Ray Ch. 04: Breathe

"It's totaled," the balding man said from behind the counter.

She stared out behind him through the long glass windows at her demolished car. The end of the driver's side door was indistinguishable from the beginning of the back door. The trunk was popped open, indefinitely she'd been told. The other side still looked perfectly normal. She couldn't see it from where she stood, but she remembered looking back at it. Her body had detached itself from her mind, crawling over the passenger seat as if it was a separate entity from herself. The passenger door opened easily, unlike the permanently closed driver's door. Red and blue lights had been reflecting off the smooth paint, unblemished as if nothing had happened. They told her to sit down, it was unsafe to continue walking on shaking legs, don't worry about the other side. But a domme did as she pleased, not as she was told.

"Totaled? Are you sure it can't be fixed?" Ray asked from beside her as if fixing the car would erase the memory.

"Sir, the car is totaled. The body is bent, the two doors are beyond repair, and the car is seven years old with quite a few miles. You could buy a brand new Mercedes for what it would cost to try and fix this one," the man replied, grabbing the paperwork out of the printer. "Keep this for your records until the responsible party's insurance pays up."

Her fingers touched the scarf around her neck. It was like a collar she was now forced to wear, strangling her every time she left her house. She turned and silently walked towards the door. The air outside was freezing, but it was better than suffocating inside.

"Where do you want me to take you?" Ray asked, stopping beside her.

She didn't know. She knew where she needed to go, which was across town to rent a car, but she couldn't seem to get her mouth to agree to speak. The only place she wanted to go was home. Home to locking doors and a space Ben couldn't find her in. Out here he could be anywhere, which made it feel like he was everywhere.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, fishing his keys out of his pocket.

She shook her head as much as the sore muscles in her neck would allow. "I need a car."

"Do you want me to go with you to look at cars, or are you going to rent one for now?"

She made her way to his car then held on to his arm as she lowered herself carefully into the seat. Her hand grasped at the woven material around her neck, yanking it free in spite of the pain the movement caused. "Rent."

He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. His arm reached over, his hand moving into her lap where hers lay clenched around the scarf. She softened her hold as he pulled it away from her, tossing it into the backseat. His hand moved back to hers, his fingers tracing circles into her palm, his breath the only sound interrupting her silence.

She entwined her fingers with his, then rested her head against his arm. If he wanted to hide with her in the silence, it was much more peaceful with him there.

********************

A white car rolled closer to where she sat parked at the curb. She slouched down in her seat, her fingers refusing to release their hold of the steering wheel until the car was out of sight. Her eyes glanced around the neighborhood, assessing the shades of brown she'd ignored for so many years, trying to determine if any of it was out of place.

When she stepped out of the beige car she refused to turn around. She didn't want to know how well it blended in with the camouflage house. Ray had told her it was inconspicuous, and apparently that was what she needed to be now.

She dragged her sore body up the stairs, the stairs her rental car matched perfectly with. When she walked into the office everything was in its place. Her computer monitor had survived its fall unscathed, its inhuman strength taunting her own mortality. Her hands ran over the desk she had almost lost her life on. The fringe on the end of her scarf brushed against the flawless wood, reminding her she had been all that was damaged.

She turned and quickly made her way into the closet. She hadn't intended to come back so soon. She had intended to wait until the marks on her neck and the mars on her soul had begun to fade. But what she wanted and what she needed were often opposing sides of the same battle. She grabbed Ben's binder off the shelf, trying to convince her pounding heart that as soon as she had what she needed they would be heading back to the beige car.

She paused, peering out around the closet door. The office was still empty, devoid of awaiting monsters. She darted across the room back to her desk, laying the binder down on top of it. She began pulling out chunks of paperwork, sticking them on the printer's document feeder, then hit the start button. She stood still while the papers were sucked through, the copies spitting out the bottom one by one into a perfect stack.

Footsteps shuffling on beige carpet drifted to where she stood. Her hand immediately went to the scarf at her neck, loosening it so she could breathe. She waited to hear his voice disrupt the silence, reminding her of his name.

