SLAVERY

When Clara awoke, she was wrapped tightly in Damien's arms. His body was hot, but no sweat clung to his skin. She shifted slightly and his eyes popped open. They looked so instantly clear that she raised her brows.

"You weren't asleep?"

"I do not sleep, Clara."

"Never?" The idea seemed totally outlandish to her.

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'no rest for the wicked?'" He grinned down at her charmingly. "That was first written about me, of course. The Lord of Darkness never sleeps."

"But you were here the whole time I was asleep?"

He shrugged, flexing his fingers against her back. "I told you before that it would be no chore to spend the day with you in my arms."

They sat in silence for several moments. Clara couldn't stop thinking about Damien spending hours in bed with her, not for sex and not to sleep. What did that say about him? It filled her chest with a strange sensation to dwell on it, so she pushed the thoughts aside and sat up in bed.

"What do you plan to do to me tonight?" She knew her change of subject was obvious but he didn't comment on her non sequitur.

"Slavery," he sat up behind her and purred the word into her ear. She shivered both from the carnal way he let the word slip off his tongue and from the feel of his warm breath whispering across her ear. "But I thought I would give you a little choice before I strip you of all self governing."

"Oh?" she looked at him over her shoulder, strangely touched by his thoughtfulness.

"I want you to pick. I can either create a scene for us, one in which you will not be aware of who I am until we are done- perhaps I will plant memories of a kidnapping in your head, then have you sold to me at an auction?- or you can become my slave for the night here, in hell, with full knowledge of your surroundings."

"Wh-what would I be doing? As your slave, I mean?"

"Whatever I tell you," he replied smoothly. "Everything, without hesitation. Or else there will be punishment." She shivered, but even as the fear coursed through her, so did a throb of anticipation in her core. "Make your choice." He sounded more curious than impatient. She considered carefully. Then she shrugged and smiled a little.

"Since we're going with quotes today, how about, 'better the devil you know than the devil you don't?'"

Damien chuckled and kissed her shoulder, then rose. He snapped his fingers and his immaculate black suit was once more in place. Just as Clara was thinking she'd like to be able to do that trick, he snapped again and she was suddenly wearing a blood-red leather outfit, complete with stiletto boots. When she stood, she peeked under the skin tight pants and saw lacey boyshorts. Under the corset there was nothing.

Damien walked behind her and slipped something around her neck. She lifted her hands and realized he was putting a collar on her. If the color of her outfit was any indication, it was probably the collar she'd worn her very first night with him. He buckled it and clipped a leash to it.

"Are you ready?" he whispered in her ear. She straightened and nodded. Now or never. He snapped the leash smartly and started to walk to the door. After only a moment's hesitation, she followed. "You are to stay three steps behind me at all times, slave," he ordered harshly. Gone was the sometimes tender man she saw between sexual encounters. In his place stood her demonic master. "You are never to look me in the eye. You will speak only when spoken to by me, and never to another under any circumstances. If you let the leash go taut, there will be consequences. If you step ahead of me, there will be consequences. If you look at me, talk to me without permission, or do anything that displeases me, there will be consequences. Do you understand? Answer yes or no."

"Yes, Master," she murmured demurely. She lowered her head and waited. From her peripheral vision she saw him nod once and then start off.

They walked through the halls for several minutes. Even in her high heels, she wasn't nearly as tall as him. The boots did, however, make her stumble once. His pace had picked up and as she strove to keep up with him without letting the leash go tight, she lost her balance slightly. Damien was at her side quicker than a lightning strike. He gripped her shoulders to steady her. Surprised, her eyes had flashed to him and caught a glimpse of concern, then a millisecond of a smirk before they hardened. She dropped her gaze instantly. His grip on her shoulder tightened for a moment. The gesture seemed filled with meaning. Solidarity, knowing she'd broken the rules but he was willing to give her a break. Apology, regret that he'd caused her to stumble. Ownership, making it very clear that she was his and his alone.

She stayed perfectly silent as he waited a moment. He seemed to be almost challenging her, tempting her to look at him again. She kept her head lowered and her eyes on her boots. Then, he started off once more. They passed several demons in the hall. They all wore their human facade. Clara made a note to herself to tell Damien that they didn't have to do that for her any longer. She'd seen demonic forms and still retained her sanity. There was no need for them to disguise themselves on her account. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she realized she only had one more night in hell. What difference did one more night make?

As the thought flitted through her mind, a strange sadness came with it. She peeked up at Damien from behind. His eyes were turned forward, but even still she looked back at the ground before he caught her. The image of his profile stayed in her mind, though. He was handsome, that much was for certain. Strong beyond any strength a mortal man could hope to obtain. He was hard and demanding, but also charming and witty. He had been surprisingly honest with her so far, considering he was the King of Lies. He'd made almost all of her sexual fantasies come to life. Somehow, the thought of going back to her own world, her own routine and life, the day after next seemed...unsatisfying.

Walking through the halls of his palace in hell wearing a collar and acting docile under threat of punishment, she ought to be counting down the seconds until she was freed, not thinking she would miss this- miss him- when her time here was at an end.

She recognized a few of the demons they passed as they walked. Thankfully, none of the ones that had fucked her in the prostitution night. But she saw the men she'd passed the night Jarod had walked her to the room where Damien had turned in to his beastly self. She saw the one that had startled her just before the start of the voyeurism night. She recognized the faces, knew some of the personalities. And she thought, no, hell isn't so bad...

