It feels soooo good to change others like this, and while Orchid can't make her feel like this all the time, not without her there to stifle the feedback loop that... hm. Orchid has an interesting idea, one she can maybe try. And Orchid can always put it back if it doesn't work, can't she? And the slave wants it, and it's such a clever idea, wiring up the nerves so that each successive signal can't loop back, making the signal weaker each times, fading in only a few dozen iterations to make sure there's nothing new with some careful applications of neurotransmitters... there. Orchid moans softly as she works, enjoying it, enjoying being clever, and then squeezes the slave's ankle to test it out. Not as painful or drawn out as what Orchid has been doing, and it has an interesting tendency to move along the nerve pipelines towards the spine and brain rather than spread out evenly, but fixing that would take more time then she really should spend. (Orchid was ordered to follow, she has to obey her Master. She loves obeying her Master and can't wait to do anything he wants her to do.) This is a very clever and interesting result, and Orchid enjoyed the challenge. She lets go of the slave, smiling lustfully at her, purring, "There, hope that's what you wanted," before turning to crawl quickly after her Master, wiggling her body sexily as she moved, just in case he came back down to see her.

She's too busy crying with pain to answer, but her power does it for her. The dungeon shifts around Orchid, the stone floor softening under her, opening up and blurring away so that every step she crawls takes her twice, three times, four times as far as it should, whisking her up the stairs to let her catch up with Master right away. The light around her is bright and warm and the air smells like honey and wildflowers. (It all fades away as soon as the door opens between the stairs and the office; the office has a way it's supposed to be, and no extraneous perfume is involved.)

Meanwhile, the girl hangs from the ceiling, feeling ripples of pain echo through her from Orchid's touch. She's glad she asked. At least she managed to do one thing right. She is under no illusion that this makes her any better, any less of a worthless irredeemable fuckup who deserves to suffer, but... at least she managed to do one thing right. At least she got Orchid to make her pain a little bit worse, make her a little easier to punish.

She waits, and hurts, and waits.

The chain she's hanging from releases her abruptly. She falls, landing awkwardly in a crumpled heap on the floor, and curls up and shakes and cries as the pain of her new bruises races back and forth under her skin. The ripples cross over each other and tangle up and weave themselves together into little braids of lightning flashing up her spine, and it doesn't stop, it just keeps going, starting anew every time she moves enough to jostle an injured part.

She takes deep breaths. If she's not tied up and Master isn't here and the dungeon isn't moving her on its own then the thing she has to do is go back to her proper place in the central room, and crawl into her cage or onto her ice-cold slab of stone or whatever else is waiting for her there. She can do that. Even though moving hurts and breathing hurts and existing hurts. She doesn't deserve to just lie here and rest. She has—to get—up.

It takes her a few minutes to straighten herself out well enough to get up on her hands and knees. The pressure of the floor underneath her feels like tiny knives stabbing up into her body wherever it touches the stone, worse the more of her weight is leaning on a single spot. She crawls. She doesn't need to worry about direction; her power will straighten the path for her.

The stone is hard and rough, scraping her palms and her legs as she forces herself to move forward. Every scrape, every jostle, sends new trickles of pain flowing up through her body. She gets weaker as she crawls. How long has she been doing this? Is she bleeding? It's too dark to see. Time has no meaning here anyway, except when someone visits her. It doesn't matter. She has to keep moving forward.

As she moves, the floor gets rougher. Its unevenness trips her up, making her stumble into unexpected holes or bruise herself on unexpected lumps. The pain echoes up her limbs until she almost can't feel the new bumps and bruises in the chaotic noise of the old—almost. She still notices each fresh jolt of pain as it happens.

Eventually, she can't make her hands support her any longer, and she has to crawl on knees and elbows, then wriggle like a worm when her legs get too shaky to hold up her weight. Good. She is a worm. She should crawl like one. A worthless little worm, not even good enough to call herself a slut.

There's a dim light up ahead. Probably that's the central room; her power isn't letting her feel it, of course, so she can't know for sure. It looks so far away, barely visible in the distance. She worms her way toward it, inch by inch. There's no visible sign of progress, no sense that the light is getting any closer, to the point where it feels like she isn't moving at all, but she doesn't, she can't let herself rest. She keeps moving. She can feel blood drying on her skin, smeared all over her body, from the countless cuts and scrapes she's given herself in dragging herself along this rough stone floor. But she's not in her proper place yet, so she has to keep going. No matter how much it hurts. No matter how tired she is, how weak. No matter that it feels like she's going to collapse before she manages to drag herself another inch. If she's going to collapse, then she'll collapse. She's not stopping for anything less.

