Nightmare Master Pt. 02

Was this what he was doing, maybe, to send me home? I didn't like that thought, of leaving him. I took one more glance around the dungeon and blinked, confused at how I was attached to this place that was so awful. This felt... maybe like a goodbye? Was that it? I felt tears in my eyes and then Master's eyes turned soft. "Hey, there, Honey. Why these tears?"

"I don't know." I blinked, smiling in a little fear. "You don't like them."

"Those tears of yours? Not at the moment." He stroked my cheek. "These aren't the ones I can lick along with your blood and cum." He pat me, a soft affectionate slap against my cheek and I shifted on my cross. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "They taste wrong."

"Oh, no," I whispered back. "Tears with a wrong taste must be like brownies with nuts in them. Not only do you not get a brownie, but it could have been a delicious joy."

He froze and then pulled back to throw his head back, his laughter a thing alive. I couldn't keep from grinning while he calmed down, couldn't keep from giggling when he came back to my side. "Exactly. Now, why the wrong tears?"

"I was thinking that I'm very attached to being here with you and I want to come back!" It finally burst out of me. "And I'm scared! I'm scared and I don't know why, but it feels like something is wrong and I'm so confused. And you're not hurting me and last night, I- I-"

He shushed me again and I went still, whimpering. "It's okay. It's okay. Let Master worry about those things while you're still mine. All I want you to do for right now is be still, think of your slavery, and rest on my cross. Trust me, little Honey bunny."

I stared up at him, blinking, and I still felt like something was wrong, but I nodded fearfully, warily. He wasn't explaining it. He wasn't saying if this was our goodbye. But he was...

Master. I whimpered in fear, bowing my head and shivering only a little while he blinded me. He didn't have to explain anything to me. Not yet. Of course, maybe that meant that he had ideas but wanted to wait until the weekend was fully over and the mindset wasn't so deep. But then my thoughts turned more afraid when he gently tapped my lips and breathed, "Open up."

I opened and was gagged as well. He left me alone in the darkness and silence, opening the door once to leave me be, and I wondered. And the more I wondered, the more scared I started to get.

The nightmares from the night before didn't make it any easier, especially when the time felt like it continued for an age. And of course, I was sleepy enough and the cross really wasn't so bad. He had built it with enough beams and attachments that he could add all kinds of evil toys and I didn't doubt that he had and would if given the chance. For the moment though, the head rest was padded and I fell back against it, so tired from so much fear, from so much sex the night before. I made the mistake of resting.

The dreams chased me there as well, dreams where I whimpered under him, trapped forever in a bleak hellscape. I had images of being surrounded by a gray sky that blended in the distance with the death of the land I walked on, the blend all the more complete with the mist around me. Bones crunched under my feet and I ran through trees that never ended, but I couldn't remember what I was running from, until I heard the twisted laughter chasing me. I woke up and moaned, so horny again, and then let my head fall back, wondering why this was happening. Was it the atmosphere, was it him, was it his dungeon? I tried to breathe through the rise of hot lust, remembering different intense tortures, and then felt myself sweating as if fires were waiting near me.

Only to shudder and realize there was actually heat near me. Not in my dreams. I woke fully, jarred awake, and yelped, thrashing on my cross, more fully realizing where I was.

I yelped again when I heard him shush me, in a real state of panic. What time was it? It was too late and I didn't know how I knew that but I knew it. I knew it from some internal clock, maybe, or some instinct of what was happening to me, what was always going to happen to me as soon as I walked through his door. I screeched behind my gag, thinking of the toy room and I couldn't stay in denial anymore. Why would he have it if I was leaving him? Why expend that much elaborate effort for someone who was just a play slave? It was tailored specially with the books he knew I loved. Why hadn't he spent the morning hurting me when he loved that more than anything, when it was how he showed his love for me?

Unless he planned on torturing me that night, when I was supposed to be free again. My thrashing was pathetic and I mean even I could tell how pathetic it was. It took me a moment to realize that I was more tied down than before, that I was held as tightly as possible. No. Oh, no.

He sighed and took the blindfold off. "I can see you aren't going to calm for me. Naughty rabbit."

