Ray Ch. 03: Charade

His head shifted, and she didn't shy away when he caught her observing his interaction. His smile faded just enough to acknowledge she knew his truth. He could continue his charming charade with the rest, but her life was spent unraveling the true masters of manipulation. The first time he had knelt at her feet she had shown him there was nowhere to hide.

"Are you here to take control of me?" he had asked, his eyes glancing up from under his brow at the small paddle in her hand.

"Your arms are as big as my legs, your hands as big as my head. I think you're in more of a position to take control than I am." Her head tilted, her hand resting the smooth wooden toy in her lap. "But if you want to give me the control, I'd be more than happy to take it from you."

His head lifted slightly, his eyes meeting hers. "That's what I'm here for."

"Is it?" She could see the thoughts spinning behind his eyes. Thinking. Scrambling. Scattering. And this was his problem. If the mind could be controlled, the body would follow.

"Yes, Mistress," he replied, but she only saw his lips move. There was no soul behind what he said. His soul was lost, and now she had to find it.

She stood up and went to one of the cabinets, then pulled out a long chain and wrist restraints.

"Please don't tie me up," he said from his place on his knees.

She paused. She had been told this was always his request when restraints were presented, so she had done her research before taking on the obnoxious, insubordinate Ray. She had thoroughly hung on every word every domme who had worked with him told her, each one stating he repeatedly requested not to be bound. She had torn through his file, read over every piece of paperwork he had filled out before going into training. Nowhere in all the pages had he listed it as a limit.

"Come," she said, sitting back down in the chair and patting her lap. It was an old fashioned position, but it still held an appealing stigma.

He crawled to her and bent over her, his soft length squishing into her bare thigh.

"Hands behind your back," she directed.

"Please don't tie me up, Mistress." His muscles tensed, but he put his hands in the position she requested.

"I'm going to put wrist restraints on you, and I'm going to run the chain through them and your collar, but I won't tighten it. Okay?"

She waited to proceed until the confirmation came from his lips. "Yes, Mistress."

She buckled the restraints around his wrists then spun his leather collar so the metal ring was positioned at the back of his neck. She ran the chain through the rings on the cuffs and the ring on his collar. The two ends coiled on the floor beneath her as she wrapped some of the slack around her wrist. When he pulled lightly to test the tension she let the chain run through her fingers, then took back some of the slack when he stopped pulling against it.

"Shhhh..." she purred, running her hand over his back. She picked up the wooden paddle and brought it down against his backside.

He jerked against the chain in response, almost ripping it out of her hand.

"No," she scolded, taking back some of the slack. "I want you to focus, and I want you to breathe. Can you do that?"

His body remained tense against hers, his hands balled into fists. "Yes, Mistress."

She brought the paddle down again. Pain wasn't her purpose, but pain overruled all other distractions of the mind. The paddle came down harder, bringing on a loud smack when it hit against his bare skin. "I want you to focus on how it feels," she said, wrapping the chain around her wrist once.

"It doesn't hurt," he replied, his hands jerking apart when the wood hit him again.

"I didn't ask if it hurt." She watched his body flinch with the impact. The sound of the chain running through the metal rings echoed in the large dungeon. As soon as he stopped pulling, she took back more of the slack.

"Focus..." Her voice was soft, meant to encourage, not demand.

"I'm trying, Mistress." He pulled against his bounds again, grunting as the paddle bruised his skin.

She stopped to caress his reddening flesh. "I know you're trying, and I'm going to help you be more successful." She reached between his legs and pulled his sac out behind him, looping the chain around it.

When the paddle resumed its assault on his flesh his hands pulled apart. The chain tightened instantly around his sac, punishing him for the movement. He grunted then jerked again, his body's immediate reaction to the shock of the pain.

"Relax." She kept her voice calm as he thrashed in her lap, desperately trying to break free without injuring himself. She let the chain run through her fingers, fast enough to prevent injury but slow enough to not deteriorate the bite. "Relax."

He continued his feeble fight, gasping and grunting each time the chain tightened. His hands shoved together as quickly as they pulled apart, his body trying to fight as his mind tried to extinguish the pain.

