he pushes it open.

"I have to wonder what you expected when you first were brought to me. A Dream," he states softly, circling back around me. "Or Nightmare?"

Frozen to the spot, I stare at the other figure in the room as panic starts to claw its way out of my core. Fuck me. Of all the people!

The trembling starts as I stare into those cool blue eyes, that long leather whip that he has coiled in his belt. It's a viper waiting to strike, to bite deep into me and inject me with the venom of his malice. He's seated in one of two chairs next to the window.

"So I thought," he whispers in my ear as his arms wrap around my torso. "That I would give you both. Do say hello to Alexander, darling... he's going to be joining us tonight."

I make my lips form the words; to push them out though they're coated with my fear. "Hello Alexander."

Fear is the only reasonable response to seeing him.

I've been in his grip once. Only once when I had made a terrible mistake of trying to kill myself by overdosing. I still remember exactly what that leather feels like when it bites; how his ropes press hard into the ribs and wrists and no matter how you scream, he won't stop.

Because pain is his pleasure.

"Good girl," Dream murmurs as he steps us both into the room with the weight of his body and pulls the door shut. I hear the heavy thud of the lock reengaging; see the flicker of a red light on the wall. There's no way out, even if I could evade them.

"You can be so obedient when you're properly focused, darlin'," Devon muses. "Now let's see what else that pretty little head can turn out for us hm?"

The leather wrist cuffs get hooked together behind my back; he tugs me between the chairs before pushing me to my knees. He sits in the chair opposite Alexander, studying me with the gaze that can rip secrets from people with a click of his fingers.

What did I do to deserve this?

"I'm sure you remember the rules, right sweetheart?" Dream purrs.

"Yes."

"Good," Alexander replies, uncoiling that long leather throng from his belt. "Then let's get started."

I'm not sure who I fear more in the moment. The dark hand that caresses and manipulates pleasure into intense pain, or the pale fist who serves pain until it becomes pleasure.

"One moment, Xander." Dream interrupts. "She has a choice to make. And you better make it a good one, Jazzy, because it is the only choice you get this evening."

He holds up a little blue tablet, shaped like a heart.

"You can take this now, before I give you to him and use it to endure what's coming. Or you can take it after he's finished to help soothe you to sleep."

I stare at it.

I've seen that type of pill before. I know what it is. I know what it does.

It makes you feel like you're flying on the best sensations imaginable. Colors intensify; the music flows and caresses your skin. How everything is wonderful, perfect, and floaty. How when you orgasm, it's-

Exactly what killed my mom.

It's awful. Soul suckingly, horrible, sickening and utter hell.

Its trembling hands, sweat slicked bodies and exploded hearts. It's those hollow eyes scrambling for change on the sidewalk to get more even as the body starves for food. It's that cage with the black bars and stinking towels.

No. I'm not going to take it at all. I can't. I don't want it.

"I don't want it," I reply softly, tearing my eyes away from it.

"How interesting," the Nightmare murmurs. "But Jazzy dearest, taking the pill isn't your choice; you will be taking it this evening. It's simply a matter of when."

Alexander leans forward, his hand taking my chin and forcing me to look at him. Those blue eyes weigh me like Anubis weighs hearts. His thumb skims my lower lip as amusement flickers in his eyes.

"Oh that's a nice bit of fear to her," he comments to Dream. "Probably remembering our last meeting. But if she doesn't want it? Fine. I'll use her as she is. It makes no difference if she enjoys the experience."

Fucking fuckity fuck..... My eyes dart one to the other, wondering just what has been paid for here as I tremble in his hand.

Dream sighs, staring down at us as he gets to his feet. "You're far too kind Alexander..." he murmurs.

A sudden pull to my braid makes me open my lips. He drops the pill in before covering my mouth and nose with his hand. No! I don't want it! I struggle, fighting his hands with everything in me as I try to force it back out. He simply shoves me all the way to the floor and holds me captive with his bodyweight.

I can feel the pill breaking apart in my mouth, filling it with that bitter acrid taste of ecstasy as his hand keeps my lips sealed. When his thumb pinches my nose shut, I can feel the burn start. Even if I had a chance? It's going to be in my system. With no choice, I swallow the concoction and still in his hands.

"Bad girl..." he growls softly in my ear as he releases my mouth. "Oh sweetheart, that little act of rebellion is going to cost you fucking dearly."

The Nightmare drags me to the black table by my braid, strapping me face down on it with Alexander's help. The wide bands hold my shoulders, hips, thighs, neck and legs flat against it; I can't move more than a fraction of an inch. I can't even turn my face as they bolt my hands to either leg.

"I typically reserve these for special cases," he muses to Alexander as he digs into the drawers. "But she's being a stubborn little bitch and I want to see Slate's face when I return her with them. If you wouldn't mind helping me darling? I could use the spare set of hands."

I feel a heavy pinch at my low back; I press against the straps with a hiss. There's a sudden sharp burn, then the pinch releases a moment or two later. The burn stays throbbing steadily; something cold rests just above it. What the fuck?