Is the light a little closer now? Maybe. Hard to tell. She can't remember how far away it looked last time she managed to lift her head. For all she knows, it's gotten farther.

She keeps moving.

Her scrapes sting and her muscles ache and her bruises throb and it all twists together into ropes of pain that feel like they're wrapping around her spine and strangling all other sensation, drowning out the sound of her own ragged sobbing breaths. She doesn't need other sensation anyway. She needs to suffer, to be punished, to hurt, and she needs—to keep—moving.

First she notices that it's dark again, and then she notices that this is because she's closed her eyes. She struggles to open them, and perceives a brief, blurry glow ahead. It definitely seems brighter than before. Maybe she really is getting closer. Or maybe her power is going to take it away again and make her crawl twice the distance she's already covered before she gets there. It's happened before. The only difference is that now everything hurts a lot more, which is good, it's right, it's what she wanted, what she asked for. She should be glad her power is making such good use of this new way to torture her. She's too tired to be glad. All the energy she's got is going into the endless agonizing toil of dragging herself across the rough stone floor.

Time passes. She has no idea how much.

The floor gets a little smoother, finally. She blinks sweat and tears from her eyes, tries to focus. It's brighter all around her now. She spares a little energy to lift her head and look forward, to see if she's finally in sight of her goal.

And there it is. A low central platform, rising just a few inches up out of the floor, and an open cagelike structure on top of it, made of dark metal and shaped like a snow angel and covered in dozens of small blunt inward-pointing spikes.

When she sees it, she freezes, and then hates herself for freezing. Awful useless garbage cunt who doesn't even have the courage to torture herself like she knows she deserves, come on—

One hand inches forward. She can't pull herself along the floor by grabbing the uneven parts of the stone anymore, so she just puts her sticky bloodstained palm down flat on the floor and tries to pull that way. She moves, maybe, a fraction of an inch forward. She reaches a little farther and does it again.

Getting up onto the platform is the work of what feels like hours. Those few inches of height might as well be a forty-foot cliff, in terms of her ability to climb them. But she does it, somehow, though it feels impossible.

She collapses, shaking, at the foot of the cage. She doesn't feel like she can move. She doesn't feel like she'll ever be able to move again.

But she's not done.

So she moves, somehow, pulling herself up by the last threads of her faltering will. Everything hurts. And it's only going to hurt worse when she gets inside of that thing. And once she's inside it, her power is just going to hurt her even more while she's trapped and helpless and too exhausted to struggle. The thought of that fills her with ice-cold terror, makes her want to curl up into a ball and never move again, but instead she reaches up and grabs the edge of the cage and clumsily pulls herself into a sitting position on the floor. And then, without allowing herself a moment to rest, she heaves herself up into it.

If only that was enough. If only she could rest here, curled up awkwardly on the lattice of spiked metal. But it's not, and she knows it's not. She can see the shape she's meant to make, lying inside of this thing, flat on her back with her arms and legs stretched out in all directions; the metal is curved just so, waiting to accept her, and the snow-angel silhouette comes from the hinged parts that lie ready to close over her as soon as she gets in position.

So she pauses only long enough to catch her breath, shuddering at the waves of pain that radiate through her every time her weight shifts and the spikes find new places to dig in. And then she turns over and stretches out, fitting herself into the shape of the cage. As each limb settles into place, the corresponding part of the cage snaps shut. Lastly, when all the rest of her is secure, the cage closes over her head and torso.

Looking at it from the outside, the spikes on the top part of the cage seemed pointless; how could they possibly compete with the lower ones, which have gravity on their side? But of course her power is subtler than that. The cage is perfectly fitted, tight enough that no part of it has trouble reaching her, and the front of her body is so thoroughly covered in scrapes and bumps and bruises that the extra sensitivity more than makes up for the pressure of her weight. Pain assaults her equally from all sides.

