Fighting Dreams

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.

Seeming almost disappointed, she untangles herself from me. "Fine..." she says, taking a drink from my tray. "Let's go then."

They move on to torment M, and I can't help but be grateful for the break. But they aren't the only ones to play with me.

Some, rather like when I was mobile, like to just fondle me. A caress of the ass or breast, sometimes a tickling line along the ribs. Others give a few swats to my lined rear or breasts, leaving me whimpering and struggling to balance my trays as they blush the lines already present. One tugs my tail, earning a soft moan as it shifts the plug in my ass. Someone else reaches from behind to graze my clit with a finger and give it a quick circle before withdrawing.

The little bits of stimulation have me strung, tense, and trembling. It seems like the boldness of one creates a ripple effect through the people; they get inspired by watching others playing with me to make their fantasies a reality. But I can't get lost in sensation. That will leave me punished.

My trays are getting tricky too. I have to stay focused on them; my wrists are aching and with the mismatched weights it's getting harder to keep them where they should be. I've got mostly empty glasses but I don't want to risk it between the pair of them. My elbows stay tight to my sides to brace the weight but even they are getting tired.

Things don't get easier as a blindfold is drawn over my eyes.

Hands are sliding along my ribs, my thighs, and breasts. Some pinch, some pet, and some are just... touching. It leaves me hyper-sensitive, aware of everything, and unable to help the heat between my thighs. And it's starting to show, no matter how I try to resist it.

A light swat burns my hip, teasing a moan out.

"Poor little kitten," he purrs in my ear as his hands still my hips, holding them as other hands stroke up and down my belly and breasts. "So frustrated. So helpless."

That voice.... I know it too well. Regulus. He's here. And he's playing with me in full view of everyone. He's either lost his damn mind or I'm about to get a new meaning to hell.

This is Dream's special guest?

A kiss along my neck and shoulder gets me shivering; two familiar fingers release the clamps to my breasts before gently pumping the abused tips. He leaves me twisting, keening softly as he teases me with quiet words and goads others into stroking my skin.

Oh fuck.

"Sensitive little thing aren't you sweetheart? I can't wait to bend you over the bed and

fuck

that sweet ass of yours."

His hardness rocks into the base of the tail and I can't help but push back as sensation overrides thought.

He punishes me for it with a light pinch to my overstimulated nipple. "Ah, ah ah girl... you know better than to be a greedy little whore."

A mouth, not his, sucks the other stiff bud. There, laden by the trays, he makes me dance for them like a puppet on a string as he drives me into the madness of pure sensation. A vibrator slips deep into my wetness, then someone clicks it on.

The heavy buzz between my thighs? I tremble under it as I struggle to hold back from orgasming lest I get a punishment on top of what Dream's already promised. My lips clamp together; it comes out as a whine rather than a cry.

"Oh no, little kitten, I want to see you struggle," Reg chides, hooking a hand around my waist. "Show them what a slut you can be."

Another click sends a burst of tension through me, I can't stop the soft cry this time. He lets me tremble in that sharper buzzing; a finger rolls around the delicate swell of my belly and up the line of my sternum before a tongue traces its invisible line.

A sting from a crop tenses my ass on the plug. Pleasure and discomfort, focus and madness, they're all around me. It's a hurricane that draws my attention to each inch of my skin, from the trembling fatigue in my hands to the pleasured burn in my pussy.

But as the next swat lands against my ass, I hear a stumble of steps, and someone grabs onto my arm.

The sharp pull over-balances the tray and my body; it's out of my hands in a second and falling. The overbalance of my torso down spills the other as well. I try to save it, but there's no hope when I can't see to grab it.

The room seems to freeze at the crash, the hollow sounds of the glass hitting the floor. Thankfully, it doesn't shatter.

"Whoops. I'm

so

sorry." A female voice murmurs as I feel the pressure release on my arms, but there's no sound of remorse. If anything she sounds amused at the situation.

