Series: Light, Water, Muses. An alternate universe for a variety of television series. See disclaimers below.
Rating: NC-17. You're gonna see a lot of this...
Category: The continuing saga of Reflections/ Resurgences/Refractions. Begins just after the new year, only days after Refractions ended.
Pairings: none exactly...
Personal disclaimer: Sylvia, Racheal and the chauffeur are mine.
Disclaimer: "ER", see Chapter 1.
Disclaimer: "The Division", see Chapter 1.
Disclaimer: "The X-Files", see Chapter 1.
Summary: Now that events are moving ahead, CD gets some help getting to Chicago and gets back into character with the assistance of a very helpful stranger.
++ Dace ++
Utterly shocked by my Queen's vulnerable tone as well as the softly spoken words, I carefully sank into a squat beside Racheal. Hopefully, the maneuver didn't distract from the phone call. I wanted to give Sylvia some psychological space by leaving her the dominant one in the room. Rae's eyes flickered over to me for a moment and she grew even more tense. Neither of us was sure what to do in this situation.
It had been years since we'd been on our knees together, and while I wasn't actually kneeling, we were eye to eye.
As time passed in my Queen's care, I had begun to rebel at my strictly Submissive position. Attending the police academy probably played into that need as well. Right about the time it was becoming a serious issue between Sylvia and I...
Racheal walked into our lives.
Sylvia had casually known the woman for years as a business contact, even socializing with her sometimes. It took years before she had found out about Rae's submissive curiosities. Oh, the irony. My expert dominatrix Mistress clueless to such a bottomless need. And Racheal was a bottomless pit for abuse. No matter how much was heaped on her, she kept rallying for more. It was beautiful stuff.
I had perfected many a skill over her back, ass and mind.
"Thank you Jesse. My Leonacouer will be at your doorstep within the next twenty-four hours. Good day."
A click of the phone returning to its cradle... a heavy sigh that was almost a sob...
I deliberately kept my eyes downcast to give Sylvia time to collect herself. Resisting the urge to elbow Rae for a smile was a good distraction. She must have sensed my mischief, because her mouth curled the faintest bit.
Honestly, I almost giggled at the subtle interplay. There had been a time when I'd been quite fond of the older woman. One more thing to regret about my past.
Sylvia stood with a sigh and Rae and I were all business again, postures erect, eyes forward. "I'm retiring to my chambers for the time being. Arrange things and debrief me when I return."
++ Racheal ++
The moment my Queen disappeared behind her chamber doors, Leonacouer groaned as if in pain. I broke training and protocol to glance over as she collapsed onto her back and scrubbed at her face. "This sucks."
I silently agreed. Sylvia was not good with surprises. Control was her MO, rigid and implacable control. Leonacouer could be like that too, but had a childishly playful side that was irresistible. Like now, sprawled on her back like a disconsolate puppy.
"So now what?"
That's what I had been waiting for, permission to put my business skills to work. Before Sylvia had irrevocably altered my life's path, I had been an executive secretary at a huge law firm. The skills were kept sharp by my Mistress' needs. I daringly slouched into a sloppy sit next to Leonacouer, who I could once dare to call Dace, sometimes. A strange and informal gift to one such as myself. "You'll need a plane ticket."
"I think the FBI can spring for that."
"No, no trail back to them. After all of this is over they can reimburse us." A grin at Dace won me a sparkling smile. "I'll keep the receipt. Technically, we could send you on the company jet, but this is kind of last second."
"Okay, you win. Lead the way." Dace teased me, knowing perfectly well that I had no desire for being in charge. There was a reason I became a full-time submissive. 'Real Life', the way most people saw it, was utterly unappealing to me. Fortunately, my Mistress had given me an order to get Dace's trip arranged. So I could get on with my task.