She is uncomfortably aware of the way the cage holds her legs apart, and the fact that the lattice of iron bands leaves her crotch completely bare. Maybe her power is just making sure that if Master wants to come down here and rape her while she's like this, he won't have to bother taking her out of the cage unless he wants to. Maybe it's going to fuck her with something, make her come screaming in agony, show her what the pain she feels instead of pleasure is like with the echoes making everything worse. Maybe the fear is the point, and nothing will touch her there at all. She has no idea and no way of knowing, and that's terrifying, and that's good. It's good for her to be afraid. It's good for her to be in pain.

So she closes her eyes and deliberately imagines all the terrible things that might happen to her here, lets the pain wash over her and focuses on it until it fills her awareness, reminds herself that this is good, that she deserves it, that she loves her Master and she's not worthy of him and she'll never be worthy of him and all the pain she could ever feel won't be enough to punish her properly for being the stupid worthless piece of garbage that she is. She thinks about it until she's shaking with misery and terror, every tiny movement pressing her body against the spikes of the cage and sending new waves of pain radiating up her carefully crafted nerves. Orchid did such a good job on her. She's so grateful, and so ashamed of her own worthlessness in comparison to Orchid's effortless perfection. It hurts her to think about it, but she deserves to hurt, so she thinks about it more. She hopes Orchid is serving their Master right now, enjoying the pleasure and privilege of being used like a good and worthy slave, giving Master everything he wants. She hopes they're both happy.

The next morning, elsewhere...

Valerie wakes up, still held in Sean's arms, remembering the events of last night with a soft grin. She wriggles her body a little closer towards him, careful not to wake him (how awful would that be), enjoying the feeling of his arms around her and how it makes her feel. She lets the memories of last night wash over her, feeling her arousal start to ramp up as she remembers how she was dominated. Used. And teased and toyed with, taking her to the edge and back over and over again... nnf. She bites back a little moan, keeping herself from making noise (though she's sure he might enjoy waking up to such a thing, she doesn't want to presume). And the other things afterwards... Valerie still doesn't understand why he seems to care about her so. But it still feels nice, on the whole, even if it's strange. And he gave her such a fun and interesting challenge. One she's really looking forward to succeeding at. She just needs to find the right girl, and she's sure there should be plenty of options. And then she can watch the delicious interaction as Sean breaks someone new. Maybe he'll let her touch him when she does it, or whisper in his ear... well, more likely he won't want the interference. But she'll still enjoy watching him, touching herself (if he lets her, because she's his, so fucking hot), watching his control and dominance at work. Her mind flickers among these things, still enjoying his arms on her, thinking about the events last night, thinking of who might be the right sort of person, and fantasizing, no planning what will happen when she brings a cute helpless little toy to Sean.

He makes a sleepy noise, hugs her closer, and nuzzles her face, but doesn't wake up the rest of the way just yet.

Valerie makes a soft delighted noise when he wakes, pressing her body a little closer to him. It's nice being held but she is a little turned on from everything she's been thinking about. She's not sure if he wants to do anything fun with her at the moment, but, well, she isn't sure that he isn't. And he will make the choice he wants to make (so hot), no matter what Valerie wants. The thought makes her press into him a little more -- not too much, in case he wants to keep sleeping, and she's sure he can make his desires known if she gets out of hand. But giving him the option of doing something fun with her, letting him control her even more, use her however he wants to. And if it turns out he doesn't want to, yet... she can still rest being held like this. But she wants to make it clear that the option exists.

He smiles, and shifts his grip on her to hold her more firmly against him. He's still not all the way awake, but she's hot and she wants him and he likes the thought of teasing her a little. Let her squirm, let her press herself against him, let her feel his cock getting hard, watch her enjoy it. Turning her on is fun. He can decide later if he wants to do anything more than turn her on.

Sean pulling her against him like that makes it clear he wants to do something with her, at least. Valerie arches her back and presses into him, rubbing against him all sensual and sexy, letting him know just how turned on she already is. She knows he'll see right through her, like he always does (so fucking hot) but she makes an aroused little moan anyways, just to entice him a little more. She doesn't expect him to do as much as last night -- but she'd love for him to show her how much power he has over her again. To take her however he wants to, to make her feel hot and needy, or however he wants her to feel. It feels so good seeing him dominate her like this. 

Mmmmmmm that's nice. He puts a hand in her hair and pulls her in for a sleepy kiss, then tucks an arm around her waist and idly runs his other hand along her body, feeling the texture of her skin. Soft. Good. When he reaches her ass he gives it a squeeze.