"I didn't hear you come in," a voice higher in pitch than the one she was expecting spoke behind her.

She turned towards the sound, her pride forcing her to straighten her slouched posture. "How are you, Elise?"

"Nice scarf," Elise replied, pausing in the doorway.

Her hand immediately went to the soft loops dangling down her chest. She forced her fingers to run over it casually as if the movement was nothing but acknowledgement of the comment. "I wanted to talk to you," she said, moving behind her desk and sinking down into the leather chair. She gestured towards the chair at the opposite desk, running her intended words through her mind one final time before speaking them. "I wanted to thank you for saving my life. I know you and I haven't—"

"Don't thank me," Elise cut her off. She sat down and crossed her legs, her black sneaker immediately beginning to bob in the air. "I didn't do it because I suddenly had a rush of affection for you."

She paused as the conversation she had planned scattered in shock. "I never said you did."

"I don't think I need to waste energy lying to you." Elise's hands folded over her knee as she attempted a more regal pose. "I didn't mind watching someone finally break everyone's perfect Mistress Natalia." She paused and looked up as if lost in a blissful daydream. "Seeing your legs kicking while he choked you is an image I'll cherish forever."

The scarf tore into her skin as if Elise was tightening it from across the room. She tried to silently suck in enough air to keep her chest from incinerating into nothing.

"But as much as I enjoyed it, I would never let one of these assholes get their way," Elise continued, her leg bobbing faster. "I'll never kneel to you like everyone else. They treat you like you're Madame Lexi, which is bullshit."

She slowly shook her head, ignoring the pain that shot through her neck. "Nobody at the château kneels to me except those who are required to."

"Two dommes told me not to go get Ray," Elise hissed, her eyes narrowing as she spat out the words. "They told me he belongs to you. That's bullshit. He's a community slave. He belongs to all of us."

"Having respect for a fellow domme isn't kneeling to that domme—"

"You're going to preach to me about respect?" Elise's eyes widened, her foot pausing. "How about respect for the slave?"

"After what you did to him, I'm not going to argue with you about respect." She lifted her chin, the burning in her lungs shifting from shock to anger. "Professor Holland sent you here to learn, but you refuse. Instead you've chosen to take power you didn't earn and use it against those who have none. There's no respect in that."

Elise's lips pressed together, making them almost disappear into her mouth. Then they broke apart once again, refusing to give up the final word. "And there's no respect in treating a community slave like your own personal slave. He made his decision and you aren't letting him live the life he chose."

The fire in her lungs began to diffuse as she pressed her thumb down on each finger, the soothing pop calming her thoughts. "You're making an assumption—"

"It's not an assumption!" Elise shrieked, her voice tearing through the thick air. "I see how you treat him and how the other dommes treat him when you're there."

"No," she replied calmly, smiling at Elise's reddening face. "You're making the assumption it was his decision."

********************

He watched as his legs were cranked up towards the ceiling, the chain on the spreader bar tightening into a triangle. His ankles attempted to push together the higher they were pulled, but the metal bar between them reminded him he was no longer at liberty to do what he wanted with his body. When the chain's ascent into the ceiling finally stopped his knees were left slightly bent, hovering above his torso.

He was selfish. As selfish as he was stubborn. But acknowledging his flaws didn't make them scatter in fear. The need was too deeply encoded beneath his skin, insuppressible and unrepairable. So he lay still, awaiting the empty face to fulfill his empty needs, even though there was a more important place he should have been.

Handcuffs loosely encircled his wrists, only reminding him of their presence when he tried to pull against them. They held his hands above his head, preparing him for the torment he would soon be required to endure. Some slave's referred to the château as heaven. Others referred to it as hell. He imagined it was dependent on which fantasy fit their desires more. To him, the château was nothing but home.

His legs jerked when the wand pressed against him, vibrating through the inches of skin between his sac and back entrance. It was pushed down harder, the sensation shooting up his thighs when the vibration hit the sensitive gland inside him. His uncaged length immediately took notice, lifting itself from his stomach to show its appreciation.