The body that was behind me shifts away, tugging the blindfold and vibrator with them. The other hands withdraw as well. I look at the mess below me, then over at the young woman.

Isabelle stands there, her lips in a smirk. Something malevolent is in her eyes as the Nightmare comes over, plucking the two trays from the floor and then snapping his fingers so that two attendants take care of the glasses.

"Oh sweetheart," he muses as he looks at them. "This is going to be a challenge even for you."

I shudder, counting the glasses they pick up. Twelve by five... fuck.

She did it on purpose.

Regulus watches. His eyes are smoldering when he turns and steps back to meld in with the crowd. He says nothing, though he no doubt knows the same.

It's another young man, the first one to touch me with his girlfriend that speaks up. "The other one should take half. It was an intentional pull."

The Nightmare replies smoothly, "That one isn't mine to punish. Though you're welcome to drag her to King. I'm sure he'll readjust her attitude for behaving maliciously."

Isabelle's eyes widen slightly; she steps back before the young man's hand catches her wrist and pulls her after them.

Holding the Nightmare's gaze, I tremble slightly. Sixty... divided up by four limbs... is a little less than twenty a piece. He shifts, taking my now empty hands and raising them up over my head. Two leather cuffs bind them tight, restraining my body entirely.

"Life's not fair, is it little one?" he comments as he walks to the wall, pulling something off it from behind me. "But at least they'll get to savor your tears as you break."

He doesn't give me a chance to protest or think before his cane is driving me into the spectrum of pain. He works methodically, down one leg then the other from butt to the bottom of my calves. Each strike builds on the last, feeling almost as though it overlaps while my legs tense and my heels raise. He varies their intensity, but their speed blurs them together in sensations.

By the time he's at my knees, my eyes are watering and I'm struggling to keep it to soft groans and whimpers. But still he works onwards despite my tears. The glistening tracks seem to only add to the crowd as his rod draws sounds from my closed lips of misery.

Just when I think my legs will give out, he lays ten along my ribs and belly, then five more to each breast. Those make the pillars' chains rattle as my body jolts against their captivity with a cry.

I lose count when he starts striping along my inner arms and lays a pair on my hands. They're coming too fast, and the feeling overwhelms even sight as it leaves me burning and throbbing. I can't think, can't prepare for them. I can't even endure them as I twist in my bonds. He punishes the struggle with two more to my calves.

I shriek with the strikes he lays next to my arches, unable to help but pull against his unforgiving grip as he stripes that tender space twice each. The two he lands next on either side of my delicate sex feel worse. Those lines burn like a brand; the white-hot explosions of misery as he slaps a third against my center.

My body gives out as I scream, the orgasm torn from me in a gush that's the farthest from pleasure I've ever been.

The sobs start and won't stop.

His arm catches me as my body drops hard against the restraints, unable to handle more as I drown under the pain. I flinch with the pressure of his hands though I know it gets me nowhere. Because I simply can't take any more. I'm begging him with words and sounds strung together incoherently. Yet I feel like I'm not even in my own body.

He's quietly shushing me as he uses his hold to support my limp sobbing form. "There's a good girl," he croons, clipping his lead on me. "That was the last one so long as you behave, kitten."

"Regulus, Isaac lift her for me," he orders.

Two hands hook under my arms and take the support of my torso as another set wrap my waist from the front. They lift me up just a few inches; I feel the bite of the leather straps release first from my wrists, then from the rest of my body. From there, it's down to the floor on my hands and knees so that those hands withdraw.

He lets me sit there in their circle, crushed by sensation and feelings for a few seconds as he waits. But when I make no move, His fingers grip my chin and lift my face. I stare up into the merciless dark eyes through my tears.

Just tell me what to do.

"Crawl, kitten," he orders calmly.

Without a thought as to where we're going, I obey him.