Valerie shivers gently at his touch, pushing her body into his hand wherever he touches her. She gives a surprised yelp and moan when he squeezes her ass, then presses it backwards into him, rubbing her body up against him. She wants to feel more. Wants him to take her. Use her. Let him see her devotion to someone so strong and powerful, so much better than even her. He deserves to take pleasure from her, it's his right. She wants to feel it, to see him do it. She presses herself against his cock, moaning softly in hope and anticipation. And need.

All right, that's hot.

Teasing her is still fun, though.

He touches her more, holds her close, runs his hands over her. She's so soft and pettable. Lovely girl. And she squirms so nicely, and she wants him so beautifully.

She does want him. She writhes at his touch, breathing, wishing he would do more than just touch, than just tease her like this. It's his right, he gets to do with her however he wants, (so hot, his control), but she still wants more. She rubs against him harder, trying to press her wet pussy into him so he knows just how horny she is. She wants to feel him take her. He's so strong, so dominating, so powerful. 

Oh, he definitely knows how horny she is.

And he's kind of torn. On the one hand, it would be pretty hot to just tease her. On the other hand, it would also be pretty hot to give her what she wants. And he can do either one at his whim; she couldn't stop him if she tried and she's not going to try.

That, in itself, is pretty hot.

Well, he's got time to play with her some more while he thinks about it. He runs his hands down her back, along her outer thighs, up again to wrap around her waist and pull her close. It's nice feeling how wet she is, even though he can also read her mind. He slides one hand down to feel it more directly.

Valerie shudders and gasps as he gets closer, as he moves her closer, moving and controlling her body how he wants. And then she moans when he touches her there, squeezing her legs together around his hand, and pressing her pussy against him. She bucks, rubbing herself against him. It's so hot when he does it. She wants him to feel how turned on she is. She wants him to take her. To fuck her. Or to tease her like this, whatever he wants to do, to show her just how in control of her he is, how powerful, how domineering. She's his. 

"Mine," he agrees, kissing her, touching her, letting his fingers slip inside her. "Mmmmm."

His other arm stays wrapped around her waist, holding her right where he wants her, making sure that even though she can definitely still squirm she can't squirm enough to either escape his touch or claim more of it than he wants to give her. He's not going to work her over like he did last night, but he does want to remind her of what he can do to her with just his hands. So, although this time the escalation is not quite so excruciatingly slow, he still pays close attention and does all the things that feel good and then backs off whenever she gets too close to coming.

He's teasing her again. He's teasing her again. Bringing her closer and closer to the edge, and then backing off when she gets close. And every time she moans and presses against him pushes against his hand and writhes and then he stops and she wants it and she wants him but he gets to do whatever he wants and that's so fucking hot. She's still not quite as turned on or needy as she was yesterday, even feeling him hold her, not letting her move, using his strength and power to keep her from touching herself, or pressing too much against his hand, even though she wants it, but she's still horny and aching for more. "Please," she whispers, in one of the lulls, just after a bit of teasing that had gotten tantalizingly close. "Please, sir, whatever you want sir, but please, more please, sir."

"Whatever I want..."

He smiles, and kisses her on the cheek, and presses his fingers deeper.

"I like doing this to you. It's fun. And I like that you like it too."

Like isn't exactly how Valerie would put it, she loves the feeling of him being in utter control of her, and she wants to cum, and not being able to is frustrating and annoying and if he would just let her get closer and right there there yes fuck please fucking nooo. But it's not wrong, exactly. She presses up against him more, still trying to struggle to get off, knowing that he'll stop her if he wants to, or let her if he wants to, or fuck her if he wants to. She can struggle and fight and plead and beg all she wants, but it won't affect him one iota. He knows what he wants, and he takes it. And that's so fucking hot.

Yes. That. That is the thing that he likes. That is so much the thing that he likes.

He kisses her again, and then he rolls on top of her and holds her down and fucks her, and he's definitely seeking his own pleasure but he's paying attention to hers too. No magic, except for the telepathy, just carefully controlling the way he moves to drive her right up to the edge and stop, hold her there, one more time—

—and after that, on the next one, he finally lets her have it.