Then that pinch returns, but a little lower. He repeats the process all over again as I shudder beneath him. That burning sensation is compounding, growing with each... thing... he does. A whimper escapes as the fifth pinch.

He goes in a line down my back, from just below my shoulder blade to just above my hip. One after another until I'm in a throbbing hell. Then he does the other side just as carefully. It leaves me panting against his table, shivering under his bonds as I press up against them. It's ok. I can take this. It'll get better. I tell myself as I feel him release the deep pinch feeling by my hip.

Then I feel the brush of a ribbon across my tender back; he weaves it back and forth almost like icing before giving a small tug that lights up the pain anew. When I whimper into the table, he simply strokes my arm. "Now Jazzy, be thankful... it looks fabulous," he muses. "Even if its going to leave a mark."

He holds up his phone, letting me look into the front facing camera. My eyes widen, I feel my thundering heart stutter in shock. Down my back runs a purple ribbon. And it's threaded into twelve ring piercings that now decorate either side of my back as though there were an invisible corset.

"And now let's get to work...Xander if you're ready?"

"Yes."

I'm not given a moment to think before I hear a loud buzzing of a tattoo gun. The press of the stencil to the side of my hip and the curve of my ass makes my body jerk weakly in the bonds. He wouldn't! "No... no, no..." I whisper, horrified. "Dream please!"

He kneels down, stroking a thumb across my cheek with a small smirk. "Alexander's a master artist, sweet girl. You'll find that begging just turns him on, which is why I chose him for this particular pay out" he murmurs. "But it's time you're a properly branded little slave; the mark has already been registered and I'm not going to deny him his fun."

I'd avoided it for so long. Regulus had never mandated it; my collar had always been enough to him. But you're not his anymore. The thought of the needle stabbing in and out of my flesh has me shaking, begging with my eyes. But the leather won't let go, and there's no chance of mercy from these two.

When the burning starts, I just put my face on the table and grip the wood of the legs. Tension wells from hands to neck to back to legs. It burns. Dear fucking god what is he doing? My toes are curling from the feeling.

His fingers pinch the side of my breast, making me gasp.

"Breathe," he orders coldly. "If you pass out, I'll wait till you wake to finish it and you'll have twice the agony."

Though I hate him, I do it. I can feel the occasional twitch in my hip as he hits a well of pain with his next pull. He works over it quickly, dips, then goes back to pull another burning line. He smiles when he finds those sensitive places; I can see the hardness building in his shorts as my tears flow.

But faster than I expect, that burning? It starts becoming a heat that is flowing through my body. And it doesn't hurt so much anymore. Ok. This isn't that bad. It hurts. But I'm not dying.

It's like I've been wrapped in blankets that are freshly laundered; and my muscles are made of jelly. I'm slack against the table, not able to move and though I can still feel the fear and anger... they're muted.

At some point, colored lights start to move around the walls as music plays; my eyes follow them like they're angels dancing.

Time feels like it's moving slower.

I'm tired. My body won't slow down enough to rest between the pounding of my heart and the hum of the tattoo gun etching into my skin. I shiver on the table, the cold of the room licking my skin. Can't I have a blanket?

"No," Alexander replies as he dips his humming gun. "You'll overheat."

"But I'm freezing..." I protest weakly.

He pulls another line. "You'll survive."

Alexander ignores me the rest of the time. I don't particularly care; it's a blessing. I'm feeling warm and fuzzy every time that he etches a little more. Like I'm just a puddle of happy goo that could slide off the table. I'm starting to remember why I liked this feeling.

Eventually, I hear the door open, and Dream walking in. "Finished I hope," he asks Alexander. "I still need to wind down my little kitten before returning her."

"Hydrate the fuck out of her," he replies as he sticks what looks like a layer of latex or skin to it. "Also make sure to give them the card with the aftercare and the sheets."

"Oh, I'll let them know," Dream muses. "Now sweet girl... let's sit you up."

The leather bands come off one at a time; four hands help bring my boneless body up. A straw is held to my lips, I drink down whatever it is and it helps slow the shaking. The room is tilting side to side and I'm not sure if my body is the one moving or it's just my eyes playing tricks.

"Open," Alexander commands and when I do, he drops in something sweet that tastes of oranges. "Suck it."

Oh that's good. It's sweet and a little citrusy and it slowly melts on my tongue. But it helps bring some of the clarity back; the room is no longer spinning. Still, I can't sit up on my own quite yet.

When I swallow it all, Dream makes me get another one down. Then he pulls me down off the table and puts me on my knees. It takes a moment to find my balance, but at least I can follow him with my eyes. "With that earlier attitude, darlin'," he purrs as he walks to his cabinet, "you don't deserve a reward. But I don't have to punish you either."

I stare at the thing he brings down, feeling a flush rise on my cheeks. Where did he get...?

"Regulus gave me your set," he muses, picking up the black set of ears and pushing them down onto my head so that the band is nestled under my dark hair. "After all we couldn't let them go to waste, when you make such a good little kitten."

