The Fight I Could Never Win Ch. 05

Soft, white light. Opening my eyes felt like a novelty as I floated back into consciousness. I felt a vague sense of calm, contrasting to a half-remembered torment of exertion. That didn't matter now. I was warm, a little stiff, but comfortable. A few dull aches reminded me of their existence, but the idea that anything could hurt right now simply seemed out of place. Wherever I was, I liked it there.

The slow, deep rise and fall of my chest seemed to set an unhurried rhythm to the moment, whatever the moment was. I felt a smile seep across my face, for some reason I knew that this sort of comfort was something I had not had the chance to appreciate for quite some time. As my eyes wandered across a white room, watching it slowly come into focus, I wondered why that could be. Everything seemed just fine. What problem could I possibly have to trouble me?

I lazily continued my dreamlike survey of my surroundings, managing to extrapolate that I was in a bed, nothing too elaborate, a bit smaller than most, but certainly not uncomfortable. The room was fairly sparse, at least to the left, where my head was pointed. A table with a few pill bottles, some shelves on the wall with similar containers- was I in a hospital? The thought seemed revelatory for an instant, but it made sense. After all, I saw the world through one eye, only feeling the sensation of bandages over the other. It was still there, of course, but the fact that I was injured unsettled me. This was definitely some sort of medical facility.

I knew that whatever my injuries were could not have been serious. Even so, the question refused to leave my mind: why was I here? What had happened? Although the pleasant haze in my mind did not permit any real distress, I still came to the conclusion that further investigation was required. Lazily, I turned my head to take in the other side of the room.

Nothing too remarkable here, either. A small window, another shelf, a figure sitting in a chair, some sort of desk. The figure seemed familiar, important. Working to focus, I made out a few more details. Female, definitely, if on the tall side. Long hair, pulled back into something or other. Unignorable chest. My senses seemed to sharpen, almost as if in anticipation. I was a lot closer to normal consciousness, an almost instantaneous change.

Although still slow, my breathing felt just a bit less placid. Full lips. Wearing red, dark red, some sort of dress. Gloves. This seemed familiar. Legs crossed, dark stockings, maybe even boots. What looked like a glass of wine, also red, in one black-clad hand. The gloves were long, reaching above the elbow to a very noticeable bicep. And an impressive tricep. Feminine, powerful, a pattern that continued to the deltoid, the firm, powerful contours of the shoulder. I knew this woman.

All of a sudden, my reverie was over. The last traces of the drugs were gone from my body, thankfully. That nightmare was solidly in the past. I still did feel generally comfortable, and the pleasant warmth of the bed was right where I had left it, but the fuzzy, blurred train of thought and the misty sight were both gone. I must have finished the fight, and I had probably been sedated. Naturally, she was nearby, presumably for the express purpose of some sort of gloating.

I winced as I remembered the events immediately before the fight. While I was no longer able to tell myself that I wasn't attracted to her, that sort of display remained utterly out of the question. Knowing that I had revealed myself so completely without a trace of hesitation was a lump of lead in my stomach. She knew now, if she somehow hadn't already, and there was no concealing the fact anymore.

More than anything else, I wanted solitude. It was immediately clear that I was not likely to be so blessed in the foreseeable future. A long, pinched exhale failed to release any of my tension along with the air. It occurred to me that she must, by then, have been aware that I was awake. Not only was I going to be subjected to another one of our encounters, I was expected to make the first move.

I was staring, and I knew it, lying lifelessly on my back with my face pointed to the right. My eyes still fixated on the woman who had become a constant, looming presence in my life, the woman who had taken away my willpower, reduced me to her "slave" and left me, thus far, with no evidence to the contrary. I let a small sigh leave my mouth, conceding to the inevitable. I had to say something. The sooner I began the conversation, or whatever else I was going to suffer through, the sooner it would be over. Deep breath.

"I'm..."

This was surprisingly difficult, like speaking through a pillow. I wondered just how long I had been asleep.

"I'm a... awake."

"Hmmm. Well, given the circumstances, I suppose I can let your shameful lack of courtesy go unnoticed, just this once."

