Fighting Dreams Ch. 05

Author's Note: It's dystopian, this is NC/R. In case you forgot things are going to continue to get worse for a while, and no, I don't guarantee a Happily Ever After in the future. There sure as hell isn't one in this chapter and you're gonna get a peek at Dream's brutal side. Everyone's over 18.

Trigger/kink warnings: this section contains M/M, Master/slave dynamics, caning, exhibition/voyeur vibes, nudity, punishment, impact (caning), and humiliation.

Please don't copy or download unless it's for your personal enjoyment.

Chapter: Choices and Consequences

The door opens to a black tiled room of steam. My hands are chained to the wall this time with some sort of rubber manacle; he meticulously strips me down of the body harness, ribbons, and pants before tossing them into two separate chutes.

Then it's into one of the stalls where he pulls the curtain tight and hooks my hands up to a hook in the ceiling.

He slips on gloves, then turns on the water. The sprayer in his hand dribbles, then he sets that spray right at my back.

Dear sweet fucking gods.

It's like being frozen. There's no warmth at all to the water as it makes me jolt in my bonds. He flicks the water back and forth over my back, cleaning down the skin before he mercifully turns it off. Then it's a washcloth, rubbing over the skin there carefully, avoiding my new rings until he can delicately turn and rinse each one with small jets of the cool water.

It's surprisingly gentle work when contrasted to the temperature of the water.

When he wants to work on my front, he turns me and then rinses down the front. It might be me getting used to the temperature, but it feels a little warmer this time. He peels the faux skin from my tattoo gently, then rinses down to my calves and along my sex.

The rinsing helps to cool my ardor further and then, to my pleasant surprise, he wraps me up in a fluffy towel. The second skin is reapplied to my leg and then he unhooks my hands.

I'm allowed to take the towel with me as he brings me into the halls and up some back elevator that feels like it's more for crates than people. Then it's more hallways. Finally, he pulls the door open to one of the House's small slave apartments.

When he closes the door behind him, he gestures to the thing that looks like a giant snowball on his floor by the TV. "Go lay down... do you like chocolate or vanilla?"

I get a choice?

"Uh.. chocolate please?" I reply as I drop my towel and crawl up into the giant mush of a beanbag. Its fuzzy sides stroke me like tickling fingers and the gentle pressure of the stuff inside? It's a fucking glorious cloud compared to the bars.

I could lay in this forever.

I doze on the beanbag only to find a small bowl of ice cream settled into my hands as he flicks on the television.

"Do you want this or something else?"

It's a show about the ocean. I look at the screen, then back at him. The questions feel foreign, I stare blankly before replying hesitantly, "This is fine."

Savoring the creamy treat, I let myself stay simple and be grateful for the small blessings. How long has it been since I got to eat something like this or enjoy just a soft place?

He sits in a chair, and vaguely I notice that no matter how I shift, his hand always lingers. It's a stroke of the hip, a rubbing of the shoulders, and occasionally a stroke of the hair.. But he never takes it off for more than a second.

I fall into the fish and the pulsing waves on the screen like they're a pendulum that draws me to sleep.

It's the middle of the night when I feel a hand brush against my arm.

Stirred awake, I blink through the darkness and stare up into Regulus's face.

He puts a finger to his lips, then beckons for me to follow him. When I hesitate, his eyes harden. The twitch of his fingers toward his belt are enough of a warning that I move.

Getting up from my little cloud of happiness, I rub my eyes as I follow him down the short hallway and then out. He opens the next door; once we're through it, he locks it behind him.

I stand silent, arms wrapped around my body as though it might somehow shield me. I know the marks I carry are blazing against my skin. The uncertainty that I feel stirring in my chest is unwelcome, leaving a distance between us. I don't want to be here with him. Not right now, when simply being in the same room has put me into hell, and by his own design.

His dark eyes show traces of fatigue, of regret as they soften. "Jazmine-"

"You shouldn't be here," I interrupt as I turn away. "Devon's going to find out."

"I had Alan let me in using his key card; Devon won't know anything," he says quietly. "Let's go sit down."

"I don't want to sit!" I can't help it, my voice raises; the tension is starting to crack through my calm facade. "I want...." My voice dies on me, no end to that sentence springing clear.

