PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 WIP | BONUS: Intoxicated
Waking is not an easy thing.
It comes to you in starts and fits. At first you are only aware of brightness all around you before you fade back to blackness. Again you surface, and this time you can almost make out browns and copper tones beyond the light before your exhausted mind drags you down again. You can't even find the energy to panic through this cycle as you slowly become aware of your body. Arms pulled uncomfortably behind you. The painfully hard chair you've been placed on. Something wrapped around your face holding your mouth open, leaving it dry. Something inside you.
Your vision finally sharpens enough that you can tell where you are - some hunting cabin, judging by the décor and the aging kitchen appliances. You've been tied to one of the wooden dining chairs and sat in the kitchen facing the cabinets and away from the rest of the room.
You shift to try and see more of where she has placed you and instantly regret the action as the things inside you shift and your head throbs. The dual pain sensation forces a moan from you. Embarrassingly loudly with your mouth so open. The pain is intense, and for a moment you are sent spinning back into the blinding light that leads to darkness and oblivion.
Then, like an angel, she appears at your side. You are unsure if her sudden appearance is from the lightness of her steps or the disorienting pounding in your head. Gently, she shushes you and places a hand in your hair. She pulls gently and encourages you to lean back as she slowly spills water through the gag. You sputter and scream as the first sip nearly drowns you, but your body knows what it needs and it is desperate to end the sharp clicking of your dry throat. It's an awkward thing, swallowing with your jaw held open, and you end up choking and coughing half of the offered water up and over your naked body. She chuckles and blows on your nipples, causing you to clench on the things inside you and yelp. You realize how raw you feel. All over. Like a wound. It's enough to pull you further from your delirium and you panic again wondering what was in the water you did swallow.
She leans over you, pressing her body into yours. You're terrified by how much her warmth on your form makes you shudder with need. Leaving back, she returns holding a gift that jingles gently as she holds it, her smile sharp and eyes gleaming. The collar is thick and stiff looking. A shiny black leather that catches the light almost as much as the brass buckle and ring. You can't read the tag, but the little brass bell does not need to be seen to be heard.
“I wanted you to be awake for this, morsel,” She says as she wraps it around your throat, “So you'd know exactly what it meant.” You cant really thrash away, bound as you are, but you do try. The jerking motion upsets her attempts to buckle the thing enough her eyes turn cold. A clawed hand wraps about your jaw, digging the sharp points of her claws into the meat of your face.
“I'ng 'owy,” you moan in terror.
“Be Still.” She hisses and tightens the grip to a bruising force. Your bones ache and the bright spots grow in your vision once more before she takes the hand away.
Once she has you collared, she pulls back and admires her work, humming softly before standing and walking past you into the parts of the cabin you can't see.
Taking stock of your body now, you realize that you can't feel the stinging of your wounds. Apart from whatever is between your legs, blessedly out of sight. You look, as much as you can, and realize that she has cleaned them, bandaged them, and even stitched up a nasty cut you hardly remember getting on your hip.
With each move, the bell at your neck jingles prettily. It makes you want to scream.
She is gone for a time. It gives you a chance to explore your surroundings and bindings, as much as your limited movement will allow. You trace the gag with your tongue where it sits behind your teeth as you see if there is hope of twisting out of whatever she tied your hands with. Whatever it is is buttery soft and has no give. The kitchen is full of knives and they fill you with as much dread as hope as you wonder just what this cat wants with you.
There is one knife in particular, a long one of dark Damascus steel with a handle of antler or bone, that your eyes keep returning too. It sits propped on a shelf with a small light shining down on it. You are certain she means to use it on you. You are certain she means to use most of them on you, but this one seems left there to taunt you. It has the aura of a weapon that has killed someone. It has an aura of menace that makes you flush and glance away. Too long spent staring at the face of sin.
The fact she lets you hear her come up behind you is frightening too. And her sharp claws following the path of your tongue against the gag makes you let out an involuntary moan of denial.
“'O, 'esh,” you beg, but she ignores you.