Ducking away from Dace's bright leonine gaze, I got to my feet and went to the computer. The Chess Red company was a massive corporate communications enterprise that ensured the right people and organizations found one another. Much like a monstrous dating service for businesses. Beneath the seamless and slick exterior was a deeper and darker layer that was Sylvia's true love. For her connections were not just based in the business venture. The bulk of them were clients of two sorts.
An outsider would see a corporate matchmaker in action. An outsider would think I was a slick executive secretary to the woman in charge. They would only be half right.
With a quick trip to the internet and a few passwords and credit card numbers, Dace's ticket confirmation was printing up. It was a business first class seat, of course, and in addition to luxury, would eliminate some of the hassles at the airport. "Would you like me to have a car sent to your home?"
"Your flight leaves at eight thirty. So perhaps about six?"
"Yeah, that'll work. It's about one now, right?"
I didn't need the address, Sylvia still had that information. Just because Leonacouer hadn't been part of our family for some time now, didn't mean that Sylvia hadn't kept tabs on her. Sylvia had hundreds, perhaps thousands of names, addresses and gigs of pertinent information memorized and sequestered away in a vault only five people had access to. Privacy was deadly serious in this organization.
++ Dace ++
I dawdled there for some time, sprawled on the floor. It gave me a chance to relax before the shit hit the fan, and kind of meditate on what I was getting myself into. It had been a long time since I had played my role as Leonacouer, the Lioness Heart, but she was awakening to the need. In time, I got bored with being so sprawled out and relaxed and had Racheal walk me back to my bike. Our combined presence would speak volumes to those in the know.
Impulsively, I grabbed the older woman in a bear hug while the Harley hummed throatily. "Miss you," I whispered and she fiercely hugged me back.
"Oh Dace, I miss you too. Please be careful."
It hurt more than I would have thought to drive away. Mixed feelings were old news to me, but my emotions were at tornado velocities right now.
Magda had already agreed to come over to my place a few times a week to get my mail and feed my fish. Much as I had always wanted interactive pets, my schedule had never allowed it. Someday I would have cats and dogs and ferrets and god else knew what. I checked to make certain that there were plenty of food blocks for the fish and smiled at the thought of my future furry family.
In less than two hours, all the meager perishables in the apartment had been eaten, everything was locked down, my complex's management office knew that a friend would be watching my place and I was packed to go. For the sake of perversity, I had decided to go in full character. That meant pulling out my oldest and most well-loved set of leathers and rubbing oil into them to make up for three years of neglect. A quick check relieved my anxiety that they still fit. All the boxing workouts had kept me lean and strong. The buttery, almost-black cowhide really brought me fully into what I was embarking on.
When my work partner had bailed out on me after that damned intervention, I had withdrawn into myself. The physical proof was that my hair had grown out to an irritating length. I was tired of being pissed at Angela, it took too much energy, and I made a mental note to get a trim when I had the time. Then I climbed into the shower to warm up and get relaxed.
A few choice toys were wedged in with the week's worth of clothes in my compact travel bag. They should give airport security a thrill. But not half as much as the rig I strapped snugly around my hips. All silicone, nylon, plastic and velcro, it wouldn't set off any sensors, but it damn well better get some eyebrows! Then there were silk boxers, levis thin and silky with age and a plain while t-shirt. It was strange to feel the tug and pressure of the harness around my hips as I dressed.
I loved packing. It was for the shock value of the bulge just as much as my state of mind as providing pleasure to women. The inky chaps slid effortlessly up my legs and I buckled up the heavy silver buckle. A few tugs at my pant legs to get everything settled and I pulled on perhaps the most important physical part of my Leonacouer persona.