But I was staring past him to the fire. And the iron. And the medical tray, the forceps, the gloves, the disinfectant. I broke and the tears flowed, the ones that pleased him, and it was obvious they did with how he smiled vaguely, releasing the gag's clasp to hear my begging. "Please. Please don't. You can't do this. You can't, please."

"But, little Honey cum bunny, I can." I cried harder and he purred, licking up my cheek. "And I'm going to. And after I'm done, I'm going to punish you for trying to tell Master what I can and can't do."

I thrashed in one more effort, sobbing. "No! Please let me go, please!"

"Be still and look at me, little rabbit." I choked when that voice was as implacable as always, when it was calm and collected... and when it was filled with pleasure at my misery. I looked at him. And I went still. His eyes blazed, the snake with a bird, and he held me a hypnotized thrall. "This is what's happening to you. There is nothing you can do. No one is going to save you." I sniffled and looked down, squeezing my eyes shut. "Aww, don't cry, little bunny. You can stay here and play all you like and I have a prettier collar for you."

I shivered when he started with the new collar, delicately unlocking the one from before. He stared at that one and smiled in a kind of fondness while I watched in a dazed horror. "That was a cute interim collar. Let's try a new one, though, one that's a little more difficult than this was to remove."

More tears fell when he turned around, holding a large band of black. "Please," I whispered. "Please, does it have to be s-such an obvious collar." If he let me leave his side, anyone would know what it was, at least I thought they would.

He fixed it around my throat, his eyes dark in a kind of lust that was far deeper than most kinds of arousal I had ever seen. This was possessive, filled with a kind of absolute ownership. "It's a bit wide, but it could be worse, don't you think? See how pretty the O-rings glitter at your throat? And look at the lock that goes with it." He held it for me to see, a heart shaped lock, and it really could be worse. He had carefully chosen a collar with a silver underlay so that it could be cleaned and wouldn't easily collect skin oil. What did collect anything could be scrubbed nice and easy without ever being removed from my throat. As for the size... It... Perhaps it wasn't so bad. It was over an inch in width, at least, and black, but maybe I could use charms with the O-rings if he let me. Maybe I could make it not so stark looking.

"It is a little pretty." I sniffled, tears falling down my cheeks.

He stroked them from my eyes before fixing the collar just so. "There, there. It's not so bad. You'll turn quite used to it when you see it in the mirror every day, beautiful little slave bunny." He clicked the lock shut and I shuddered, then realized something.

"How do you mean by a collar more difficult to take off, Master?"

He finished adjusting it how he liked it and then fixed a light over me, smiling slightly. "Dear girl, you should also learn to ask permission for questioning me." I sniffled, fearful of the punishment coming to me. "It's alright for now. You will learn after you've suffered a little more for me. As for what I meant." He turned around, tugging an extension cord already set up, and I quaked with the sight of the soldering gun in his hand. "We're going to make our own adjustments to this already lovely collar for you."

"No. Please. Please." But he only worked silently and my voice was far too soft and hopeless anyway. He was so twistedly gentle too, his hand quite careful when he held my head back and he held the gun with that adoration in his eyes, that romance that wasn't quite light enough to be romance, that devotion that was filled with a little too much ownership.

"There we are." He stroked my hair, carefully working the gun while I stared at the table with its wooden slats, at the suspension hook that already seemed forever away. "Good girl. That's pretty and now, this collar will stay nice and secure where it belongs on a little maso slut's throat."

Why was my pussy aching to be filled? Even while I was sobbing, it throbbed for him to abuse me. It didn't make any sense when he didn't even fuck my pussy and that only spurred the curiosity of how long it might take before my asshole started to pulse for him in those moments instead. Which of course made me remember his threat, that he would carefully nurture my masochism until I had to have it and I wondered when I would start to need pain to get off at all. Which, of course, made me sob.

"No, no, little rabbit. No hysterics. Is it really so terrible?" I considered that and his words actually worked when I thought of his baths, his petting, the crop down my back while I ate at his feet.

"No, Master. Not s-so terrible."

