Chapter Text
“Target?”
“Logistics Department. Senior Project Manager Carn Felca.”
“Designation?”
“Hound.”
“Defenses?”
“Minimal.”
“Leash?”
“Short. Hear and Obey.”
The elevator ping announced their arrival to the 14th floor. She was out before the doors fully opened, armguards resting at either side. Hound took in the sterile lights of yet another Quinn corporate stronghold, smelled the cheap coffee, and heard the relentless chatter accompanying fingers clacking on worn keyboards.
The secretary had car trouble, so no one was there to take note of their presence. Mistress walked forward after a moment, heels clacking steadily on the tiles as she began the operation. Hound followed her without a word, exactly one step behind at all times. Dead-eyed employees witnessed their march into the bowels of the workplace, quiet whispers building along with the scent of fear. Afraid that their sins were finally exposed, that the bill had come due and Eirene's newest enforcers were here to collect.
Not for them. Not yet.
The office door was ajar, the target’s back turned to them as he blathered meaninglessly on the phone. The words washed over Hound as she entered the room behind Mistress and silently closed the door, finding no obvious defenses as per Mistress’s assessment. She spotted at least two hidden cameras and several potential hiding spots for more, but that was for others to handle. Mistress walked halfway into the office, halting in the center of a disgustingly gaudy carpet, and waited.
Thirty-nine seconds later their target turned around in his chair and shrieked, dropping the phone onto the desk. The call cut off a moment later, leaving nothing but the shared sounds of breathing: two measured, one on the verge of panic. Courtesy meant Mistress showed restraint, gave the sniveling worm time to contemplate how deeply fucked he was. Eventually he scraped together enough courage to fix his tie, sit up straight, and address them correctly.
“I’m guessing you two are from corporate, I wasn’t aware I had a meeting this morning,” his facade was already starting to crack, sweat running down the side of his head as his foot nervously beat against the floor.
“You didn’t, now or ever again. This is your chance to come clean,” Mistress offered her left hand, palm upward, false smile with just the barest hint of warmth. The target sputtered for a moment, cracks widening as their eyes darted towards her, imposing presence silently providing the “or else.”
“I don’t know who you are or what you think I did but-”
“Everything,” Mistress said. “I know everything there is to know about you, Carn Felca. I know the name of everyone from college you still gamble with, and how large the debt is. I know the amounts you skimmed off of every project budget you could, and which sex workers you spent it on. I know you drowned the last drug-dealer who tried to blackmail you, and how hard it was to find a replacement. All allowed because of your usefulness and connections. Selling proprietary machinery to Nirvana, however, was a step too far,” the smile vanished, pretense discarded.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Carn whimpered, finally glimpsing it: the pit. His own personal grave, dug by his endless greed and pathetic weakness.
“You are of no further use to us,” Mistress simply said, voice calm and measured. She was not arguing, simply stating irrefutable facts to the ignorant. “You have one hour to clean out this office and vacate the premises under your own power, with some shreds of dignity intact. After that you will be dragged out.”
“You have no right to-”
“Fetch” Hound burst forward, stopping just short of the desk and reaching out to grab the sniveling parasite’s greasy collar. She dragged him forward, onto and then over the desk. Held aloft, her longer arms keeping him well out of reach as he desperately scratched at her hand, bug-eyes bulged from lack of oxygen. Mistress watched silently, eyes only on her obedient dog.
“Down” Hound released him immediately, his body crumpling into a heap on the floor, desperately sucking in oxygen. Eventually he got a hand on the desk and pushed himself up, gingerly rubbing the bruise forming on his neck. Beaten but not broken.
“One hour. Do not make me come back.” Mistress turned to leave, Hound following a moment later but turning at the sound of glass scraping on wood.
“Fuck you bitch,” the dead man snarled, throwing his luxuriously decorated nameplate at Shalom’s head. Rahu caught it immediately, crushing it in one hand while the other brought up her shield to protect Shalom from further projectiles.