The disconnect between his brain and his manhood began to show itself. His mind argued, trying to remind the brain between his legs that the date inked onto his thigh would not be ignored. But it was as if his length was filling itself with denial, refusing to accept its fate as it continued to grow.

When the vibration stopped his eyes flew open, searching for those of his tormentor. Mistress Gwen glanced up at him from between his legs. The black leather of her bodysuit shined under the lights as her arm held up the wand for him to see.

"Beg me, Slave," she said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

Beg to be tortured. Beg to be teased with no hope for relief. Beg for mercy which wouldn't be granted. This was the way of the slave. He would also beg for the ability to endure. "Please, Mistress."

"Please, what?" she asked, spinning the wand in her hand.

"Please, don't stop." There was no end for him. The wand pressed back into his skin, sending the tingle ripping through him. Though it would bring with it relief from the infinite ache, there would be no relief from his infinite hunger. His toes began to curl when the sensation reached their tips, his ankles shifting in their bounds as the vibration rippled down his legs.

His teeth clenched when his skin was left bare. "Please, Mistress!"

"That's what I want to hear." Her sadistic smile foreshadowed his fate. The wand was shoved against him again, its method of pleasing tingling up his stomach before disappearing once again. "I don't like silence."

"Please, Mistress." His fingers curled when the vibration shot through them. But it couldn't escape his body. Instead it turned back, re-igniting each centimeter of nerves until he began pulling against the chains.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Slave," she said, her dark red lips pushing out into a pout. "I'll give you a break."

"No! Please!" He didn't want a break. He wanted to feel himself creeping towards the edge. He wanted to remember how it felt to look over the cliff and then leap off it, free falling into complete submission.

His body jerked when the tingle rolled through him. He gasped and groaned, torn between pleading for more and begging for relief. Even in his helplessness his mind tried to convince itself he still had a choice. The sensation was ripped from him once again, leaving him leaking and whining.

Her hand reached up, her finger smearing the escaped droplets over his tip. The curve of her lips brought more leaking from him, further hints of her inevitable success. "Looks like you're almost there, Slave."

Her words were lost on him, his mind too focused on the sight of her fingers circling the most sensitive part of his body. "Please!" he begged when her fingers moved away from his skin.

"That's a good slave. Just keep wasting your breath." Her fingers made themselves known once again, this time pushing inside him, ensuring there would be no mistakes.

He squeezed his eyes shut when the vibration took over his body once again. This was the end. He could go no further. His pleasure would be sacrificed tonight to ensure his stamina for Monday, when his body would be sacrificed once again. His jaw clenched along with his sac and every muscle below it, forsaking him.

Her hands flew into the air, one bare, one holding the wand. She smiled as she waved to his seed, spilling out in a pleasureless heap onto his stomach.

********************

Ben was trying to chase her into the shadows, but she refused to run. It was Monday night, and she would be attending the festivities without the collar he was trying to force on her. She leaned forward into her mirror, running the egg-shaped sponge over her neck. It was time to cover her wounds. Time to unleash Mistress Natalia. The concealer matched her skin as it painted over the purple discoloration still marring her throat. It wasn't a perfect solution, but when she took a step back, she imagined the dull light of the dungeon would correct the rest.

The soreness in her back and neck had made shaving below her knees an impossibility. Pain tore down her back as she unrolled the black over-the-knee stockings. The fine material would have to serve as a barrier covering her flaw. She glanced around her walk-in closet, a black dress with the tags still on it calling to her. She pulled it off the hanger and over her head then stared into the mirror. She looked as though she was in mourning. It even accentuated the black around her neck.

Her head turned at the sound of her doorbell. She had called for the limousine but told him not to arrive before nine. The green numbers on her alarm clock read eight fifteen. She pulled the black dress off and grabbed a strapless pink one. She stepped into it and pulled it up over her body. The doorbell chimed again, its demand clear.

She headed down the hallway, preparing herself to scold the driver. He knew better than to knock to announce his arrival. A knock or ringing doorbell was considered a command, beckoning a response. If he had arrived early he should be waiting for her, however long she may be.

