Author's Note: This is NC/R themed. Ya'll should know what that means by now or you're in the wrong category. In case you forgot: things are going to continue to get worse for the lovely Jazzy up until the last chapter. Everyone's over 18.
Trigger/Kink warnings: Manufactured failure, oral, caning, manufactured failure, exhibitionism, bondage, some group, pain play, and predicament.
Chapter: Blindsided
He takes me to a room and leaves me, with the firm order that I am to stay until I'm fetched. For a few hours, I'm on my own.
I shower, then pace the room. A bathroom and a bed, with a mini fridge and a little hotplate. No dishes. No food. Nothing to do.
With nothing else to amuse myself, I sleep off some of the shock which lingers from watching Alan's debasement. The dreams of watching the Nightmare work make it a fitful experience. It must be hours later when I wake tangled in the blankets; the window shows the sun setting.
When I'm taken to the dressing room, they don't dress me in much. I'm just harnessed in my kitten gear and a chain clips my wrists together. A brief brush of ruby over my lips, some additional shadow to the eyes, and then I'm off. Whether by Devon's preference for skin or by the necessity of what lays ahead, I'm more bare than dressed.
He doesn't tag me; this time, his personal leash clips into place, and I'm led out to the floor.
Following the leash through the pounding music, I ignore the eyes which linger on my stripes. My chin stays stubbornly raised.
Let them look.
Cowering won't make their eyes avert and I'm not going to encourage their hands to disrupt my stride.
There's a smirk on Dream's lips as we approach a strange set of posts embedded in the floor of a red room just off to the side of the main floor.
"I hope that confidence isn't just a front sweetheart. You're going to need it," he muses.
The chains lock to the harness at my ankles, my thighs and my waist to immobilize my lower body in a spread position, but he frees my hands. I can hear the slide of a drawer out behind me, but I can't turn far enough to look.
"They're going to have free rein on how to decorate you, sweet girl. They can choose to do nothing at all, or they might torment you. But no matter what they do, you have only one concern. You keep your trays steady and you don't dare cum."
Trays plural?
I raise my hands at his bidding as one of the girl's approaches. The first is larger than I expected; there's nearly twenty drinks on it. It's heavy, and the smallest tip of my fingers makes the narrow glasses want to slide. The second one sits no easier though it is smaller; I can feel the pressure into my wrists and brace my elbows against my sides to help.
"I'm not going to gag you this time. I want them to hear you," he warns. "That's part of the fun. Hold them. But be ready. Every drink you spill is five of my favorite."
I shiver as I feel the wood of a cane roll down my ass, bracing for its sting. But he just lightly taps it up along my calves and thighs.
It's not until it's tapping my hip that he lashes a hard one. Though I squeak and tense, the trays stay put. He smiles, leaning in to catch my collar ring.
"What fun you are, kitten... I wonder if you'll last," he murmurs as he unhooks his leash and snaps something else in place. "After all, I've invited a special guest."
Fuck me sideways...
A brief kiss on the cheek with a wicked smile, then he leaves. I feel the tag against my skin but I have no idea what it says. He said they could tease or torment, but I don't know if it's a punishment tag or just a simple "Play with me".
It's not long before the music starts, the lights filter down, and people filter in.
Set along the sides, I'm watchful and silent. My eyes wander the room; I'm not the only one bound. By the door is a young woman fully wrapped in latex from head to toe. She has one of the trays that I wore last time.
Another stands locked between slats of wood on her ankles, and another set that encases her neck and hands. Between her teeth is a crop, and her eyes are covered by a blindfold. When my eyes wander along her skin, I note the ornate S on her thigh that blooms into a phoenix.
That's Marissa... Slate's slave also known as M. I have to wonder what she's here for; I remember vaguely hearing about her being in trouble while I was with Rex.
Is Slate punishing her, or is she here because of something else?
I wonder, but I don't have long to think before I'm approached by a young couple. He takes a drink. She splits off from him and walks around behind me. "Ouch... look at these," she muses out loud as though I don't exist. She presses a finger into one on my rear and I can't help but gasp as it burns.
"Cane tracks," he comments.
"So was she a bad little kitty?" she asks, running her hands up my sides.
"Most likely. But some do punish them for fun," he replies, taking a sip of his drink. "After all, they're allowed to do almost anything to their pets as long as it doesn't permanently harm them. Even put them up for other people to play with."
She holds up a black and silver set of clamps connected by a chain. "So... would this be okay to use on her?"
He pauses, looking at it, then at my tag. "Should be fine. They wouldn't have it out otherwise. But keep your hands off her pussy."
I don't look down as I feel her pinching at my nipples. The first clamp goes on with a little flinch; the second follows it a few seconds later. Though they make my breasts throb, I'm doing okay. That is, until she gives the chain a pull.
Gasping, I brace as my trays tip a little and the pinch gets more intense. I can feel heat creeping up in my cheeks.
"Oh that's pretty..." she muses running her hands up from my belly to cup each breast. One hand starts to slip down the V of my hips. "She blushes. I wonder what she'd do if I..."
"Annabelle." His voice is sharp.
She pauses her fingers just over my lower lips. His gaze is a warning, intense as it pins her.