When I was almost sixteen, recently emancipated by the state of California, newly trained and tattooed by the Four Suits and ready to be more than just a student to Sylvia, I took all the money I'd squirreled away and gone shopping. In a funky little hole in the wall shop in Little Tokyo, there was a man who made shoes. He crafted the boots I still owned almost eighteen years later. The crazy old shaman assured me that the leather was from a fine stallion of great virility, the heels of thin, glued layers from an aged oak branch that washed up on a rugged Washington shore from the Pacific Ocean, the heavy rawhide soles from a wild bull in China, the string from cotton and hemp he had lovingly grown himself. Whether he was humoring me or telling me the truth, there was something magical about the square-toed and unadorned boots. All I had ever needed to have repaired was the rubber skin along ball and heel to improve my footing. I had added the bracelets later. The first collar Sylvia had given me, the links thick and plated with silver nickel that didn't tarnish had been modified into the chain on my dominant foot, the right. My best bud, Bane, had somehow managed to track down a second chain that so closely matched the first that one had to look very, very closely to see that they were, in fact, slightly different. It was still one of my most cherished gifts. A strip of doubled pigskin over the top of my feet held the chains in place around heel and arch. The subtle chime of the chains against the oak heels was sublime. Many a woman had worshiped these boots and they helped define who I am.
Shaking off the nostalgia, I yanked the zippers on the calves of my chaps so that they hugged closer to my legs and gave the boots a mysterious look where they peeked out, flashing black and silver. I had deliberately forgone a bra, so that the occasional peek of erect nipple would confuse the watcher. I'd always thought I was too girly-pretty to pass in actual drag, so I liked playing up the contrast of feminine and masculine. Goddamn, but I missed this. Just wearing the leathers and the phallus made me feel completely different.
There was no belt in the frayed loops of my Levi's, leaving me feeling a little naked and incomplete. I would acquire a new one in Chicago, and a willing woman to help me break it in. I wanted it bathed with love, in smooth coltsfoot oil and hot sweat and saliva.
A knock at the door sent me scrambling into my play jacket, the ace of diamonds and the red chess king highlighted by a pair of ghostly lion's eyes painted across my back. At my door was a meek young woman in impeccable chauffeur's digs. Any doubt where she was from was offset by the red diamond on her immaculate suit coat. "Ma'am," she demurred softly and I imperiously gestured at my wheeled case and garment bag. My small bag would stay with me.
The trip to the airport passed in silence while I pondered and the nameless Sub did her job. Bless Racheal for sending someone who didn't know me. There was no need for conversation. Hopefully, the trip to Chicago would be as spectacularly uneventful.
++ the chauffeur ++
I knew who the woman in the backseat was. She was still whispered about in the halls of Chess Red with tones of flustered awe. Most of us in the newest generation of the Scene had never met her.
But we'd certainly heard the stories.
About two hours ago, Racheal had pulled me aside and very gravely gave me my instructions. 'The Leonacouer' rang in my head, dizzying me while I dressed and took the car out to do as instructed. The Leonacouer was everything I dreamed about and so much more. Only the Red Queen herself intimidated me the way this tall, pale goddess did. I sweated with awareness every time that blistering gaze settled on me.
It was a nerve-wracking drive to the airport.
At last the great parking structures loomed up and the signs directed me to where I needed to go. My task was nearly complete and I could return to the building secure that I had done as instructed.
"Pull into the parking garage." The quiet demand froze me for a split second. This could only mean one thing and I was as excited as I was terrified. I handed over some money that was always in the company car and made certain to get a receipt. The parking garage was fairly empty and I chose a spot that was a distance away from the other vehicles, but not suspiciously so, as well as being away from foot traffic. Then I wasn't certain exactly what she wanted from me and I was too terrified to guess. A jarring kick to the back of the seat was a none-to-subtle clue. "Do you need an engraved invitation, slut? Get your ass back here."
That's all I needed to hear. Scrambling from my seat, I went to the back and knelt on the floor. It was an older model Lincoln Town Car that had been modified so that there was a larger floorspace. This was my place. The Leonacouer was sprawled back, her legs splayed and I timidly ran my eyes over her legs. The bulge at her crotch was clearly outlined and my mouth watered.