"Enough," she said, and began wrapping the chain repeatedly around her wrist. "That's enough."

His movements became smaller as the slack she allowed him became shorter, until finally he was still in her lap. His length pressed into her, throbbing against her leg.

The fingers on her free hand rubbed into his clenched fists until they opened to her touch. "Who's in control now?"

"You, Mistress," he whispered, frozen in her lap other than the heavy rise and fall of his back.

"That's right. You're mine now." She traced circles into his open palms while she listened to the sound of his desperate breath. "There's nothing left for you to think about but me." Her hand began to explore his body, careful to touch him everywhere he may not normally allow.

"Yes, Mistress." He sucked in a breath when her finger pushed inside him.

"See. It's all mine," she said, moving her hand to his sac.

"Yes, Mistress." His breath was still short, coming out in hot gasps.

"Relax." She pulled his length out behind him and ran her hand down it. "Breathe for me, Officer Ray."

He took a deep breath in then let it out slowly.

"Again."

He followed her orders, his muscles relaxing as his breath left his lungs.

She laid her head against his back, listening to the sound of his heart beating slightly slower than her own. "Don't stop breathing for me, Officer Ray."

*****************************

Two letters of resignation were sitting on her desk as she expected. She shoved them into her top drawer then went to get Ben's binder out of the closet. She wanted him gone as soon as possible and needed to start his discharge paperwork immediately so there would be no further delays.

"What are you doing with my file?" he asked from the doorway when she walked out of the closet. The plastic smile covered his face as he gestured towards the white binder in her hand.

She clutched the file to herself as if it was armor. "Is there something you need, Ben?" She continued to make her way to her desk, her stomach tightening when she felt the distance between them closing. "I have things I need to do."

"The social worker called me. Said you're evicting me." He took a step forward into the office. "I've only been here a little over a week. You haven't given me a chance—"

She paused at the front of her desk, set the binder down on top of it then turned towards him. "You had your chance. You broke the window—"

"I wanted some fresh air," he replied, taking two more steps towards her.

She held up her hand though she doubted it would stop his forward movement. "You ran away. I already told you before you were placed here any AWOL attempts would result in an automatic involuntary discharge from the program."

His smile beamed, his hands turning palms up in front of him. "I just wanted to go for an evening stroll."

"You assaulted two of my staff and me." Her heart pounded in her ears as he stopped a foot from where she stood, her desk preventing her from creating any more space between them.

His smile disappeared. "I should get a second chance."

"This program was your second chance, Ben."

He lunged forward, shoving her backwards into her desk and wrapping his hands around her neck. "Alias!" he hissed, spit flying from his mouth onto her face with the word.

Her hands clawed at his fingers, trying to pry them free so she could breathe.

"Say it!"

Her mouth was open, gasping for the breath he was denying her, but that word would not come from her lips. Not now, not ever.

"Say it!" he seethed again, loosening his grasp just enough to allow oxygen to flow into her lungs.

She sucked in as much air as she could with the small relief he was granting her then swung her arm out, sending the computer monitor crashing to the floor.

"Natalie?" she heard the two on duty staff calling her name. Their footsteps immediately began thudding up the stairs. "Are you okay?"

Her eyes burned into his even as her sight blackened. What did she have to fear? The loss of her life? She would take his with her when she went. If he killed her he would end up in prison for the rest of his life. There would be no more victims for him, victims who may have much more to lose than she did. "Ben," she choked out, watching his face redden with rage.

"Alias!" he screamed, tightening his hands around her neck. "And you're Temptress." His eyes widened, his fingers crushing into her skin.

The screams of her staff sounded in her ears, bringing with them the release of his hands from her neck. She crumpled to the floor and there she stayed, her vision darkening then lightening like waves of life coming and going from her soul.

***********************

He pulled on his t-shirt, checked once in his mirror to make sure his cage wasn't overly prominent under the running shorts, then went to answer his door.

"Hurry up," Garrett said from the doorstep. Jake stood next to him, his jogging shorts, shoes and shirt perfectly matched.

"I'm ready," he replied, shutting the door behind him. He twisted the key in the lock then shoved it into his pocket.