They went through a large door that opened out into a cavernous room. It had ceilings that seemed to stretch up forever and was filled with demons. They milled around, each with a task at hand. At the front of the room was a huge, ornate throne. She recognized it as the one Damien had sat on as he watched her being fucked. Her breath caught at the memory, but she didn't let it affect her behavior. As they walked through the room, the demons stopped and bowed deeply to Damien, then inclined their heads respectfully at her. Surprised, she blinked and fought the urge to speak. She was being led by a collar- why were they acting deferentially to her?

When Damien reached the throne he sat down, then indicated a cushion on the floor next to it. "Kneel," he ordered softly. She took her place on the black cushion and sat back on her heels. At first she kept her head down, eyes on the floor. After a few minutes she lifted her head an inch, then another. She glanced out to the room. When Damien didn't rebuke her, she lifted her head all the way and watched the demons work. Even still, she carefully kept herself from meeting Damien's eyes.

He had looped the end of her leash over a knot on the handle of the throne and seemed to be paying her very little attention. Despite his seeming indifference to her, Clara felt his eyes on her occasionally. In a few minutes, Jarod approached the foot of the throne then stopped, waiting for permission. Damien beckoned the demon forward. Jarod stood to Damien's left, opposite of Clara, but he glanced at her.

"All seems to be in order, m'lord."

"Indeed," Damien agreed. "Damnation is so much smoother than it appears in the mortal media." Jarod chuckled, then his expression turned serious.

"Should we be expecting another...incident?" He shifted, glanced at Clara, then back to Damien.

"Is that your delicate way of asking if I plan to strip my little slave here and offer her to the masses, Jarod?" As he spoke, Damien caressed the top of Clara's head, then let the long dark strands of her hair slide through his fingers.

"M'lord," was all Jarod said in reply.

Damien laughed. "I believe my generosity to share her has run out. Permanently." He looked from Jarod, to Clara who stayed perfectly silent, then back to Jarod. "Have you taken a liking to my little pet, old friend?" His tone was casual, but there was an underlying ominousness to it. "Developed at partiality to her?"

"I would never be so dishonorable as to covet what is yours, m'lord," Jarod said formally.

"But?" This time, Damien's tone was much more amiable. Now that his possessiveness had been soothed, he seemed honestly curious what Jarod was thinking.

"She suits you, m'lord."

"And? Come now, be honest with me, old friend."

"I....like her, m'lord. I believe, were she sitting in a throne beside you, rather than kneeling at your feet, she would make a magnificent and fearsome queen to your domain."

"Are you suggesting I search for a wife and set up with a picket fence?" Damien chuckled dismissively.

"If the latter were the iron bars of hell, I am merely suggesting that your search for the former would clearly be over." He bowed deeply, smiled at Clara, then backed away. Damien continued to stroke Clara's head, almost thoughtfully. Her own mind raced. Had Jarod just implied what she thought he'd implied? That she would make a fitting wife to the devil and queen of hell? Could the devil even get married? The idea boggled her mind. It should have been repugnant to her, even the possibility of it. But suddenly her head was filled with images of herself dressed in a seductive, opulent blood red dress, seated in a throne much like the one Damein sat in now. Him at her side, holding her hand as all the demons of hell bowed to them. The image shifted to the bedroom. She stripped off the dress to reveal a corset and stockings of the same color and style. She knelt at Damien's feet, lowering her face and tipping her head slightly to the right exposing her neck submissively. He lifted her to her feet, grabbed her hair roughly and bent her over the bed. He entered her in one hard thrust, making them both call out in pleasure...

Clara shook her head to clear it of the visions. That wasn't her future. Not only was the idea of the devil taking a wife ludicrous, but it wouldn't be what she wanted. In another night, she would return to her own life. Ruling hell with the devil and spending her nights in his bed wasn't her future. Life was. Normal....boring....life. She closed her eyes and tried to stop her thoughts all together. They were simply too confusing.

"Wine, my lord?" A demon in a smart grey suit approached Damien and bowed.

"My slave can get it," Damien said casually and waved the demon away. When he was gone, Damien jerked lightly on her leash to get her attention. He pointed to a tray across the room. "Bring me my wine," he ordered. When she gave a nod of understanding, he unclipped the leash from her collar and gestured for her to stand and go. Clara got to her feet and walked to the wine. After pouring him a glass, she returned, knelt in front of him and offered the glass with her head bowed. Damien took it slowly. "So well behaved, my little slave. Maybe I won't have to punish you after all." He drank the wine down and handed the glass back to her. "Another."

As she stood, Clara caught a flash of his eyes. There was a glint in them. A challenge? As she walked to the table and refilled the glass. Did he want her to misbehave? So that he could punish her? ...did she want him to? Something dark and sinful stirred within her at the thought of what punishments he would have in store for her. She thought back to the spanking he'd given her on their BDSM night.

Yes, she wanted it.

She walked back quickly, and was at his side again in a moment. Before she could lose her nerve or think better of it, she paused at the side of the throne. Do it, she told herself. Now! She dropped the glass. Before it hit the floor, Damien's hand shot out and captured it out of the air. Not even a drop of wine spilled.

He looked up at her, met her eyes. Smiled wickedly. Then he let the glass drop.