A hard knock brought her to a pause halfway down her hallway. A slave would never be so bold as to repeatedly demand her attention. She imagined the face on the other side of the door, the yellowed teeth proudly displayed behind a false smile. The next knock rippled through her, almost stopping her heart.

*****

The wolves on the outside of the cage howled their impatience. Hands reached through the bars, grasping at his skin, teasing him and tempting him to try and break free. But he stood calmly, the thud from the music pounding through him, preparing him for what was to come. His eyes scanned the room, searching for his lioness, but her hazel eyes were nowhere to be found.

Dommes circled the three beds shoved up against the infamous red wall. Mistress Brianne and Mistress Dion patrolled the area, keeping it as safe and sane as possible. Four slaves in training collars remained by their sides, ready to use their strength to separate the wolves from their prey. They were the only faces he recognized. The dommes of Château de Fierté weren't allowed to use the slaves assigned to the beds. The slaves of the château were at their disposal all the other hours of all the other days. But for the five hours of Monday Funday, the slaves on The Wall were offerings to visitors from the other châteaux in the community.

Roland stood next to him, pale faced as his hands wrung together behind him. He thought about offering words of comfort but doubted it would make any difference. Roland's eyes were fixated on Bed One. They weren't allowed to speak, but he could hear Roland's silent prayers. His eyes moved to Bed One, running over the line of dommes equipped with a rainbow of strap-ons, the sizes and shapes as diverse as the colors.

Wes' lean frame was surrounded. Pink nails, black nails, bare nails, white-tipped nails- all reached in from the side of the bed, scratching at his tan skin. If he felt the assaults his body didn't acknowledge them. He remained poised on his hands and knees, three strategically placed bars preventing him from adjusting his position. One pressed into his chest, keeping his shoulders parallel to the mattress. The middle bar held his stomach in line with his shoulders. The final bar, the most important of the three, prevented his hips from sinking lower.

He watched from his place in the holding cage as Wes was repeatedly impaled. A purple strap-on shoved into him from behind, its owner's hand coming down on his backside with every thrust. A domme in a bright blue dress had her hands firmly clasped into his black hair, her matching blue strap-on invading his throat. They smiled as they skewered him, their breasts bouncing in rhythm with their thrusts.

He had never been assigned to Bed One, though he had often fantasized about how it would feel to be repeatedly brutalized. He wondered if it would arouse his lioness to watch him be ravaged in such a way. He imagined her eyes on him, a deviant laugh escaping her lips as she supervised his torture. He would make her proud, withstand the assault as long as it took to make her need drip down her thighs. Then he would crawl to her and run his tongue up the inside of her leg until her taste filled his mouth.

A hand ran down his uncaged length, acknowledging its sudden growth. "I want to be your first fuck of the night," Mistress Mia whispered, her mischievous blue eyes taunting him. She turned around and bent down, lifting the pale yellow fabric of her skirt and shoving her backside against the bars.

He stared at her pink flesh protruding towards him. Her bare folds were already slick with need, enticing him into their warmth.

"I'm not afraid," she taunted, rubbing herself against the steel bar. "You better not be either, Slave. Now do as you're told."

It was against the rules of the night, but his body didn't care. His pulse throbbed through his length, proudly announcing to anyone watching it had been a bad idea to uncage him prematurely.

He shoved inside her, down as far as he could into her heat. His hands grasped at her body through the bars, pulling her to him. Her warmth encircled him, the soft folds of moist skin igniting his neglected nerves. Screams and cheers overtook the sound of the music as the dommes surrounding the cage took notice of the indiscretion. Their fingers tore at his skin, their voices commanding his stroke as if they were the ones he was thrusting into.

Her hands reached behind her, grasping at the bars. The cage began to rock back against the wall, the thud lost in the chaos. She tightened around him, gripping him as he drove into her. He reached through the gap, wrapping his arm around her to hold her hips against the steel frame. Her nails dug into the skin on his forearm, her moans getting lost in the madness.