Am I even allowed to want anything right now? I'm a debt slave, collarless one at that. I don't get to want anything. Wanting means I'm hoping for something still. And what is there hope for?

The words are screamed silently at him; a tremble rolls through my body as my hands curl to fists. "I want..." But I come up empty once more. Frustration broils in my chest. Why can't I even make a stupid decision right now?

He steps forward and slowly, gently takes my hands in his. "Jazmine... do you want a hug?" he asks quietly.

It's a lifeline thrown to me in a storm. Looking up into his eyes, I choose to take the one refuge that's offered to me as I start to splinter.

"Yes."

Those arms wrap around me, holding and nothing else. He lets me nestle against him as he guides us to the couch. He helps me to sit, stroking my hair silently. And me? I take the moment to try and remind myself why I hate him.

"Breathe, Jazz," he murmurs. "Let's talk. You've had every decision made for you, and you're under immense physical and mental pressure to perform. This is normal."

"How the fuck is this normal?"

He lifts my chin out of his chest, and while he's not amused by my swearing, he doesn't correct it either. "You're under pressure. You've not had decision making power for a month, nor the ability to really express yourself. You're like a soda bottle all shaken up, just waiting to burst."

And why is that I wonder?

His brow cocks as he holds my eyes, seemingly able to read the words as they run through my mind.

"But it's not going to get easier," he continues. "You've made it through the baseline, and part of the second phase. You can expect that they're going to keep pushing. They're going to break you, Jazz."

"I don't break," I answer stubbornly, pushing away and pacing the small living room. The longer I stay in his touch, the easier it is to forget that he is the reason I'm here "You know that. That's why you trained me instead of letting them do it."

His voice darkens. "You don't break easily. You're willful and very fucking stubborn. The abuse you took at Seth's hand means you have a resistance to pain and your mind shelters itself from reality. But the more you fight it, the worse it's going to get until it eventually happens."

"It might be easier if you stop sabotaging me," I snap. "I mean for fucks sake, Reg, you're the reason I'm even here!"

Those words seem to hurt him; for a moment the words are frozen on his lips as he stares at me. I can see the struggle in him but he eventually finds his tongue. "I'm trying to help you," he replies, frustration evident in his tone. "Jazz, I don't want to lose you."

"What do you mean?"

"Jazz.. your contract belongs to the House. There's no guarantee that they'll let me take you back after this. That's why it's critical that you pass. Based on the evaluation by Black, they could force a sale on your contract," he admits.

I can't help but think of Bolton's words and my brows pull together. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I turn. "I heard... Seth would influence things and it has me worried. Is that even possible?"

He can't meet my eyes. "I don't know. Seth has more backing than he did initially; your contract's a pretty penny to the House. When there's that kind of money involved, no one can say for certain that you're safe until it goes to vote."

The words knot a ball in my belly, "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I had no idea there would be this much trouble.... I didn't mean for it to happen."

"I know, Jazz," he replies. "But we still have to fight our way through it. Just promise me you won't hate me at the end of this."

"I don't know that I could hate you."

"Good girl....Come here, kitten. Let me hold you for a minute."

Taking his hand, I let him pull me back on to the couch. We sit and his arms wrap around me as I settle against his chest. Listening to his heart beat, I close my eyes, and just take him in. It's quiet, and still and calm here.

For once, it's actually peaceful.

He makes no move to shatter that peace either. I can hear his heartbeat slow as he calms, the stroke of his fingers light against my back as his breath matches mine. Even when I can feel the nudge of his hardened cock, he makes no move to push for lust.

This is why I chose him. Because he's been.... gentle... in his handling of me until now. And from the sound of it? There's more going on in the House than I can possibly understand. But how much is him? And how much is them?

When I eventually fall asleep, I'm scooped up and deposited quietly back in bed. I feel his kiss to my forehead as the blankets are settled around me. Dreams come easily.

But as the light breaks through the window, I become aware of a hardness tucked against the cleft of my ass. I shift away from it, not wanting to tease but a hand stops the motion.

The grind of Alan's naked hips to mine is a little more insistent as his teeth skim my ear.

"Do you know that you moan in your sleep?" he murmurs, running his hands down from my breasts to my belly and hips.