“Sit” Shalom ordered but the blood was pounding in her veins and it fell on deaf ears. Rahu charged forward, bashing the walking corpse as he reached for more ammo, leaving him stunned but still breathing. A flick of the right wrist extended the blade as she reared her arm back. Carn’s eyes widened with fear as the blade went straight for his neck, the sharpened point gleaming in the sterile lighting.
“Rahu, stop.” The blade halted a hair’s breadth from his neck, close enough to pierce skin if either of them so much as twitched. “Heel.” Hound mastered the blood and fury, blade withdrawing as they resumed their steady posture. The target crumpled to the ground, the room gradually filling with the disgusting aroma of piss.
“Come” Hound resumed their position behind Mistress without a word, following her into the elevator and out of the building. Mistress’s mask was perfect as always even when they got to the car, Hound seeing only the briefest flash of concern in her eyes via the rearview mirror as they left the premises.
The rest of the day's work had passed without incident, and Shalom was the one to remove her oni mask when they returned to her Eastside Mansion. Which was fine. She then indicated that she would cook dinner, and would appreciate if Rahu kept her company in the kitchen ,which was less so. Her presence at the table was an unofficial time-out, mild as far as punishments went, and it did mean she could enjoy the singular exhibit of watching Shalom cook.
Her owner’s preference was for multiple smaller dishes, so every single burner on the extra-large stove was set to a different level of heat and occupied by some sort of pan or pot. Shalom wielded a bargain-bin rubber spatula in one hand, the other free to allow for any number of tasks, and expertly turned the common fare Rosa had purchased from the store into the finest of meals. She directed the transformation with a precision that brought tears to the eyes: every movement precise, every action purposeful. She smoothly transitioned from one dish to the other, neither hurried nor resting for a single moment, efficiently preparing everything in as little time as possible. The meal laid out in front of Rahu, a breakfast platter broad enough to satisfy almost any appetite, was even arranged in such a way to be pleasing to the eye.
The first time Rahu saw the spectacle in person she swore it was magic, the way that it could be controlled chaos one moment and a beautiful spread the next. Each dish was a technical perfection: every bite uniformly cooked throughout, perfectly seasoned or spiced to provide the ideal flavor. It was perfectly assembled, perfectly served, perfectly…perfect. It was only after finishing it, and sitting with the sensations that followed, that Rahu understood why Shalom almost never cooked for anyone but herself.
It was too good, as if some mad god had pulled forth the finished dish directly from the cookbook itself. There was no flaw or deviation from what was written, and it left the consumer with a sense of inhumanity. It filled the stomach but did not sate the hunger, delighted the pallet but never satisfied any particular craving. Almost imperceptible at first, but repeated consumption left one almost hollow, empty, the body gradually rejecting what it could not consider food. That being said, Rahu believed she had a solution.
She maneuvered a decent portion of each dish onto her plate until it was almost overflowing, and then proceeded to haphazardly scatter sweet or hot chili sauce all over her food before digging in. The result was a mixed bag: most of the dishes were not meant to be coated so randomly, the taste suffering for her desecration of the ideal. And yet the feeling of emptiness never appeared: the mix of Shalom’s perfection and her own mess tasted better as a whole, and soothed her hunger. For her part Shalom nibbled off of Rahu’s plate, taking care to avoid anything coated in sauce. She would not talk until the meal was finished and plates cleaned, unwilling to break her routine in the slightest.
Soon enough they were done and Rosa came in to clean up the mess. Most of the staff had quit after Garofano’s attack on the manor, all but Rosa. Clear-eyed and fearless, she remained without even so much as asking for a raise. Rahu had absolutely no idea why, and it felt like a private matter between her and Shalom so she didn’t ask. It didn’t help that recent activities had tinged all their interactions with a certain…energy.
Shalom silently beckoned Rahu towards the living room, leaving Rosa in the kitchen to clean-up. Rahu’s lower half sprawled on the carpet, back against the couch and head on the cushion. Shalom sat on the couch a moment later and pulled Rahu into her lap, her hands splayed on either side of Rahu’s face.
“You disobeyed,” expression blank, tone steady, eyes devoid of emotion. Time to face the music.