He smiled and came back with a razor and water to shave my already silky skin. Silky, because he really was quite careful and adoring with his baths. Looking at him was a comfort too, in his pretty mask, and so far, he liked hearing about things I liked when he spoke with me. I shivered while he shaved, glancing at the heated iron. He finally broke for a moment, smiling with humor in his eyes at where I looked. "Want to hear a joke?" I stared at him, blinking, then nodded, still trying to process. "The iron and fire is totally fucking useless for us. I just thought it would be fun to see you panic from the heat." He finished what he was doing, not hurried in the slightest. Because there was no time frame. Because I wasn't going home. Or to Sulfur's.

Just to his room or his slave's toy room. I sniffled and finally managed to speak for my own comfort. "May I ask you questions?"

His eyes practically glowed with his pleasure at the way I asked permission and he took his mask off to switch for something that almost looked like a partial gas mask, letting it hang loose for the moment so he could speak. "How pretty you are when you obey. Go on, but be respectful." I frowned when he got out the strangest setup I'd ever seen in my life and he chuckled. "I'll answer the question in your eyes for free. This is an electrical unit." He held up something that looked almost like a pen, except with wires at the end. "This has a neat little arc that sears the flesh and vaporizes it. Far less painful, unfortunately for our purposes." He winked and touched my nose so that I even managed to smile. "But far more intricate for neater pictures."

He was so calm, so methodical while he set the stencil on my outer thigh, making sure he liked it. That's when it turned terrible, was when I couldn't see the design and he was studying it for his own criticism. Because the design didn't matter for a slave. The padlock soldered around my throat felt even heavier than the previous collar and my pussy felt so very empty. I ached and wanted to cry that this was my reaction to this. I seized the first thought I had for distraction. "Will I still get to go to my law classes and see Pet, please?"

He looked up, a little bit of surprise in his eyes. "Of course you will. We have all summer to work together to fix you into the mindset of being a slave and break you to it."

A little bit of hope made its way back to my mind. That wasn't so terrible. "Really?"

"Really, really."

Of course there was the second thing to think of, how I didn't think he'd need the summer to break me down into that dark place where I was so free to love the pain he gave, where I was an owned little plaything, where he conditioned my mentality into something down a dark path. I shivered and he pat my thigh. "This is what's happening, Honey," he repeated softly, and this time I sank into the words, feeling calmer with them. "There's nothing you can do about it." I rested my head back against the cross, while his words from earlier sank in, too, how it amused him to see me panic.

He fixed his mask and took the surgical unit in hand, that small delicate little pen. I closed my eyes, finishing the word repetition he had started. No one is coming to save you. Let it happen. Such a sadist's thing to say. Let it wash over you, let it sink in, let it make you empty, let it have control, and let me take over.

Let it happen. I gasped a little when the pain of it started and there was pain, although it was nothing like the types I had already suffered at his hands. This was calmer, for a start. It was almost muted, but it itched, and there was definitely a sensation of heat. It was also an even, continuous drone of a sensation that turned into something more and more acceptable for me.

I felt a little horrified with how wet it made me, so much so that I felt like he was going to notice soon when I was too much of a slut. I heard a soft chuckle behind his mask and cringed because it had to be from my finally dripping on the floor, but it was a little of a relief after the fact, to have it out and visible like that. It was freeing, to have him know for sure how much of a pain bunny I was and to hear him only find his amusement in the fact and carry on. It reiterated how pleased it made him with how much of a masochist I was and let me calm down. My world went cold and empty and I sank into the steady drone of pain, like falling into quicksand ever so slowly. What was better was how my body felt like it was heated with the branding, while my insides felt like clean, untouched snow. Fire and ice.

Sadist and Master, for him. His sadism was so excited and his mastery was so calm.

Home. I was home, I supposed. It made me sniffle again when I faced the thought, but I could take it like I could take the pain and I did. I made myself go further into the thought, that it was home for me, but not my home in the possessive sense. Slaves didn't own things like that when they were owned. They had gifts, though, like the toy room, and they were adorned for their Master's pleasure. Like with the humiliating collar around my throat with the heart charm. I had a romantic image of being by his side in a fantasy ballroom. Partners danced together while he led me around the dance floor and I watched a woman kiss her husband. Of course in my mind's eye, I thought it looked nice for her, but didn't think of myself as part of that world either. I was the only slave there, a singular occurrence and I was dressed beautifully. The fantasy warped into something even worse with the thought that someone would look at me and notice the collar at my throat and they'd be more afraid of my Master than ever.