As a teen, I was a typical cheerleader type and had no clue what I was to become. A chance meeting at a club showed me what I really needed and I had been working hard to prove myself as a submissive every since. That was how I came to be in the employ of the Red Queen and kneeling at the feet of her once-successor.
"Show me what I've been missing," Leonacouer instructed in a voice of whispered steel.
"Yes ma'am," I whispered and pulled the chauffeur's cap off so that it wasn't crushed. That indolent, arrogant gaze rested heavily on me and I knew I would get no help from my tormentor. Fortunately, I could get to the basics because she was slouched down so far. Nuzzling against a leather-encased thigh, I felt the Lioness shift and a boot heel dug into my ass.
"C'mon pussycat, quit being so chickenshit. If you run out of time, I'm gonna be way more pissed than if you use your hands."
Ah well, no showing off my talented mouth on buckles, but there were other reasons that the Chess Red organization kept me around! I was excited by this stranger and her callous attitude towards me. So I yanked the buckle on her chaps open and went for the button-fly levis with mouth-watering enthusiasm. Leonacouer merely chuckled and wiggled around to both help and hinder me. I loved it.
From the smooth leather to the soft cotton jeans to the silky boxers in a gorgeous electric blue, my hands wandered over the textures and aroused the skin beneath. At least I hoped I was. So I dipped my thumbs down into the open 'v' of her button-flys and relished her body heat. Man, she was a furnace! I stroked the firm curve of the dildo between her legs because I knew she was watching me closely. A flash-sense of impatience and I hurriedly brought the shaft out the fly of the boxers and felt the press of something thin and small against my head from her. Duh, a condom! I tore the foil and pressed it over the round head before using my mouth to roll it down.
"That's a girl," the Leonacouer purred and I stroked the groove of her inner thigh as I massaged the decent-sized toy with my throat and tongue. I loved doing this when it pleased my Top. That it was a artificial attachment made little difference if it was used with love. And I poured everything I had in suckling the shaft, coiling tongue and grasping lips transmitting my adoration to this stranger. "Give me your primary hand." It took a moment for the words to register, I was so involved with the blowjob, but I gave her my left hand. The soft white glove was pulled away and I was abruptly cuffed hard enough to throw me back down the dick and nearly bruise my throat. "Don't fuck around pussycat! If you can't multi-task, then you don't deserve that diamond on your chest!"
Shit! She was, of course, absolutely right and I threw myself to my task as though I had flesh and blood in my mouth. Latex was stretched over my hand, nestling seductively into the webbing between my fingers and snapping shut around my wrist. A crushingly hard grip around my three primary fingers nearly brought tears to my eyes.
"Get on your back." I scrambled to obey as she half-stood within the confines of the car. Her eyes glittered like a predator's in the dimness and I knew I would do anything for her. In a moment, her clothing was loosened around the wagging phallus and she was straddling my head. There was no need for instruction as I opened my mouth for her again. Her fingers stroked those same three fingers and pinched at the latex-encased webbing of my hand until the pain aroused me fiercely. "Now, get in there and finish this off before I miss my flight. Earn your keep, slut."
This is where I belonged, used callously for another woman's pleasure, every move orchestrated by her needs. Nothing else was important. With her thrusting slowly and deeply into my mouth, I found her wet hole with the fingers she had chosen and slid deep within her heat. This was an unexpected pleasure and I relished the oven warmth as the Lioness set the pace. Every thrust brought her package deep within me and my fingers deep within her. I stroked and curled tongue and fingers to deepen her pleasure and she moaned oh-so-softly.
That sound was heavenly and I nearly wept. This was a dream come true, to be shown that I was pleasing her. Blissful minutes inside of her clinging cunt climaxed in a flexing grip I relished and her breathy groan I relished even more. "If I fuck you," Leonacouer asked quietly, still buried in my throat almost suffocating tight. "Will you take it in the spirit given?"