They took off, heading down the sidewalk towards the trail several blocks from his house. The sun was starting to sink lower in the sky to the west, leaving them about ninety minutes of light to complete their normal six mile run.

"How do you know Natalie Morris?" Jake asked, keeping pace alongside him.

"Is she one of your many girlfriends?" Garrett mocked.

"She's not my girlfriend." He didn't know what she was to him other than Mistress. "Why?"

Jake kept his eyes on the sidewalk ahead of him. "A woman possessing all three Bs is hard to find."

"Three Bs?" He had a feeling he already knew what the first two were, but was lost on the third.

"The only three Bs that matter when it comes to a woman," Jake said as if it was common knowledge. "Brilliant, ballsy and beautiful. And if you're not man enough to ask her out, I'm going to."

He wondered if Jake would be man enough to kneel when the time came. "Go for it."

"I wasn't asking permission," Jake said, playfully shoving him.

He stumbled two steps to the left into Garrett. When he regained his balance he slowed, their conversation finally catching up to him. "How do you know what she looks like?" Garrett had responded to the call the night he tackled the rapist to the ground, but Jake hadn't been there.

"I responded to the call yesterday," Jake replied.

His feet slowed again, his heart starting to pound as if it was already on its fifth mile. "What call?"

"That crazy guy that AWOLed the night you caught him 'cause you just so happened to be there went nuts again," Jake said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

The words brought him to a halt on the sidewalk, the other two men pausing beside him.

"He almost killed Natalie," Jake continued, turning towards him, "and AWOLed except this time we didn't catch him. He was long gone by the time we got there."

It felt like the air around him had caught fire, his lungs burning as he tried to inhale it. "What do you mean he almost killed her?"

"He tried to strangle her but one of the other girls who works there, Elise something, hit him over the head with a chair," Garrett explained, his expression grim. "He let Natalie go then took off."

Every sense in his body went numb. There was no more sound other than his feet hitting the pavement as he raced back to his house. There was no more sight other than the red taking over his field of vision. The only sensation he could feel was the rage seething through his veins.

He threw open the door to his car, always readily waiting at the curb of his garage-less house, and shoved the key into the ignition. He had never lost control, he had only handed it over to someone else, but he could feel his years of discipline disintegrating. He stepped on the gas pedal, skidding through a u-turn to head towards her house.

His heart was throbbing in his head, jarring his thoughts. He didn't have any doubts of his ability to kill a man with nothing but his own strength. He imagined how it would have felt if he had slammed the rapist's head into the hard lawn when he had caught him. Imagined how the devil's hair would have felt in his hand as he gripped it and the sound that would have bounced off the ground when the devil's head was slammed into it. But he knew if he had done it, it would have made him more of a coward than the rapist himself.

Her road was dark when he finally turned onto it, crossing over the broken center line to pull up to the curb in front of her house. He left his car parked in the wrong direction and ran to her door. When the teal wood swung open the rage and adrenaline were shoved aside by shock and grief. The purple around her pale neck formed almost perfect handprints, deepening in color where the fingers had pressed into her skin.

He didn't know what to say. He had spent his manic drive to her door thinking of the rapist and all the ways he wanted to get revenge to soothe his own anger. Never once had he thought about the most important thing- her. And now here he stood, with no idea what she needed or how she wanted him to avenge her. But how was he supposed to know when she refused to ever show him?

"Why didn't you call me?" he finally spit out, though it was far from the opening line he had intended.

"We did call the police," she replied, taking a bite off the square of food she held in her hand.

"You have my cell number," he countered, unable to tear his eyes away from her neck. "Why didn't you call me? I had to hear you were almost murdered from one of my coworkers!"

She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "Did you come here to yell at me?"

Maybe. He wasn't sure anymore. "No."

"If you came here to play, I'm not—"

"You know I didn't come here for that." He shook his head, appalled at her accusation.

She took another bite off the clump in her hand, then glanced over his shoulder.

He turned around but saw nothing but the dark street behind him. "What are you eating?" he asked, turning back towards her.

"A cookie," she replied, biting off another piece.