“He threatened you. I dealt with it,” she would not apologize, not for this. Better to risk punishment than hesitate for even a split second when Shalom was threatened. Shalom’s fingers were surprisingly strong considering how lacking her physical prowess was in general. They slowly traveled across Rahu’s temple, exerting pressure to soothe aches and stresses she barely noticed after a life of fighting against the current.
“Too soon, I intentionally provoked the throw for more leverage,” her mistake laid bare, introduced into Shalom’s plan by her total failure to surrender control, to obey. She expected the next sentence to be judgment, but what left her owner’s lips was anything but.
“How long since Beast was last let out to play,” Rahu’s eyes widened as she counted the weeks since their last session. It had been a while.
“10 days short of the three month mark, we’ve been busy with work,” she added the second part after seeing Shalom’s eyes narrow, her hands stilling before gently cupping Rahu’s face.
“That's no excuse, we’re always busy. You’ve been so well behaved, it slipped my mind,” her words were light but Rahu glimpsed the lash in her eyes, aimed straight at her own back.
“Shalom, I didn’t notice either, don’t-”
“You’re mine, Rahu. It's my job to take care of you, and I didn’t,” Shalom tolerated mistakes in others because they were lesser, but never herself. The one bad habit Rahu had made zero progress with even after all this time spent together. The best she could do was distract, and thankfully there was the perfect excuse at hand.
“Tomorrow’s the weekend, if we start setting up now it can be done by midnight. As long as you promise to let me sleep in a little tomorrow,” Shalom’s eyes brightened ever so slightly at that, giving Rahu the barest hint of an actual smile, which for anyone else was the equivalent of a declaration of love.
“I might consider it, for brunch in bed,” something they both knew Rahu would be bringing to her anyway.
At first glance their basement was rather cramped, at least compared to the size of the house. Finished walls painted beige but otherwise undecorated, mostly used for storage of spare furniture or other miscellaneous objects, it barely covered a fourth of the house’s footprint. The reason became apparent when Shalom approached the far-wall, placing her hand against a bare section while saying the phrase “Kennel.”
A hidden door swung open to reveal the remainder of the basement: solid steel walls sectioned off the area to her left, the first layer of the prison. Rahu knew the outermost to be steel, then iron, then hardwood: three concentric layers, at the center of which was a vertical concrete slab, several manacles embedded at various points. The only other thing of note was a metal door to the far right, which led to a bedroom with an attached bathroom, and once shut could only be opened from the inside.
Rahu entered first and stripped bare of everything while Shalom locked and sealed the room. Her owner walked into the bedroom, returning a moment later with a small red box. Rahu stood stock still while Shalom affixed the collar to her, touch as gentle and loving as when she fixed Rahu’s tie every morning. Soft leather lovingly wound and secured with a muted click, just tight enough to be constantly felt against her skin without the slightest hint of restriction.
Each cage was opened in turn, key left in the door for ease of retrieval, until only the slab remained. Rahu braced herself against the slab while Shalom affixed the manacles to her wrists, the undamaged steel gleaming in the low light. The manacles were single use, since little survived in the way of the Beast’s destructive path towards freedom. Next came her oni mask, this one designed to be difficult to remove. Last was her leash, a thick steel chain connected to a stake buried deep in the concrete floor.
There was a sense of safety in being so tightly bound, in knowing that she was contained so thoroughly. It was why Shalom had designed this play area in the first place: ownership, both in name and Power, told her that Rahu needed an outlet for the mindless violence churning beneath her skin, for the destructive impulses brought forth by Mania. It could not be let out in normal conditions, the risk of civilian casualties was far too high. But here, when it was just them separated by barriers, it could be channeled. Directed.
The Beast would refuse ownership, and break itself attempting to kill the one who held its leash. Or at least that was their initial theory. The truth proved far better in the end.
Shalom locked her in, out of sight but not awareness, lingering at the door of the last cage. Rahu heard teeth tear into flesh, smelled the rich scent of blood dripping to the floor, staining the solid steel walls. The first step. It raised the hackles, the scent of Her wounded, of having failed her mission.