Pulling her hips back, my fingers and throat were abandoned. She was curious now, the glitter of pale eyes bright beneath the fringe of blonde hair. I was fairly certain that I knew what she meant and took a chance at speaking. "Yes ma'am. Not for my pleasure, but yours. I will not take your attentions to give me an ego, I promise. May I have permission to enjoy myself? Please ma'am?"
A feral grin flashed and I knew I would have a few more good memories of this encounter. "I would be disappointed if you didn't. Now get on your knees and let me see that ass."
I scrambled to obey. Before I was even settled, her hands had reached around me and popped the button on my slacks and yanked the zipper down. I hunched up my back so that I could tuck my head between my supporting arms and let my upper shoulders bang into the door instead of my neck or skull. I had a feeling I was in for a rough ride.
Leonacouer yanked my pants down around my knees and I waggled my butt just a bit. A sharp slap cracked painfully across my skin. "Don't be gettin' all sexy," she growled and I moaned. The thong was tugged away from my wet heat and whispered down my thighs.
And I was impaled.
It was perfect, her firm dick deep in my hungry cunt, her fingers painfully digging into my hips. Thrusting like a madman, she reamed me and left me crying out in delight. She could maneuver that dick in ways that no man could ever hope to equal. They took their equipment for granted, but Leonacouer used hers like a privilege. I was in heaven and happily sang for her.
It was hard and raw, leaving me hollering and clenching blissfully around my invader. Certainly not what I had expected from my errand! Pulling out, she smacked me across my ass and I squeaked happily.
"Get dressed," she growled. "And get your ass in gear."
We both rustled back into our clothes and I gathered up her luggage once more.
Ah well... back to business!
++ Dace ++
We made all due haste into the airport terminal, diverting away from the masses to a discrete business entrance off the beaten path. My appearance did indeed earn double takes from the staff and half-dozen waiting passengers. After the relaxing romp in the car, I was no longer in the mood for it and tossed my driver's license onto the counter without a word. The man there peeled his gawk away long enough to do his job and print up my boarding pass. "Have a good flight Miss DeLorenzo," he told me weakly and waved me off to the awaiting security officer. With 9-11 a close shadow, I was expecting more fuss at the airport and made a mental note to thank Racheal for the privacy and convenience of this business entrance.
After my sweet little driver checked my bags, she handed me the tags and gave me a kittenishly flirtatious pout. Feeling magnanimous, I gave her a long, slow kiss and let my hand roam leisurely over her fine ass. A quick dip between her thighs earned a low groan. "Good job," I purred and gave her a final squeeze before sending her off with a fond shove. "Now go home and preen." With a happy smile, the girl saluted me and was off with a bounce in her step. I glowered at the shocked looks and stalked over to the awaiting security guard.
This time it was a woman and I glared her down. "If I freak you out so damn bad," I snarled menacingly. "Get someone else. I have no time to screw around." Normally, I wasn't so damn rude, but I had forgotten how scandalized people could get. Then again, I had learned to focus that shock into something I could enjoy. So I put those lessons to good use and struck an arrogant pose. "Or would you like a better look?"
With my keys and ID in the little basket, the only thing that set off her sensor wand was the buckle on the chaps. I was smart enough to not bring a service pistol on my person. That was taken care of with my bags. The security guard had a tough time keeping her eyes off the bulge and I was perversely amused by the whole thing.
There was no chance that anyone was going to actually speak to me on the flight, so I put the portable MP3 player to work and dozed lightly. It didn't last long, as the plane suddenly dropped sickeningly and someone cried out over the noise of the massive vehicle groaning in protest.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing some turbulence," the pilot droned and I growled.
"No shit, Sherlock." My muttered comment earned a grin from the rumpled businessman clinging tightly to his laptop and cocktail on the other side of the walkway.
"Please remain in your seats until instructed by your attendants."
Now, I didn't suffer from motion sickness, but my inner ear was objecting violently to the jostling. It was a rollercoaster tens of thousands of feet above the ground.
It was a very, very long flight to O'Hare airport.