She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, placing one leather-clad thigh over the other and adjusting herself in the chair, as if making herself comfortable in the throne of the underworld. The same demonic smile, which never failed to remind me of a cat with a cornered, exhausted mouse, was imperiously pointed in my direction, punctuated by a small sip from the wineglass.

"That doesn't mean I don't expect you to atone for your transgression, Champion. Go on, I know you remember the proper courtesy. Just like last time, dear."

I was not conscious enough to properly handle the full impact of her voice. Floating through my ears like unholy incense, brushing against my desires with a soft, teasing assertiveness, it left me breathless for a moment, just as irresistibly as the sedative had a few minutes ago.

Unlike the sedative, however, this came with a compulsion. I could not simply ignore her instructions, after all. Dimly aware as I was of my own dismay at slipping so easily back under her spell, my own voice quickly came to occupy center stage.

"My apologies, Mistress. I simply wished to inform you that your servant has awakened."

Where the hell did that come from? I had never sunk to that level of submission, not even when she had a knife to my throat. She had not, for once, so much as suggested the possibility of physical enforcement, yet I was even more compliant than before. Shaking my head, which resulted in a barely-perceptible wiggle thanks to the numbing effects of whatever substance had been put into me now, I resolved to at least try to maintain a semblance of dignity.

"Much better, much better. I'm glad to see that you know your place, even when you're too sedated to lift an arm. I'm surprised, though: you don't seem quite as... happy to see me as you did earlier."

Not only had she penetrated to my biggest internal sore spot with one stroke, she gleefully twisted the knife, holding the painful memory of my temporary madness before my eyes with unsettlingly melodic, youthful tones. With one sparkling, effortless sentence, she made it completely clear that I would not be allowed to forget my chemically warped lust for one second, not while she was around to enjoy my suffering.

"That's what Slice does. I would have been exactly the same with anyone else, especially with the way things... happened."

I had wanted to be far more direct, to tell her that her captivating, extraordinarily forceful style of temptation had been the main reason, but that somehow felt wrong for the situation, unfitting for someone of her stature. The fact that I thought of the matter in those terms only served to raise further questions, but a fluid glissando of a laugh, the sound that had rung in my ears far too often over the past few days, drove out any such doubts.

"Who do you think is going to believe you when you can't even swallow it yourself? We both know how obvious it is that you're lying to me. Even now, some part of you is screaming for more of what I gave you. Just watch."

Smirking, she switched the crossing of her legs again. This time, however, she left them open for just a moment longer than was absolutely necessary, giving me a fleeting but undeniable revelation: as impressive as her outfit was, underwear were not a component of the ensemble. I could feel my heartbeat surge, not like the fevered drumbeat of before, but enough to make my throat catch. She was right. One glimpse was enough to remind me exactly how I felt about her body.

"Exactly what I thought. Already longing for another look, aren't you? I wonder, just what would you do for a taste of heaven? Although, love, that's ignoring a much more important fact- that was dishonest earlier, as you well know. I don't think a slave like you is in any position to be lying to his mistress, is he? I was charitable last time, but I'm afraid I simply can't repeat the favor now that you're properly awake."

I recognized the slight shift in tone, the predatory pride: her sadism was unmistakable in its terrible glory. Each word dripped with anticipation, the joy of control. This was going to hurt. I had no escape of any kind, and I would have been just as helpless even in good health. Nearly paralyzed, I was a blank canvas for what would be, presumably, a genuine masterwork of suffering.

Just as in my apartment earlier, fear did not hold the monopoly on my thoughts that it should have. As she stood, her perfectly toned body providing a fresh view with every rippling movement, I was more awestruck than anything else. Her figure was a marvel, more impressively powerful than most men's, yet more gorgeously feminine than most women's. Muscularity made for a curve of the hips that was unattainable by any other means, an enticingly narrow waist made all the more appealing by its contrast with a strongly angled torso.