The door separating them slammed shut, darkness fell, and she could no longer sense her owner. The second step. Lost and alone in the void, without the firm hand to keep her steady, contained, controlled. She was growling, body instinctively trying to break free and seek her out, but she refused the impulse. It was not time. Not yet.
Third was the sounds, brought in by hidden speakers. Shalom gave pleasure at the cost of surrender to her will, insistent and all consuming as the tide, drowning and taking until there was nothing left to give. Bereft of her lover, all she had left to take from was herself, cries of pleasure accompanied by the sounds of self-inflicted pain. The trembling grew worse, her owner was in need because she was not there, at her side. Where She was MeaNt tO BE.
Last was the order, condemnation, breaking. Rahu knew what was coming, and it still shattered her.
“Bad Dog. Quiet.”
Her mind sank to the depths, and something else came crawling out.
Most of her was sunken into that dark, quiet place. Safe and asleep. The rest remained just enough to witness the Rampage. They could never fully remember what happened afterward, the memory compressed into one continuous stream of mindless brutality. But there were fragments.
Steel manacles shattered like tissue paper as arms bulged and tore, one hand rising to rip off the mask while the other pulled at the chain around its neck. The force tore through skin and strained muscle, meaningless in the face of freedom. It screamed doom upon the world, an unceasing howl of destruction until its throat was too raw to continue. The Red Rage fell as it hammered upon the first of its walls, wood splintering and cracking with each impact.
Knuckles bloody, shards in the flesh, floor dappled with blood. It cared not, punching and kicking and crashing again and again until a hole was ripped in its prison and it continued forward, one step closer to freedom. The bars were next, iron thick enough that it would break before the bars did. But it had learned, bloodsoaked hands wrapping around the cold metal as it pulled. Grunts and growls, straining muscles, claws dug into palms to maintain the grip. It would not break, so their cage would bend, and inch by inch it did. The bars groaned as they were pulled to either side and then some, the hole large enough to step though.
The bar in its left hand had a flaw, born from the moment of casting. All effort was refocused to take advantage, straining and pulling until it finally broke with a loud snap. It took longer to cause a second break but soon enough it had a weapon, the solid iron rod perhaps a foot long, slick with blood and ragged flesh. Last in it’s way was the gleaming silver metal. It had broken them last time, crumpling but not yielding in the face of their violent onslaught, enduring until their body collapsed. But it had learned.
The iron was not swung but shoved into the wall, barely making so much as a dent. Again and again, time meaningless in the face of need, of destructive exertion to make its escape. The pain increased, every inch of flesh screaming for it to end, to stop. It was ignored, madness eventually rewarded by a horrible screeching sound as iron pierced the steel wall. From there it was frenzy, recklessly widening and pulling and tugging and ripping and breaking until the hole was barely large enough to squeeze through, jagged edges scraping across its already mangled flesh.
It emerged to freedom, and saw itself on the reflective door that was its last obstacle. Hair red with blood, large sections of skin scraped so raw there was almost nothing left, body trembling with the effort of remaining upright. It would be enough. It thumped against the door and pushed with all it had left, eventually breaking the basic lock and tumbling into the room beyond. She was waiting for them on the bed, wet and bloody and ready.
“Beautiful as always, devoted dog of mine.”
It pounced, teeth finding purchase in her pale neck, soft skin breaking instantly under her crushing force. Blood spilled into its mouth, hot and powerful. The blood of its mate, the only thing it recognized as equal. Invigorated and soothed it roamed across the prize, biting and claiming and bruising every inch it could with tooth and claw. Its mate knew her place, pliant and willing and so eager to be taken.
It found her core, tongue diving into the wet heat and feasting messily as hands ripped at their scalp. Meaningless filth poured from their mate as the Beast finally soothed its hunger, drinking in her essence as she spilled on its tongue. Their mate writhed, melting on its tongue as thighs trapped it, as if it would ever leave willingly. Its knew its place.
“Do as you desire, in this moment I am yours.”