He pulls them back, letting that grind find my center heat and stroke it to life. My little mewl only encourages him to keep going.

"I could give you an orgasm right here and no one would know," he whispers as his fingers strum over my sex. "Would you like that pretty girl? It'd be a fitting reward..."

As much as I want it, I shake my head.

Rule Six. No orgasms without a Ranked's permission. And after last night? I don't want it. I'm content now. Not so out of balance and desperate. Remember your rules.

"No.." I protest softly.

"Such a good girl... But too bad," he purrs.

What?! My eyes jolt open, my body goes rigid as his arms cage me.

"I'm going to fuck you anyw-"

Before I can even figure out what is happening, his body is ripped from mine.

It's a scramble to avoid falling to the floor with him. When I finally turn over, the Nightmare has his knee against Alan's back and his wrist under pressure as he uses his full body weight to hold him down against the carpet.

"You," the Nightmare growls, his voice dripping rage, "Do not get to do anything without my permission. My cocksucker needs to remember his place."

He's so angry. I can't help but cringe back toward the wall, wrapping my nakedness all the tighter under the blanket. Shit! Why is he here?! But Alan? He growls in answer, fighting the grip.

"Behave like a horny slave and I'll fuck you like one." The Nightmare's free hand pulls off Alan's shorts easily, baring his ass. "Is that what you need?"

His finger drives into Alan harshly, sawing in and out. When that's not enough to quell the fight, Dream forces a second in and the young man beneath him goes tense and still with a grunt of pain. Devon doesn't take them out. He just holds until the tension goes out from the male beneath him.

I can only watch as the Nightmare takes his fingers out slowly, taking care to keep his knee in place while he opens the drawer and pulls out a tube.

His thumb flicks the cap open, he takes the smallest brush of the white lotion to his finger tip. And then he drags that coated finger in a line down from Alan's asshole to his balls. Whatever it is? Alan's sweating as the Nightmare massages it in, stroke by stroke and even presses a little inside that tensed hole.

"You know better than to go outside your orders," he states as he works. "So you, my horny cocksleeve are going to fucking burn. And I'm going to keep you burning until you beg for me to fuck your ass like my horny bitch needs."

I'm frozen on the bed when those dark eyes flick up to me. "Wait on your knees in the foyer. I'll handle you in a moment darlin."

I don't need to be told twice.

Whatever the fuck happens in there? It's not pretty.

I can hear furniture bumping bodies, bodies bumping beds, and quite a bit of swearing between it all.

When Alan finally stumbles out, the spiked collar at his throat tells me exactly what's happened. What I don't understand is the black tag; I can't read its message as he quickly leaves out the door.

Dream exits a moment later, brushing off a few pieces of lint off his shirt and pants. "Stupid boy." He murmurs, almost to himself.

He sits on the chaise, then beckons me to his feet.

I crawl to him. Nerves have me trembling there as I wait for some sort of punishment to strike me. Will it be a tug of the rings, a spanking, or something like-

"Oh sweetheart. Feeling nervous?" He chuckles as he sits back against the backing. "You followed all the rules. What do you have to be afraid of...?"

"Nothing," I reply carefully as I stare at him.

"Oh sweetheart. You're a terrible little liar." He sighs, putting his chin against his palm. "Did you really think that I don't know what goes on inside my House? Or when one of my pretty little pets isn't where she should be?"

"Regulus's going to be feeling exactly like Alan when I get my hands on him," the Nightmare purrs. "So you'd best warn him; I don't like it when they break my rules. And I always make them pay for it."

He knows. I don't know who told him. But he knows that I've seen Regulus. Even for all his precautions... Reg got caught. I swallow and look at the floor.

His hand pats my head twice as his smile widens. "Now then, sweetheart. Let's get you fed and dressed. And then I think I'm going to have to show you what happens to pretty boys who don't play by the rules."

And then? He leaves me with one of his Hands..

I make it through breakfast, and then am taken back to the dressing rooms. Somewhere along the way, I get passed to the attendants; before I know it I am with four other girls headed to the salon on the first floor. Freshly collared with a new white tag that simply has my name, I trail along and just let them do what they will.