Setting her glass on a convenient table, she closed the distance between us with a few sensual strides, each step sending the impact of sharp heel on tile floor echoing through the room for an instant. My face was around waist level, allowing for an irresistible view with only a slight eye movement upwards. Naturally, I had little time to enjoy my visual delight, swallowing in apprehension at the menacing grin that floated across her face, baring ivory-white teeth and chilling me to the bone.

"I suppose medical types didn't know any better, thinking you deserved some sort of modesty. This blanket really is above your stature for the time being, I think. Oh, is that a hint of embarrassment I see? Is there something under there that you'd rather keep private?"

Thankfully, I was far from the excruciating, pulsing hardness that she could, I was sure, induce at will. Be that as it may, I was also most certainly not flaccid, not after seeing her like this, not after her flaunting what was already more than visible.

She picked up the edge of the blanket between a gloved thumb and forefinger, like an unsavory rag.

"Well, after such impoliteness, you really leave me with no choice. I've been looking forward to this- so far, you really haven't given me proper cause to exercise discipline, have you?"

With that, the thin layer of cloth between my body and the rest of the world was snatched away. I could do nothing to hide myself from her gaze, flat on my back and unable to move. My gut anxiously clenched as the fact sunk in that I was completely and totally at her mercy, even more so than before.

"Still more of your unabashed perversion, I see. How pitiful."

One finger running along the underside, pausing for a moment at the glans, sent a shiver up my spine. That was no leather glove, as I had thought. The touch of satin was an unexpectedly strong sensation, and I could feel the hot expansion, grimacing as she dragged my desires into the light of day.

Curling her upper lip in aristocratic disgust, she made her next move, allowing me another tragically short look below as she brought her knee to my bare chest, leaning forward, using enough weight for me to feel the laces against my sternum. I exhaled hard, surprised at the sudden pressure.

Almost immediately, I made the discovery that her instep was in close contact with my full set of genitalia. A subtle but unignorable press inward made it clear that she had made the same revelation. Ignoring that unconfrontable advantage for now, she leaned forward, the fingers of a supporting hand pressing into the flesh of my chest, probing for sore spots with a touch that was certainly not what anyone would describe as gentle.

Finding a suitable purple blotch, two fingers dug in hard, sending a dull wave of pain through my ribcage. She laughed as I grimaced, enjoying my first moment of pain. Her touch was almost paradoxically soft as she tilted my head to face her, flat on the bed as the rest of my body. Her hand left my face with a tender caress, lingering on my cheek for a moment.

From the new angle, I found myself suddenly confronted with her face. High, regal cheekbones and a decadent, deep red shade of lipstick were more than enough to keep me speechless. However, in that moment, even her exquisite, lethally enticing features were swept from my mind. I realized what was different about this encounter. For the first time, dark lenses were not involved: I could see her eyes.

The reason she had kept such a powerful weapon in reserve was utterly beyond me. I had never seen green eyes like that before. The shade looked like something that belonged in a crystal bottle on the back shelf of some nightmare apothecary. They seemed to glow, like a deadly poison with a mind of its own. Lit up with sadistic pleasure, these would have been perfectly at home overseeing, with delight, the endless expanse of hell itself.

From her expression, it was clear that she had noticed my revelation. Soft laughter made its way out from behind a bemused, supremely confident smile. Still smiling like a child with a new toy, she leisurely wrapped her fingers around my throat, each digit gracefully curving into place. Her satin grip closed with just enough pressure to make breathing a noticeable task as she leaned even closer, her face almost touching mine.

"What are you so happy about, slave?"

I could feel the heat of her breath on my lips, only inches from hers. More importantly, though, I could feel the increase of pressure from her foot. I clenched my molars as my testicles suddenly were forced into close contact with my thigh. Disturbingly, the force also made it apparent that I had, somewhere along the line, reached a near-full erection. I was chemically affected to the point of barely being able to move, and I had had virtually nothing to enjoy about the experience up to this point, excepting a few undeniably pleasant views, all of which made the state of my penis a near-total surprise. With that, I could no longer believably tell myself that I was entirely suffering. As much as I hated to admit it, as much as I wished that things were different, what she did seemed like a gift whether it hurt or not. Whatever remnant of pride I had was snuffed like a dying candle. I could protest to myself all I liked, but my own body would not let me forget that, on some level, I had just conceded defeat.

