Author's Note: Welcome back to part four. You already know this is a dystopian debt slave story, and you already know there's no guarantee of a happily ever after. You also know that things are going to continue getting worse before they get better for our lovely protagonist.... And I do mean quite a bit worse.
This chapter contains: branding (tattoo), body modification (piercing), punishment, bukkake vibes, reluctant piss play, drugging, exhibitionism, and orgasm control.
Please do not copy this work without permission except for your personal enjoyment; all rights are retained by SimplySilver.
Chapter: Shifting Nightmares
The ride to the House is silent. Devon doesn't have a residence; he lives at the House. He's the only leader who does. Then again, he runs the Basement, so it's probably easier to be there so that he doesn't have to drive in the dark hours of the morning.
I anticipate us going to the Basement, but we don't.
Instead he takes me through the hallways, up the elevator, and scans us into the eighth floor. When the doors open, we're standing in his flat, and I can't help but stare a little at the sight. I've known Dream to be a luxury personality, but seeing it?
Purple for walls? And is that a chandelier?
Fur throws, post modern chaise lounges, and exposed chrome never looked so elegant.
The Godfather would be proud...
The man may be halfway off his boat but he's got an eye for arranging.
He uses a tug of the leash to bring me into the moment, and out of the elevator. "Now, now, staring is rude, Jazzy," he chides as he tugs me along, through the open kitchen and living room spaces, and down a hallway hung with strange art of bodies and flowing smoke.
"Four years, sweetheart, and not once have I had the pleasure of getting you to myself. You were just too good," he muses as he types numbers into a keypad beside one of the doors. "I was almost jealous of him for getting to keep you so secluded from the House. I don't think there's ever been one so carefully protected...until now."
I hold my tongue; there's not one question in his words but they are making me increasingly dread being in his grasp in such an intimate space.
Dream jealous? Of what though?
The door clicks and he pushes it open.
"I have to wonder what you expected when you first were brought to me. A Dream," he states softly, circling back around me. "Or Nightmare?"
Frozen to the spot, I stare at the other figure in the room as panic starts to claw its way out of my core.
Fuck me. Of all the people!
The trembling starts as I stare into those cool blue eyes, that long leather whip that he has coiled in his belt. It's a viper waiting to strike, to bite deep into me and inject me with the venom of his malice. He's seated in one of two chairs next to the window.
"So I thought," he whispers in my ear as his arms wrap around my torso. "That I would give you both. Do say hello to Alexander, darling... he's going to be joining us tonight."
I make my lips form the words; to push them out though they're coated with my fear. "Hello Alexander."
Fear is the only reasonable response to seeing him.
I've been in his grip once. Only once when I had made a terrible mistake of trying to kill myself by overdosing. I still remember exactly what that leather feels like when it bites; how his ropes press hard into the ribs and wrists and no matter how you scream, he won't stop.
Because pain is his pleasure.
"Good girl," Dream murmurs as he steps us both into the room with the weight of his body and pulls the door shut. I hear the heavy thud of the lock reengaging; see the flicker of a red light on the wall. There's no way out, even if I could evade them.
"You can be so obedient when you're properly focused, darlin'," Devon muses. "Now let's see what else that pretty little head can turn out for us hm?"
The leather wrist cuffs get hooked together behind my back; he tugs me between the chairs before pushing me to my knees. He sits in the chair opposite Alexander, studying me with the gaze that can rip secrets from people with a click of his fingers.
What did I do to deserve this?
"I'm sure you remember the rules, right sweetheart?" Dream purrs.
"Yes."
"Good," Alexander replies, uncoiling that long leather throng from his belt. "Then let's get started."
I'm not sure who I fear more in the moment. The dark hand that caresses and manipulates pleasure into intense pain, or the pale fist who serves pain until it becomes pleasure.
"One moment, Xander." Dream interrupts. "She has a choice to make. And you better make it a good one, Jazzy, because it is the only choice you get this evening."
He holds up a little blue tablet, shaped like a heart.
"You can take this now, before I give you to him and use it to endure what's coming. Or you can take it after he's finished to help soothe you to sleep."
I stare at it.
I've seen that type of pill before. I know what it is. I know what it does.
It makes you feel like you're flying on the best sensations imaginable. Colors intensify; the music flows and caresses your skin. How everything is wonderful, perfect, and floaty. How when you orgasm, it's-
Exactly what killed my mom.
It's awful. Soul suckingly, horrible, sickening and utter hell.
Its trembling hands, sweat slicked bodies and exploded hearts. It's those hollow eyes scrambling for change on the sidewalk to get more even as the body starves for food. It's that cage with the black bars and stinking towels.
No. I'm not going to take it at all. I can't. I don't want it.
"I don't want it," I reply softly, tearing my eyes away from it.
"How interesting," the Nightmare murmurs. "But Jazzy dearest, taking the pill isn't your choice; you will be taking it this evening. It's simply a matter of when."
Alexander leans forward, his hand taking my chin and forcing me to look at him. Those blue eyes weigh me like Anubis weighs hearts. His thumb skims my lower lip as amusement flickers in his eyes.