Massages are apparently first and I realize how much I need it after spending a week on my knees. They are able to unkink my legs from my heels to my lower back. I nearly fall asleep on the table while they work the warmed oil into my skin.

After being thoroughly deboned, I am put in the chair for the hair stylist and make up. They don't ask about my preferences; they likely have orders. I don't object as they cut and style my black curls into something smooth and wavy.

The makeup isn't enough to tip me off to how screwed I am. Despite the elaborate metallic shadows and that red trace over my lips, I think nothing of it. I'm more fascinated with how they manage to seamlessly erase the scars on my body.

It doesn't hit that he's setting me up until I am led back downstairs and hung standing and cuffed in a metal cage that presses hard into my ribs and shoulders. He pulls out two metal pieces to let my breasts fall through an opening between the strips, and leave my ass exposed as well. Then the lights flicker off.

It's not just the darkness. It's that everything feels too perfect. I'm a turkey dressed for the oven; a feast set before barbarians, and now I'm trapped with nowhere to run. When the door opens, I can't see who comes in, but I can hear their occasional movements on the periphery.

The darkness... the tight press of the bar against my shoulders and hips... My mind wanders places it shouldn't. Places that usually only haunt my dreams.

Memories of that little fucking cage in the darkness and the demon that put me in it. Not going to panic...not going to panic...it wouldn't be Seth.... They wouldn't do that....unless.... They did with Bolton. Fuck. It might be Seth. Why else wouldn't they turn on the lights?

Acrid smoke seems to fill my lungs; the shudders start in my belly as I dream with my eyes open..

There's hardly any space to breathe, yet alone to move. I can feel the lines of the bars where they press against my ass, my breasts, my hips and my ribs. There's a flicker of motion in the corner of my eyes but I can't make the figure out.

I can smell that burning hint of cologne mixed with whiskey. Sandalwood... oh fuck.

The shudders start, the nerves that won't quiet down leave me vibrating in my bonds. Prickling, the hair stands up on the back of my neck. I can feel my heart racing inside my rib cage as the air seems to be getting much too thin. Or maybe it's just the short breaths that I pant one after the other like a dog overheating.

Piercing high tones of a double beep at my ankle make me jolt in my small confines.

The cage swings with the sudden motion. With nowhere to orient, I can feel the dizziness building as it spins while it swings. Panic rises as it seems to just continue the motion with no sign of stopping. My stomach rolls.

"Please..." My voice is a broken whisper to the darkness.

No voice answers in the darkness. He never indulges begging.

As it spins, I simply hang. My body turned about the darkness, one and again. The beep sounds again, longer this time, a little shriller.

"Please!"

It's a sob. A distressed plea into the emptiness.

The beep goes off again, but the darkness remains unbroken. There's nothing, no one to save me from this cage and the nightmare lurking. I'm sweating; every sound has my body jumping which only makes it swing worse. My stomach wants to jump into my mouth, my head is starting to throb.

"Bad bitch." His voice floats in the room, mocking and disdainful and I can't help but pull hard against my cuffs with a loud clang..

"Little girl." A voice sounds in the darkness, snapping the words. The cage's spin stops; he settles it as I give a soft whimper of fear.

A hand strokes over my hip; the skin flinches back as the muscles tense underneath.

"Not happy to see me? And here I thought you'd be grateful."

The cage swings violently, my startled cry breaks the silence as my hands clutch the metal bonds that hold me captive in it. He catches it once more after a few swings, the stop pressing my body against the bars even a bit more.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" the tenor teases.

The stroke of the fingers is back but I can't help the tension that has my body fighting the cage I'm trapped in. Each breath is sucked in quickly, but never enough to sooth the thundering heart.

I need out.

I need out now.

And I'll do anything to get it.

My hands pull hard on my cuffs with a rattle that breaks the silence. Once, twice, three times as my wrists pull down as hard as they can manage in that limited space with a clang. Desperation sobs with the ragged breaths as I grind the chain against its hook when the metal cuffs won't let my hands free. Not him. Not him please!

The hand retracts, the light flick on.

The panic only builds. Shit. Lights on is worse than lights off. He's going to punish me for the noise. Again, I pull at my bonds as my eyes stay tightly shut. My body shakes with the need to flee and yet there's not a prayer of going anywhere as the metal only slices into my skin.