“Hopefully this will just be for today, pet,” She says, like you're her lover and not a captive, “I just needed to make sure you were forced to follow as many rules as possible on your first night. Wouldn't want to unjustly punish you,” Her hand comes up and cards through your hair, making you sob, “That wouldn't be fair, now would it.”
She pulls away and you whine for reasons you won't let yourself admit yet. She laughs behind you and it's almost cute.
Then the things inside you start to move. You are too raw. This is not pleasure.
And that is how she leaves you again for what feels like hours.
The vibrators she's pushed into both of your holes start to pulse a-rhythmically. You can't help the noises that fall from your mouth. The sounds you make are full of half screams and gasps as you desperately try to hold on to your composure and propriety. You can not see her, but you can feel her predatory gaze on you as you shake and cry and clench your teeth against the unforgiving gag. She will not let you hide. Not here. Not in her den.
She steps before you, another vibrator in her hand, and dread surges through you so white hot you slip back into that unconscious space.
“'Leash, ‘leash, ’o. 'Ait." you beg her, but she has little mercy to give you. She presses the little bullet between your legs. You thrash ineffectually against your binds, twisting your wrists against the soft coils until they're raw and you're moaning in pain as much as pleasure.
She laughs and tells you how pretty your noises are.
She rakes her claws down your side as you fall into the first orgasm. You can feel the warmth of your own blood slipping down to pool on the chair and drip to the floor.
She chuckles as your begging turns to screams and she forces out the second. Her voice shatters any resolve you had to fight as it carries the sharp sounds of her teeth sliding together. You think of scissors and of prehistoric fish.
By the fifth, your head has fallen forward and you drool down your body, barely making noises consciously anymore. She finally takes away the toy and the other two turn off, leaving you numb and shivering. Distantly, your head throbs in a mix of overstimulation and the still lingering effects of your non-consensual nap.
She blows at your nipples again and this time you barely flinch. Only let out a token moan of what you swear to yourself is denial. Please, please, let it be denial.
“Now that you're all nice and pliant, we can discuss todays plans” She sits back and presses a claw between your breasts, “We're going to start by going through a punishment,” Her claw breaks skin and you can only manage a whimper as a thin line of blood trails down to your navel, “I want to make sure you know exactly what happens when you break rules and piss me off,” the sudden slice of her claw down an inch makes you cry out, but she just smiles and continues, drawing red lines with the free flowing ink of your life's blood.
“First, I'm going to see what impact works well for you. What disciplines you and what you enjoy,” you desperately try to pay attention to her words as the searing pain in your chest grows worse as she presses deeper into the wound, twisting her claw, “Then I'll show you all the fun places I can put you when you need a time out,” she withdraws her claw and you watch in terror as the red of your blood matts the fur of her paw, “Maybe I won't show you the barn today, just the cage, and the box, maybe the fireplace,” Her teeth flash as she runs her pink tongue across her paw and the essence of your life, “I'd say I don't want to scare you, but that face you're making is so cute. Precious.” Her paw draws back and she slaps you, claws out, swiping thin lines of fire across the smarting of your cheek.
This time you manage to scream and throw your body away from the pain. This is a mistake and likely exactly what she wanted. You upset the chair and crash to the floor and into the small pool of your own blood and fluids. One of her massive foot-paws comes up and rests by your head. You can see her foot-claws better now. They're huge, and you consider for a second that she could kill you so easily. You desperately bite back the urge to scream, wrestling it into a gurgle through your open lips.
“Silly thing. Wait there while I get what I need to train you," She stands and regards you with those piercing eyes for a second, “I think we'll let that little scrape on your face bleed with your chest. Give you some chores to worry about tomorrow when we go over tasks, ah” she looks away and sighs almost wearily, “Training is so fun but there's so much to get through.”