In the corner of my eye, I see Marissa struggling in her stocks; thick fingers are driving in and out of her bare slit as the crop licks her stiff nipples. Her pleasure is desperate, higher pitched as the man drives her to the brink and then removes any touch from her so that she cries out in frustration.

There the Nightmare makes me stop. "If she cums, she'll be whipped," he whispers in my ear, tugging the leash to pull me up between her thighs. "Get to work, kitten. Make her lose control."

Right now, in the haze of agony from being caned, it doesn't even register the consequences of this order.

My lips wrap over her pussy and I suckle hard. I can feel the tension in her thighs; my tongue flicks over the peaked bud of her clit over and over as I try to break her control. She trembles and moans above me between the crop in her lips as she tries to resist.

I don't let up. I can't.

I try longer swipes of my tongue through her lower lips, nudging her clit with each pass. When she's shivering, I wrap my lips around her again and suckle her like she's a slice of orange. She's trembling as I grind my face against her, trying to find that trigger point that will release the pleasure through her.

"So very close, girl, but not good enough," the Nightmare murmurs in my ear. "I wonder if I need to motivate you."

The brush of the cane's tip down my striped rear makes me whimper. I don't care who sees me. I don't care if she gets punished for it. I can't take another stripe.

I dial up the intensity, pulsing each suck against her swollen bud as hard as I can before lightly nipping. That light bite does it; she cries out as her pussy floods over my face with its desire. No matter how she squirms, I don't dare let up from licking her until Dream's hand pulls me back by the hair to show off the mess of my face to the one waiting.

"And there's the slut I've been waiting for.... Down girl."

The man's smile is cold as he uncoils that longer lash at his belt.

"Come, slave." The Nightmare orders. And when I'm at his heel, that leather snaps to make her shriek over and over again.

Dream ignores her cries as he takes me from that red room, down the hall to the main floor. And though I feel the weight of guilt pressing my eyes to the floor, I don't look back.

I'm taken to the floor of his throne. My collar's clipped to a running chain that loops to it; he snaps his fingers and taps the ground. "On your belly," he commands. When I'm down, he orders, "Head to my foot. Keep it there."

Obeying, I put my cheek to his dark shoe. I'm left to my silenced thoughts and to listlessly watch the room as I throb beneath the multicolored lights. As more people enter, the heat of the room is growing around us. But I'm content being ignored.

If I'm ignored, I won't be punished.

After a time, Danielle approaches with a tray and two glasses; he takes one for himself and brings me to my hands and knees. The tray is settled across my back as he lifts my chin to level. He feeds me a sip at a time of the clear liquid, those dark eyes assessing as his hand strokes over my hair. It tastes like nothing, but it builds a heated feeling in my body.

Then he feeds me, one small slice of cheese, meat, or cracker at a time. When his fingers linger in my mouth, I suckle them clean. He seems pleased with the general result.

The Nightmare then gags me with a thick bit. He positions me carefully so that I am kneeling down and on my forearms. When Danielle switches the trays with a new round of drinks for him and his guests, he sets the heavy disk to my back once more. His look alone tells me to hold it still.

Many come to join him, but none sit.

That's not a right that has been earned when facing Number Two in his domain. They stand before him, vassals to his throne and there he gives them favor or judgment in turn. Some are pets, making their offerings to repay him. Some are Masters, looking for approval or advice. Some are his clients, assessing his work.

I hear all but listen to nothing. Even if I wanted to, I don't seem to be able to focus on their words. My mind wanders with the pulse of the lights and music as I am curled so still beneath him.

It is bliss to be ignored.

Still, that is not a luxury that I am afforded for long. As he chats with a group of men in a quick silky tongue that I don't understand, I hear his fingers snap. My eyes flick up to his automatically as the tray is taken from my back.

When he tugs the chain I rise and crawl to between his feet. He uses my hair to tug back my head and leave my lips parted so that he can remove my gag and leave it hanging from my neck. As that thick thumb presses into my mouth, I gently suck and lick it like a lolly without a second thought.