He stared at the object in her hand, then took a moment to contemplate the next words he would allow to come out of his lips. "That's not a cookie. That's cookie dough."

She shoved the rest of the square into her mouth. "I wasn't in the mood to bake them."

He pursed his lips together, telling himself she did let him know what she needed. He just didn't always listen. "Can I come in and make you something nutritious to eat?"

She stepped back inside the house, making her way towards the kitchen. She pulled out one of the barstools by the counter and climbed onto it.

He opened her refrigerator then took a deep breath. "There's no food in here." He shut the door and began pulling open her cabinets, though he didn't know what meal he could make which wouldn't require any perishable items. He quickly realized it didn't matter. She didn't have any non-perishables, either. "You don't have any food."

"I have cereal," she replied, pointing at the two boxes sitting in solitude in the cabinet above his head.

"You don't have any milk."

"I'm not a big milk drinker."

He pressed his palms into the counter opposite of where she was seated. "You know what sounds good?" he started, watching her shove more dough into her mouth. "Pizza from the Cheesecake Factory. And I hear their Reese's Peanut Butter Cheesecake is phenomenal—"

"Are you trying to manipulate me?" Her eyes narrowed and she set down the package of dough in front of her.

"Are you always this difficult?" he asked, holding his ground.

She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin, the wounds on her neck prominent under the fluorescent lights. "Absolutely."

He smiled, the ache between his legs returning. His warrior had not been broken. She could never be broken. "Please let me take you to dinner, Mistress."

*****************

The feel of his eyes on her as she slid her jacket off her shoulders brought with it the only comfort she had felt since almost losing her life. He always looked at her like she was flawless, like she truly was the person she tried so hard to be. She began unwrapping the scarf from her neck then paused, leaving it in place to cover her wounds.

"I don't understand how you go to that house without any way to protect yourself," he said, picking up the menu.

It wasn't the first time he had asked her that question, and even with his frustrated tone she knew it came from a place of concern. "It's a treatment program. It's not a prison. My staff aren't officers of the law, and neither am I."

"Then how are these men there?" he asked, setting his menu back down on the table and running his hand over his face. "They're criminals."

"Our judicial system believes a person's heart is worth more time than their soul." She lightly touched the fabric wrapped around her neck. "As long as the victim's heart remains beating, the time the perpetrator serves for crushing their soul is usually significantly less."

"So the men in your program have served their time?"

"Not exactly." She took a sip of her water, contemplating where to start. "Serial killers are locked away for life. People have decided they can't be helped and the risk of trying is too great."

"You can't cure a serial killer," he said, shoving the condiment caddy from the center of the table to the side.

"I agree." Her hands moved from the table to her lap, the sound of the pop coming from her knuckles muffled by the loud restaurant. "Do you know how similar the minds of serial killers and predatory sexual offenders are? Psychologically speaking..."

He shook his head and pressed his lips together.

"They're almost interchangeable." A silhouette behind him caught her attention. Her heart stopped until she realized the man's face wasn't the one she was looking for. "Do you know what the recidivism rates for predatory sex offenders are?"

"I'd imagine very high," he replied, glancing over his shoulder.

She scolded herself for her paranoid behavior. Even if Ben did show up here, her Ray was here. "Almost as high as I imagine the recidivism rates for serial killers would be if we let them go." She reached up to loosen the scarf around her neck, hoping it was the reason she was beginning to feel like she was suffocating. "But we don't let serial killers go. They don't get options of probation, regardless of how many years they spend in prison without killing anyone."

"It's easy for a serial killer to maintain good behavior in prison," he said with a slight smile. "Not many easy opportunities to kill people, and none without a high probability of getting shot."

"Exactly." She watched the curve of his mouth, always so hungry for her own. If she was a different person, now would be when she would lean over the table and press her lips to his, allowing his kiss to run off the thoughts from her head. But he would never kneel to Natalie, and she couldn't always be Mistress Natalia. "There aren't enough opportunities for a predatory sex offender to reoffend in prison, so when the time for probation rolls around they get out on good behavior. Once they're back in society, back in the land of opportunity, they can't maintain."