Then he knows why I hate them? Or does he think it was just a game between us and not a...?

"Now on your feet, pet, and let's get you dressed. After all, we should show off Alexander's work tonight to the others before handing you back to your current master."

He leads me from his locked room back to the main living space. A silver chain threads through the ring of my collar; my wrists are clipped to it. It's just barely long enough to get my hands to my chest. A shimmering black chain lead connects me to his hand and then it's down down down into the House.

By the time I'm aware that I'm standing in the dressing room; his Hands are dressing me in something that rolls up my body as nothing but straps. They criss and cross over my legs, my front and arms, but mercifully do not irritate the piercings in my back, nor does it pressure the new ink work. I look like a gift for unwrapping when they settle the bow at my breasts.

The kitten ears and short chain create the visual of a begging pet on his lead. The insertion of the tail is less pleasant, but at least it's quick and lubed. My body adjusts to it easily as I float on the pleasurable sensations it leaves behind.

Every step I take in the heels reminds me that it's there as I follow him through the flashing lights of the Basement. I can feel the brush of it against my calves, the shift of the heavy metal base leaving my bared slit dripping. I must be whimpering from it because he seems to smile a little wider with each step.

I can't hardly think at this moment, and so I simply obey, following him like a little kitten after her master.

Hands pet me as I pass by. Trailing fingers along exposed flesh that only remind me of that heat that licks under my skin. I'm burning still, aching to be fucked and taken like a slut. But for all their petting, those hands are delicate little touches, not the more lusted strokes I need.

One hand dares touch the ribbon laces in my back. The sound of agony on my lips draws the Nightmare's eyes from his business. It takes a single snap of his fingers, and that unwelcome touch disappears entirely.

His rage cools as quickly as it appears; he gives me a single stroke to my cheek, and then resumes his work amongst the clients. I just float with the colors and music and the burn between my thighs that has them glistening with each errant stroke of passing fingers..

"Vocal little slut, isn't she?" his guest comments after a squeeze to my ass has me rocking between my heels to drink in the low pleasure of the plug's movements.

"Why waste pleasure with silence?" Dream answers with a smirk. "She can be a vision when properly stimulated."

"I look forward to seeing her on the floor then."

"All in good time."

Only after he's settled his guests does he finally walk to his throne. He doesn't allow me to kneel or sit, no he takes my chained hands and attaches them to a hook on the ceiling. I stand facing him, my back and ink displayed to all.

His chocolate fingers brush over my tight belly, never low enough as I tremble there on display, knowing they can see my aching need.

"Such a wanton kitty," Dream purrs. "But what a sight. It'd be rude of me not to share when there's finally nothing hiding the cock craving Slut you are darlin'. Spread your legs wide. Let them drink you in."

I shift my feet a little apart; when his eyes narrow, I close my eyes and spread properly as the color darkens my cheeks.

His fingers continue their light petting on the sensitized nerves of my belly. "King won't let you be fucked yet. That's the true prize to this auction, lovely girl. Getting to unearth the wanton whore that we know is underneath.And I can't wait to taste her."

The cup of his thick fingers gets a strangled moan from me, my toes press my body up and away from his touch until his arm wraps around my waist and makes me stay put. They rub slowly through my wetness, spreading my outer lips to reveal my aching cunt.

"Oh no no, sweetheart... let them see it all," he croons as his thumb rolls over my clit. "Let them covet what they can't have."

I'm a vibrating mess of need in his grip; I want to beg and yet I know there won't be relief from the torturous sensations. On Ice? All I'll do is crave more. So I bask in the pleasure he gives, letting the salacious sounds pour from me.

But his attention suddenly shifts across the floor, an amused smile tilts his lips into a panther's grin as his eyes track the figure.

"Hello, Slate," he purrs. "What do you think?"

I don't think I've ever heard a tone like the one that comes out of Slate's mouth. It's broiling tension, a dripping temper waiting to blow.

"How the fuck," he snarls at Dream. "Is this not outside of guidelines?"

He's pissed. The hair raises up on the back of my neck as I feel him step behind me, invading Dream's space with a presence that feels just a feather from losing control.

Dream smiles at him but it's a warning. A panther baring its teeth at a barking dog as his nails press against my belly until I whimper. "Dripping slut though she is, she's not been fucked nor had anything done to her beyond some petting. She's thoroughly within the rules."

"And the rings?"

"Take them out. They'll heal with time as with any piercing... and so don't qualify as modification of her body," he replies as he sits forward. "But she'll hate you for it. It hurts more to take them out than to leave them at this stage, and she's nearly spent as is. She'll be coming down off the Ice within the hour and her crash is going to be legendary."

"Ice is a restricted punishment, Devon, for shows only. Those are the rules."

Those panther eyes challenge Slate as he stands from his throne and unhooks my hands and his lead. Turning my body, he gently pushes me so that I stumble into Slate's arms. He ignores Slate's words entirely. "Take her home, Slaton. Make sure she's taken care of. Or don't... this is your time after all now. But remember... as of nine tomorrow? She's mine again."