It sucked hard, hands wandering to tug and scratch at soft, supple flesh. Their mate moaned, every muscle tensing for a moment before convulsing as hands like iron pulled at it’s scalp. It devoured her lust one drop at a time until the deluge slowed to a trickle, never slowing for a moment in its attentions. Their mate begged for mercy as they continued feasting, her desperate pleas only deepening its hunger. it continued again and again until finally the unrelenting thirst was slackened, though now it sought to fill a different hunger.
The Beast ventured upward, hard and aching, until she found her mate’s heat once more, soaked and desperate for filling. In that moment of distraction their mate’s hand found its own, and guided it up to properly adorn her throat. It’s grasp was gentle but firm, a reminder of how she would snap like tinder
“Go ahead. Take what you want. Use me to satisfy all your needs”
The entrance was divine, accompanied by claiming bites at their mates neck as it buried to the hilt, chasing release and the promised emptiness. Hips pulled back and slammed forward, rutting into their mate over and over again as her body was covered in bites and bruises. Rough to the point of brutal, almost animalistic in its taking, frenzied and wild. The Beasts grunts and growls of pleasure accompanied by their mate’s moans and wordless cries of pleasure, pulling them together like the tides. Minute by minute it climbed toward the peak, lost in the delight of their mate’s warmth, skin meeting skin again and again in an unending crescendo.
There was no pause or warning as it approached, only an increase in the pace and roughness, a need to be joined with their mate beyond the bounds of mere flesh. Bloody hands found shaking hips as they slammed forward as hard as they dared, the passage made all the easier by her soaking them both as she reached her release first. She was forced higher yet by its continued thrusting, until finally burying to the depths again and again as it became too much to bear any longer. Heat spilled inside their mate as teeth found shoulder, biting and squeezing to ensure their shared destruction.
Spent, sated, barely conscious, the Beast heard Mistress’s last words.
“Good Girl. Leash.”
Rahu awoke to darkness, blood-covered bed empty as usual, the warm space next to her indicating not long had passed since Shalom had left. Hopefully she would be back soon with Rosa, since movement was beyond her at the moment, and while at no risk of bleeding out for some time she was in desperate need of a bath. The dried blood on her face and in her hair itched something fierce.
She heard the door creek open, light falling on her back as Shalom’s bare footsteps rang on the floor, followed by the low-pitched sounds of the cargo cart. Rosa dragged her onto it along with the now ruined sheets, Shalom directing her to dump Rahu in the below-ground tub and clean up the room as best she could. Rosa bowed, by now used to such scenes, and left them to their aftercare. The warm water melted her limbs, joined by Shalom’s touch a moment later as she sank into the water beside her.
“You were asleep for one hour and 47 minutes, shorter than usual this time. How are you feeling,” her lover asked, hands gently wrapping around Rahu’s chest as she rested her head on her shoulder.
“Skin feels a bit tender and I’m one giant sore muscle, but otherwise fine. Probably need another four to six hours to fully replace the fluids though,” the aftercare routine was long established: gentle cleaning of the blood and viscera, bandage the worst of it and sleep like the dead. She’d have to remind Rosa to cook extra, since this level of recovery always left her hungrier than normal.
“Will you need more attention before resting, or can you wait until tomorrow night,” Shalom’s hands wandered lower as she asked, scrubbing and massaging near without ever actually touching her slowly hardening cock.
“I can wait,” she croaked out even as that traitorous part of her found hitherto-unknown reservoirs of energy. It always surprised Rahu how human Shalom seemed after being mauled, and the heightening of her body’s many hungers.
“Are you sure, I’m still sore but I’m sure Rosa would be more than happy to provide some assistance, given how she couldn’t keep her eyes off your ass,” Rahu could still see Rosa’s eyes as she confessed the attraction, mirrored by the glint of satisfaction in Shalom’s, and how close they came that night to killing Rahu for real. Shalom’s lips moved to her neck, leaving feather-light kisses as she trailed towards Rahu’s mouth.
“I’m still too weak to keep you both entertained, it might kill me for real. We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” she promised, her offer seeming to mollify Shalom for the moment.
“Very well. Now let's get you cleaned, bandaged and back to bed. I expect proper recompense tomorrow morning.”