Author's Note: All characters are over 18 and fictional. Please read the others before attempting this chapter. This story is a slow burn set in a dystopian world; happily ever afters are questionable, slavery is the norm, and our lovely protagonist will have things go from bad to worse to as worse as it can get. You've been warned.
This chapter contains: slavery, reluctance, brief f/f, impact play, humiliation, positional bondage, and punishments.
All rights retained by SimplySilver. Please do not copy without permission except for personal reading.
Chapter: Taking Bets
Slaton drags me into the foyer of The House by the collar at my throat. While I'm not fighting him, my feet reluctantly follow him back to the stairwell, and then down to the back dressing rooms. Girls are scurrying about in various states of undress; Dream sits in the middle issuing orders.
The Nightmare looks up as Slate brings me to him, raising an eyebrow of annoyance. "There wasn't anything better you could have put her in?"
Slaton's eyes narrow in return. "This is an improvement."
Clicking his tongue, Devon looks at his list. "Any preferences, sugar?"
"Make her anonymous," Slate answers. "No one beyond us should know she's here."
Dream's narrowed eyes flick up from the list, considering that request as his pen taps the page. "Anonymous?" he questions, leaning his head on his hand. "King's banned her from the Basement's hands until she's to me. You know the rule...."
"That won't be an issue."
Pursing his lips, Dream stares Slate down for an uncomfortable minute. "Alan. Take the girl and put her in the red room. Do
not
leave her unattended, sugar."
"Sure," the young man seems to materialize out of nowhere; his leash clips to the ring as Slaton's finger vacates it and then I'm tugged after him.
Tugged into a room down a long hallway and then Alan closes the door behind him. I stand a few steps back, mindful that I'm bound to him but not wanting to share the space any closer than I have to. He doesn't push the boundary, giving me the full lead to move as he puts his back to the door.
"Just stay there. We'll get you dressed soon as they finish."
I hold my tongue and sit on the floor.
It's not long before there's a knock at the door. Alan opens it, and a furious Dream steps into the room. "Alan, get me the black rack and then finish getting Danielle ready over in blue," he commands. When his associate leaves, I uncurl slowly from the floor and get up.
Dream's badly annoyed by the way he's staring at me. "
You
are more trouble than you're worth," he says softly, an edge entering his tone. "Now. What the fuck did you do that Slate's brought you back here?"
"Nothing! I swear it. I've not been punished once by him!" I answer holding up both hands. "The marks are all Rex's."
"So I heard. But Slaton wants to make you invisible tonight which means you pissed him off, sweetheart..." he states, taking the black rack of clothing from Allen. "Now....How do you do in latex?"
"Not well. Maybe something leather?" I ask.
"Too lavish," he answers, going one hangar at a time. "You're in disgrace. So it's latex, nylon, or cotton. And given his mood, I want you in nylon for easy access so that my pieces aren't destroyed, darlin."
He unhooks the black leotard, sorting its pieces. He helps me form them over my body; not a wrinkle is left as it fits to my skin. Dully shining, the nylon's cut outs expose the valley between my breasts, the curves over my ass. Its lines run down my legs, elongating them to the eye while over accentuating the curve of my hips to the V between my legs. The stockings wind in a spiral over my legs that makes them seem longer as I slip into the black stilettos that give me an additional few inches in height. He adds a layered black dancer's skirt that flares out from my hips.
Then he hands me off to Danny. "Make her invisible."
She turns my eyes gray with contacts. The red of my lips looks fuller than ever; with her contouring, my face shape seems thinner. And whatever foundation she blends turns me half a shade darker, thinning the profile of my nose to the mirror. Then there's the mess of my hair.
What used to be black now reflects a dark red; the waves have been tamed to perfect straight lines. Instead of hanging braided, she's letting them sit free down my back. Even altering my part changes the sharp angle of my jawline to be a little softer.
But before I'm passed back to Slaton, there's one final touch.
"Does she need a mask?" she confirms with Dream, stepping back to stare at me.
"Yes. I want the white upper shield with the red detailing," he orders after a moment. "It'll be sturdy."
I've worn that particular piece before. It's a V shaped shield that hides the upper half of the face and nose. While I can see through it, they won't be able to see my features. I'll be exactly what he wants. Anonymous, but available for use.
The metal band slides into place over my straight locks like a headband. She presses the mask to my face, then slips the band forward an centimeter to lock the mask into place between the band's layers.
Then I'm returned to Slate in the main lobby. I drop a delicate curtsey before him; he nods once in approval before clipping his leash back to my collar and bending down so that we're eye to eye. "Not a word to anyone tonight. Do you understand?"
His tone books no argument from me; I close my lips tight and nod. Then I follow him through the House... and then down the stairs into The Basement.
Through the outer club to the inner private rooms, he leads me and I follow without a word. I keep my eyes locked on his back so that I can move efficiently. The curves of flesh, the swaying bodies and salacious dips of fingers under waistlines flash with the lights. No one dares stop him, though some dare caress and swat as I pass despite his leash. He seems not to mind so long as they don't stop me.
Finally, he takes another turn, scans his card, and opens the door to a blood red room. He tugs me inside, then maneuvers to the far side from the door around the black top central table.
A snap of his fingers, and I sink to sit beside him on the furthest couch from the door. He wraps a hand around my waist, pulling me closer so that my head rests on his chest. The music pounds around us from the outer rooms, but there doesn't seem to be anyone else here yet.
"Stay put," He growls in my ear as the door beeps.
The door opens, and King strolls in, leading his pet Isabelle behind him. She's dressed in red sequence that flows over her like a sheath with sparkling black heels to match... but out of place is the steel chain dog collar that circles her neck. He takes the chaise; she lounges out and rests her head in his lap.
King stares down Slate. "No Marissa?"
"Marissa went to Rex to preserve her behavior," Slate replies bluntly, stroking my hair. "So tonight you'll have to handle someone else."
His eyes narrow. "Are you putting her up then?"
