Fighting Dreams Ch. 10

I head into the gold glow of the living room where Regulus waits in an armchair. His eyes are brooding; his fingers locked as they do when he's deep in thought. His tone intercepts me as I turn to retreat down the hall to my room.

"Sit," he orders.

Hesitating, I walk back to the livingroom and sit across from him on the couch. My legs curls close to my hips automatically. Displeasure rolls from him, but it's restrained.... For now.

"Did you have a nice time?"

I nod cautiously. "Yes."

"Good." But for his opinion, it doesn't seem to lighten the intense focus in his eyes. I feel like I'm being examined under the microscope; his expression remains serious. "Dream told me about your... attitude... issue down in the Basement."

Fuck.

I swallow thickly. But offer neither excuse nor reason; what would be the point? He probably knows all.

"If you need control, pet, you only have to ask," he warns softly. "And after your dissociation the last few days, you no longer have a choice. Until I'm satisfied you can be trusted to take care of yourself again, I'm going to put you back under my leash. I had thought the House might serve as a comfort; it's apparently only done the opposite. You're going home."

His gaze may as well be obsidian; the dark eyes shine but remain unyielding. "You have two minutes to grab anything you feel you will need, Jazz, the rest will be shipped within the week. Understood?"

I nod. His eyes narrow.

I swallow thickly and reply, "Yes."

When he doesn't smile, I amend it once more.

"Yes, Sir."

He leans back into the chair. "Tick tock, pet."

I run to the bedroom. My heart is racing in my chest, but I'm not... afraid. I'm just in a hurry.

Looking around, I'm at a loss as to what else I need. What do I usually bring? What's important? My phone goes in the bag with a charger, a journal too with a pen. My computer follows; one of my microplush blankets. As an afterthought, I add in one of my squishy fox plushies.

I can hear the timer chime as I zip up the bag and walk out. He's waiting by the door.

"Come, pet."

He drives us to the edge of the city, and along the river's hills.The stars wink out from the black mat of the sky as though they're glitter that was spilled across its surface and illuminated by the lamp of the moon as it rises. His thumb skims along my knee as he drives affectionately

As the buildings begin to space further apart, I can feel the tension slowly easing from my body.

"Finally..." he murmurs as he pulls into the drive. The trees surrounding the house shield me from view as we walk into the main hall.

When shoes are set aside, he sends me to make a snack tray in the kitchen as he takes my items upstairs. A familiar task, one I'm happy to take on so that my mind has somewhere to focus. I've got the fruits, slices of cheese and small slices of the summer sausage laid out in a gentle spiral of color when he returns.

A kiss is pressed to my cheek; he then sends me up to the bedroom with an order to bathe and dress for bed.

It's easy to obey that order. He's got a nice tub...

The bath tub is already moderately filled with warmed water; he's added lavender oils to it so the sweet scent fills the room as the jets roll the water. My clothes are laying on the shared counter; a large towel waits over the rack. A soft music box plays when I tap the speaker.

My clothes find the hamper; I slip into the water and soak.

Cooling slowly, the water's touch lets me relax into the calm music. For once, I don't rush or worry too much about anything. I just let it all be. Floating with the notes of the music box, I don't stir until his voice filters through the speaker.

"Water's cold. I'll see you downstairs in a few."

The pajamas he's chosen are probably the farthest thing from sexy, but they are soft. A camisole of royal blue and a pair of cotton pants with galaxies in blue and black...I can't help but think it's strange to be dressed all the time.

I feel like I'm waking up out of a dream; nothing feels quite normal yet.

When I make it downstairs, he's waiting. He draws me into his arms, wrapping me in a hug from behind and turning me to face the small coffee table.

Three boxes lay on the table; as each pops open my eyes trace over the collar in them.

The first is a small gold herringbone chain with a sunflower dangling from it. Delicate, but strong and light as a feather. Almost like the one I wore when I made Seth sign that paper... The second is hexchain of woven circles; a small sun drop hangs in the center of the band. When I touch it, the links are surprisingly smooth and soft feeling. That's pretty. The one I wore to dinner I think?

The last box he opens to reveal my red leather collar, the gold ring hanging polished from its peaked center.

"All three of these are yours, Jazzy," he murmurs softly in my ear.

"The first two come with only one obligation: that you work to heal and that you stay here, with me, until you're healed enough to be safe alone... and then if you ask, I'll help you get settled wherever you wish to be."

"When... if... you want your collar, you need only put it on. As your Master, I will swear to you that you will be protected, cherished, and loved. You are mine, pet, and if you'll let me I will remind you how peaceful it can be to let go. But if you can't... I won't hold it against you. I won't demand anything from you except that you find yourself again."

Slowly I reach down and touch the leather band, picking it up. The first one was red with a silver ring to train. This one is wider in the back than in the front, dipping down to an elegant point in the front. I cried when he gave it to me; it was the first collar that I could breathe easily in.