"There we are." I made a soft whimpering sound when he cleaned his work and I didn't even feel much curiosity at what had been seared into my skin. It was magical actually, the kind of thing I had always seen with Pet and wondered about, the kind of mindset that I had touched on in games, but had never kept.

This felt real, soul deep and real. "Yes, Master."

He stood back, small flecks of blood on his talc gloves, and came back with the tray and a new set of gloves. "Don't worry. I'll let you see it when I'm done, but while I have you here, there's a few more touches."

I obediently tilted my head back when he pressed it, whimpering only a little when he set the forceps to my septum and locked it with a rubber band. Please don't hurt too bad, please be fast, please be fast... It seemed an odd moment for a masochist of my caliber to be so terrified of a piercing, but I'd heard enough horror stories about how this was the worst piercing to get, even worse than a clitoral hood ring. He was merciful to me, lifting the needle in one swift, secure motion and- "Youchie," I whispered, eyes watering. It might have been the worst piercing in some people's book, but after what he'd done to me? It was stunningly smooth. Painful still, but over fast.

He finished so quickly, too, my demon Master, and then he moved on. "Hold out your tongue."

Again, I brokenly obeyed, and again, he went quickly, until I sniffled around my new rings. "Do I look pretty?" My voice was small and I didn't know why I needed to hear his pleasure specifically, but I did. If anyone else had validated me, I don't think it would have had much meaning in that empty mindset.

He stroked my hair back against my head and his voice was low and intense when he answered. "You look like the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life." Warmth flooded through me, so much that it must have been obvious because he smiled gently, seeming to sense that I needed his reassurance. He was a sadist who wanted to care for his little masochist, but of course, that would make sense. He balanced the cruelty of what he was doing with a soft petting motion and a calming voice. "Honey, you'll find that life as a slave, or at least life as my slave, is a very reassuring thing for that fear of approval you have. If I disliked the image of your pretty jewelry, I wouldn't give it to you. Slowly, but surely, I think you'll learn to dispense with the questions of whether or not you're beautiful for me. The answer will start to come to you easily when I choose what you wear or how your hair is for a night. And it will be, 'Of course I'm pleasing to him. I'm his slave.'"

I rested my head against his when he gave me the touch and he was even kinder then. He stayed that way for a while because of course, he had all the time in the world to do everything else he wished.

And then he stood up and donned his demon mask again. "Now for your punishment. Afterwards, we'll eat and I'll give you a bath like always. It's early but you've been through one hell of a weekend. When you take punishment, you sleep in the slave's toy room and not in my cage or bed." Now that I was heavily under the waters of that mindset, I could see more of him, too. He was incredibly satisfied with teaching, lecturing me. It seemed like such a Master's quality that went with that need to nurture and caretake. It fit well on him, even with the burning excitement to hurt me. "Normally, I wouldn't mind those protests of yours, but that one specifically is one you should avoid, at least for now, when you're adjusting. You don't tell Master what he can't do. Beg all you like, tell me you can't do something, protest, struggle, and all the rest. Sometimes the atmosphere won't let you think so straight and I'll understand that, but this one sets a bad precedent right now. Learn to avoid that one, understood?"

"Yes, Master." It felt like the quicksand almost had me covered when he came back with the cane.

"Count to 25 and thank me for each one."

He started at my breasts and where he was so playful with his sadistic playtimes, I learned quickly enough what made his punishments so terrible when his pain was something always freely given. It was the way he stood so distantly, the way he didn't flirt with me, the way he didn't lick my tears when I knew he would have loved to. It felt awful to force him to withhold from those little things he loved so much, felt even worse that this wasn't the rape game we had where I begged him to stop, and then it sank in how much I had come to love him in that game. Eventually, he tired of my tits and made it clear what was next when he rapidly spanked my pussy with his palm to heat it, then stood back again. I shrieked with those, when they became so harsh that it felt like my sex should be swollen. I pant in relief when he went to my thighs instead, and he took a great amount of care to not touch the outside of my left one, where my new brand was. And he ended it with those, choosing to draw my blood with two of them, something that made me sob all the harder with how he loved to lick my blood and didn't.