She's leaves you there on the floor. Long enough that your arm goes numb. Long enough that the blood drips off your nose and on to the floor with the rest. Long enough that your aching insides start to push the toys out. You realize this too late and cry silently as you try to clench and hold them in, only to push them out fasted. The light pop they make as they slip free makes you flush all over, and the clatter as they hit the stone floor makes you wince. It aches almost as badly with them out now. You start composing the way you'll beg for her to not put them back in.
The cold you feel does not come from the tiles alone.
You open your eyes, unsure when you closed them, unsure if you slept, to see her massive paws before you. She tsks, and steps silently around you. Horror drains through you, red hot replacing the cold as you realize you are too stiff to follow her movements.
“Lesson one,” her foot hits your belly and you swear your teeth will shatter if you bite the gag any harder, “Do not leave your toys laying around.” Gasping for breath does nothing. You are too sore and the angle is terrible and the chair at your back and the ropes mean you can not take a full breath and she kicks you again.
“Lesson two,” the panic that rises in you makes her words seem distant all of a sudden. The bright spots are replaced with dark ones and you think of the forest. Of how glorious it would be to lay in the moonlight. Naked on a rock, watching a stream bubble past you. To be lost in the woods and never found again.
She drags the chair back up with one massive paw, rights it, and slaps you. Open palm this time. It's more stunning than painful, and it makes that stupid bell at your neck jingle excitedly.
“Lesson two, morsel, my word is your law, your life, and your death, so listen when I speak to you.” The forest is banished. A false reprieve. All the exists here are you and her and that knife gleaming behind her.
The process of being untied is almost sensual. Almost loving. There are too many moments where her claws nick your skin or where she drops you with too much force. For one glorious moment, you are free. She steps away, leaving you seated on the chair. Not even her stare to hold you in place. You aren't fast enough. It's too stunning. Too frightening. You only start to think you should stand and run. Make a stumbling, blood dripping effort to run through the woods again. Chase a false hope again. She rebinds your wrists and ankles before the thought is even fully formed.
She beats you then. First with a crop. Then with a flogger. Then with something hard and reedy that stings as much as it thuds. You wonder if she knew your thoughts. That you wanted to run from her. Perhaps, this is just how she will handle you even when you are good. She swaps to her paws and rakes long stinging lines across your welts until you stop flinching away and let her pet you.
She washes you. Unties you. Takes out the gag and helps massage your jaw when at first it wont close. You shake so badly you think you'll throw up when your teeth finally click back together. The bell makes gentle music.
Everything hurts.
She takes your arm, presses a glass of wine into your hand. Blood drips off your nose and in to the glass when you take a sip.
She give you the tour. The kitchen, with the knife she doesn't even mention staring into your soul. The living room, with the over stuffed couches, piles of pillows and blankets, and the grate suspended over the fire which she cheerfully tells you she will make you sleep on. Only when you're bad though. Fire licks the bars as she turns you towards other spaces before you can consider if that means very bad or more mundane bad. There's the back door and mud room, lacking insulation and equipped with a low cage with a metal floor. She makes you stand there barefoot until you ask her nicely through chattering teeth to be allowed back inside. The bell chiming an icy tune as you're bones rattle.
The bathroom comes next, a simple affair, though there are metal studs in the walls where you imagine you can be chained. She tells you that you can use the bathroom so long as you ask and you sag as tension you didn't know you were holding races from you.
She shows you the bedroom last.
The bed is large, as is the display case with what can generously be called sex toys, and more reasonably called implements of torture. It's also piled with blankets and pillows and you throb at the concept of being allowed to sleep there. Not on the floor passed out and dying. In the bed. Like a person. The thought makes you salivate.
She smirks at you, knowingly.
“Would you like to earn space on the bed tonight, pet?" You try not to look too enthusiastic as you nod. Eyes down. Hands clasped. Playing nice. Please.
She has you sit on the floor as she leaves the room. In this warm room where you have not yet bled all over the floor, things almost seem peaceful. You should be afraid of this new rose tint. It was blood dripping in your eyes. She returns to the room, teeth barred in a vicious smile and lays the knife on the bed. You remember that she is a predator as the bell at your throat jingles as you tremble.