"Is it really the same one?" I ask softly.

"The very same you left that day," he murmurs softly, his hands cupping mine around it. "It's yours, pet. It always has been from the night I made it for you."

Certainty closes my fingers around it more tightly. Rocking gently in his arms, I slowly turn to stare into his eyes. "Never again?"

"Never again," he confirms softly, resting his forehead to mine. "Your debt is paid; it will be a bullet through my skull before anyone can take you from me."

"Then please..." I whisper, holding up the red collar. "Help me forget it all again."

"It would be my pleasure, pet."

The leather gently wraps around my throat; his fingers buckle it loosely and straighten my ring so that its weight settles over my sternum without pressuring my throat. His lips lean in and claim mine with hunger. His arms wrap me in safety as he steals the thoughts from my mind and his fingers set me on fire.

Tangled in each other, we hardly need air as clothes are stripped away for skin. Heat surrounds as lips gasp and mewl under touch that elicits goosebumps to rise. I can only writhe under the sensations; he writes his desire on my skin with his lips and fingers as he takes me to bed.

"Naughty little slut... you're already dripping," he purrs from my belly before diving down to lick a lewd line from my pussy to my clit. "I could feast on you for hours... would you like that, kitten? Would you like Master to eat your slutty cunt?"

"Please..." I gasp, hips bucking as his lips fasten about my clit and suckle it.

It's a whine as that orgasm winds tighter in my belly, the pressure builds with the need to cum as he devours me. And when I've come apart under his lips, his fingers drive me to the brink of pleasure once more.

"Gods I love when you come for me... again, pet... more."

Over and over, he takes me over the edge, crooning filthy words of praise in my ear. When I can barely breathe except to beg, then and only then he takes his cock and fills me.

He drives long and slow with each thrust, letting me feel each inch as he claims me for his own once more.

"Oh Jasmine... that sweet sweet pussy of yours," he growls in my ear as his hips buck a little deeper to arch me under him. The thrusts are getting faster, harder as his own need builds.

"I want it coming around my cock as I fuck you. I want to feel you flood me when I cum so deep in that tight cunt. I want you to feel what pleasure I find in my slave."

I couldn't stop the orgasms if I tried. He has me hypersensitive, feeling every thrust trigger that little gush around him. I'm shuddering as he drives me mercilessly through that bliss and keeps me suspended there. Aftershocks roll together; I vaguely feel him go rigid as his own orgasm breaks through him and the pulsing of his rod.

As he withdrawals and burritos me into the softness of the blanket, I snuggle close. His arms hold me tight as he presses a kiss to my forehead. The warmth in his voice shelters me from the dark as I fall headlong into the world of dreams.

"Good Girl."

Healing doesn't come as easily as I hope but in his arms, I don't have to face it alone.

The day when I shake because he asks me to go to the store for milk alone, he gently takes me by the hand and goes with me. The nights I can't sleep, he lets me rest my head in his lap as he pets me until I soothe. When the grope of another man's fingers puts me in tears, he shields me in his arms until I can walk back out to the car.

Under the stars, he slowly guides me back into loving my slave self. Each night, he carefully places his leash to the ring on my neck. He pleasures me relentlessly without restriction, and he allows me the opportunities to please him. The holes in my heart begin to patch as he soothes me back into calm affection.

The good days and bad days get better.

He praises my efforts. And when I start to spiral, he punishes me. But he never lays a hand on me. No, he finds other methods that encourage my routines.

The first time I start to spiral, he takes me out of my bed and puts me in the bathroom. And there I stay until I am clean, brushed, and dressed.

It takes two hours. So I lose the right to be in my room for two days. No, he keeps me right beside him where he can be sure that I'm doing everything he has set up to the letter. I can't leave his side for a moment without asking for permission, even to use the toilet.

The second time I relapse into my dissociation, he refuses to feed me anything but olives until I protest. It takes a day and a half... but after a bratty explosion at lunch, he relents with a smile that's all too pleased with himself. Fucker.

Any time after when it starts to creep in, all he has to do is get out the jar and somehow the taste centers of my brain kick my ass to the land of the outspoken slave. Which on occasion ends up with me having to bite a lemon for my language usage.

M and Destiny join me for tea on Tuesdays now. I look forward to seeing them every week. They're both happier. I can see it in the way M glows and blushes when she speaks of Slate. I can see it in how Destiny smiles at her phone when it pings.

I find that I'm still just as good with working Reg's business accounts to make sure the numbers reconcile. I find my voice in his business to put the teams in their place with the expenses when I need to. It gets easier to decide what to eat when he stands me before the freezer to choose.

I don't really recognize the day when I'm myself again. All I know is that when someone asks if I'm happy, I don't hesitate to answer. When Master Regulus whispers in my ear that I'm a filthy slutslave, I embrace the title happily. And when Reg lays me down to sleep, I'm done fighting my dreams.

I embrace them.