Valerie gasps in surprise and glee when he puts his cock inside her, writhing under his powerful body and hands and strength, unable to get away even if she wanted to. There's nothing she can do and it's so fucking hot and she wants this anyways and that's even hotter. She presses into his cock, squirming, squeezing, doing her best to please him the way he deserves, even while trying to sneak some for herself, trying to get herself to cum and then shaking with despair and arousal and glee when he stops just in time. He controls her so utterly. He can make her feel make her do whatever he wants and it's so deliciously hot. She moans at the thought, running her hands over him, trying to press even closer to grasp the elusive pleasure that he keeps danging just out of reach. And then, she gets closer and closer, moaning and pressing against him, her body tensing to be ready for the sudden denial she knows is coming but wanting, needing, hoping, aching for it, and she feels him go deep inside her and she cums. Hard. And it feels so fucking good and she knows he let her, that it was his choice, his control, and that just makes it hotter when she cums, enjoying his dominance, knowing that she's his, and feeling his control wash over her so powerfully, so utterly, so completely. She's his and his control and power is so fucking hot and he let her cum and she loves watching him do and take what he wants. Whatever he wants. She's his and so fucking devoted to being his.

It's perfect.

He feels it, focuses on it, her pleasure, her release, her surrender, and he kisses her and fucks her and comes inside her, and lies on top of her for a moment with his face pressed against the side of her neck, just breathing. Feeling. His Valerie, his his his, all his, his forever.

And just when she's coming down off her own orgasm, Sean has his, taking her, filling her, owning her, controlling her and using her however he wants. That's his right. He's strong and powerful and controls her so completely and utterly and she loves it and it feels so good when he takes what belongs to him. What should be his by right. She moans and screams and does her best to make sure his orgasm is the best it can possibly be, and then relaxes as he does, panting gently, feeling him lie atop her, feeling possessed and devoted and controlled, and all because of him. So much power and so very hot. So fucking hot. So fucking his.

He smiles and nuzzles the side of her face, and spends another few seconds just lying there, cozy and content...

...and then sighs, and rolls off her, very reluctantly, to check the time.

Yeah, he really needs to get to class.

"See you tonight," he says, leaning in for one more kiss before he gets out of bed to grab his clothes.

Valerie smiles at the promise. If it were her saying something like that, of course, she'd feel no obligation to keep such a silly promise. Many a time she's told boys and the occasional girl a similar sort of thing, enjoying their texts as they get frantic wondering where she is. People like her, or like Sean, are above such petty things like that. But she knows Sean well enough to know he probably means it, by now, and wants to make up for what he seems to perceive as a slight against her. She really wishes she could find a way to cure him of such foolish notions, but he doesn't want her to and he sees through her whenever she does otherwise. Maybe time will change things. For now, she's still happy that he clearly means what he says.

And now... well, now Valerie has to figure out what she wants to do today. She can be late for class, again, if she wants to be -- she has to spend some time making sure she's properly groomed and dressed -- though of course, even after a rough fuck with Sean, she's still the hottest girl in the room. Obviously. It's not like anyone can compare with her. She doesn't need to go to classes anymore, of course, now that she's finally managed to snag someone to do all her work for her. But her new acquaintances still seem annoyingly focused on going to their own classes for some reason -- so it's not like she'd have much to do if she didn't go. She could wander around campus looking for someone to bring back for Sean to dominate (which would be so fucking hot, nnnf), but she's likely better off doing that where there are people she actually knows. Which means going to class. Hmph. Valerie supposes she should go get ready, once Sean leaves -- she gives him a smile, enjoying his muscles, his raw power, his confidence and strength as he dresses, looking at him just a little bit needily -- that way she can more easily find a girl or three to bring him and watch him take and own, just like someone of his power and dominance deserves. And it will be so incredible, so amazing, watching him take one weak needy little girl after another. Her restriction, her challenge as he called it still rankles, just a little -- but she's better than to complain about such things -- and certainly smart and sexy enough to find someone to fit his criteria. It might take a few days to help get some of them over their worries and hangups -- but it will be so hot when she brings them to him. She can't fucking wait.

He drops the read on Valerie back to emergency-alert levels as he leaves her apartment. He goes to class. He pays attention to class, somefuckinghow. He drives around in circles for two solid hours, takes his calculus quiz, does surprisingly well on his calculus quiz, and then double-checks what days this week those other dance clubs want his attention.

They're on Monday and Tuesday. Salsa is tonight, stating at 6:30 PM and swing is tomorrow at 7:00.