"Answer me- why is that hard? Do you... enjoy this?"

Her cool, reassured tone made it thoroughly clear that she already knew the answer, and a knotty feeling in the pit of my stomach agreed with her. The grip on my throat tightened, I could feel my pulse pounding against her steely fingers. Any more, and breathing would become truly difficult. This obstacle was not going to be an excuse for silence, as I was reminded by a fresh glint in the infinitely desirable, poisonous green of her eyes.

"Yes, I do, Mistress."

"Well, in that case, I'm granting you a gift, aren't I? As far as you're concerned, this is a blessing. I can tell. Deny it all you like, but every touch is ecstasy, no matter how much it hurts... especially with how much it hurts. Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong."

She cocked her head in mock expectation, letting the silence have a free moment before plunging me back into her control.

"That didn't sound like you trying to argue- good, you've admitted that much. Your manners really are despicable, though: what do you do when someone gives you something wonderful?"

I shut my eyes tight for a second, knowing what I had to say but not entirely prepared to take the next step and say it. Nonetheless, the compulsion inside me knew what it wanted, what I wanted, perhaps.

"Than- thank you, Mistress."

I forced out the words as best I could, hoping that my few stumbles would go unnoticed, or at least unpunished. To my immense relief, this seemed to be taken as a cue to transition. More or less unceremoniously, she stood up. The heat of her mouth seemed to linger in the air even after the intense weight of her knee left my chest. I was amazed by how much I noticed the freedom to breathe properly, with both my throat and lungs left to their own devices.

Even in my moment of relative comfort, I was not so naïve as to think that she was anywhere near finished. I simply consigned myself to my fate, feeling the few weak rumblings of dignity and outrage as if through a dense jacket. I lacked the willpower to be properly disgusted with myself, especially in the face of what was quickly becoming genuine apprehension about what came next.

That thought had barely crossed my mind when I heard an unfamiliar, metallic sound. She was experimentally contorting the first finger of her left hand, which was covered in something that looked like it had been cut from the gauntlet of a knight's armor. Polished to a mirror shine and culminating in a wicked point, this was clearly intended for my body.

With the touch of a button on the frame, she raised the bed slightly. My breath quickened as she draped her chest against my stomach, the warm flesh sending me to a paradise all its own. For a split second, I realized that her breasts were, without a shade of doubt, completely natural, even at their fairly impressive size. She turned to look straight at me, a stare which I, of course, returned, turning my eyes as far down as they would go to take in her menacing grin.

Almost lazily, the plated finger made its way to my chest, tracing a thin, scarlet line before I had time to notice the pain. Baring her teeth even further, she gave the sharp sensation another dimension. I had prepared myself for a few possible flavors of touch. None of those preparations was remotely helpful in dealing with a sudden grip on my still-hard member. I felt myself surge to my full size as I watched a tiny red droplet roll down my chest and onto the white sheet. Oddly, the sting of the cut seemed to be a complement to the squeeze below, like a rich wine perfectly paired to a succulent dinner.

"Wonderful. I do believe you're beginning to understand yourself. Enlightenment feels good, I'm sure."

This came in a low purr, just barely audible, but ringing in my ears all the same. Before I could finish deciding whether or not I was expected to respond, another sharp pain on my chest forced out a pained groan. This was a lot deeper than the first one, or at least it certainly felt that way. Jarringly, I felt my eyes roll with a pleasure I myself had not had time to notice. As the terrifyingly sharp point dug into my chest, a firm squeeze sent waves of something wonderful down my penis and through my spine. Even my nearly-paralyzed thigh muscles managed a few ecstatic twitches.

The pain in my chest was easy to ignore with the accompanying rush of ecstasy, brief as it was. Each crimson line earned me one more moment of pressure, sometimes even a slight pump. Soon, I could no longer care what exactly gave me the feeling, I just knew that I liked it. I wanted more. Under the circumstances, I could not bring myself to object to a few cuts, watching little streams of red roll down my chest with something verging on fascination.