'The Sequel' (to "Bree's Pearls")
Title: 'The Sequel'
Fandom: Desperate Housewives
Pairings: Bree Van deKamp and Lynette Scavo
Chapter: Part I
Rating: N17 (is there a higher rating?)
Warning: Strong BDSM themes - humiliation/torture ect
Disclaimer: I'm completely paranoid that this fiction is too highly anticipated and thus, will fail miserably. But, in keeping with the rest of my fics, I refuse to re-read this. I'm a perfectionist and if I read through every one of my fics before posting them I would never post anything because I'd be too busy editing and re-editing things. (x 100) So - here it is. Raw, bare boned et al. Part I!
“Lynette…” the whispered name breathed passed Bree’s parched lips. The name was just a mantra, chanted for strength and voiced in hope. Bree had given up calling for the blonde, knowing she would come when she was ready to. Tears were making a mess of her mascara, trailing it down her face in a smudge of inky ebony; her shoulders ached and her wrists burned where the hemp rope bit viciously into them.
Bree Van deKamp often wondered what had brought her here. What sort of madness had made her submit to Lynette Scavo. The morning Lynette had fixed that pearl necklace once more around her neck, Bree felt changed somehow; faithful to Lynette and fiercely proud of that necklace as if it were a talisman of strength. Strength she no longer felt she possessed on her own.
It hadn’t taken long, after that re-gifting of the pearls, for Bree to seek out Lynette once more with her thirst for surrender. Lynette had been amused though not surprised by Bree’s enthusiasm and Lynette gave Bree the date of a weekend where she was to make arrangements to stay at Lynette’s house.
Now, it was here and Bree was beginning to regret ever returning to kneel at Lynette’s feet. The forced arch in her back was beginning to spasm and Bree shifted against the icy steel bars of her tiny cage. Her hands had been thrust through them and tied together on the outside so as to limit her movement away from the bars; a large hamster-like contraption was attached to the top of the cage and dripped water down into her mouth when she struggled to pull up and suck on it; and a pile of newspapers had been left in one corner of the cage for her to ‘do her business’ on as Lynette put it.
That pile of newspapers had forced Bree’s heels into the ground the moment she saw them. “No. No no no. Lynette, I am not going in there. I am not urinating on those newspapers.” Shaking her head vehemently, she had struggled against Lynette’s grip and in the end it was Tom who thrust her into the cage and tied her to it.
“You will sit there, pretty, until you learn the proper way to address me.” Lynette’s tone had been stern but when Bree looked up for reassurance, the warmth was there in the blonde’s gaze. “Obviously, as your hands are tied behind your back, you will be unable to use those newspapers even if you wanted to. I suspect I will be hearing your cries soon enough.”
With a shuddered sigh, Bree stretched her legs out in front of her and crossed them in a futile attempt to hold her aching bladder at bay. Sniffing, she rubbed her nose against her shoulder and leaned her head back against the bars. The pressure in her stomach was unbearable and yet she was determined not to soil herself. Her shoulders shook once more as she began to sob.
That morning Bree had come to Lynette Scavo’s door with a small leather bag full of neatly folded clothing, her toothbrush and paste sealed in a plastic bag, her cosmetics in another, her hair brush and, of course, the velvet box with her string of pearls. Tom had welcomed her at the door, taken her bags and given her a note from Lynette that said simply; Go to the basement, take off your clothes and wait for me.
She’d waited for what seemed like hours, first standing still with her hands folded nervously in front of her naked form and then pacing the length of the concrete floor eyeing the box-like thing in the corner covered by a blanket. When Lynette came downstairs, she found Bree looking at her clothes contemplating their replacement on her body and with a firm kiss on the redhead’s mouth that had her yearning for more, Lynette presented her neighbour with her cage.
Flexing her fingers, Bree gazed longingly at the stairs that rose to the Scavo’s kitchen. She could hear Tom’s deep laughter and the pitter patter of feet running around wreaking havoc; it made the humiliation that much worse. To know that life was going on as usual upstairs while her life was in complete turmoil down here in the dark. Bree Van deKamp was naked, tied up and caged in a basement by her own volition. Shaking her head, Bree couldn’t begin to understand her own desires.
After the first hour, Bree had lost count of how long she’d been in the basement alone. The pressure in her bladder had been building for a while now and she was near the breaking point but her will was winning the battle - for now.
Having adjusted to the darkness, Bree concentrated on her surroundings. The cage was only a foot bigger than she was lying down and just a hand span taller than her seated form. The newspapers lay at the far end and she was tied across from them. Leaning up Bree made to get a drink, then wincing at the stab of pain in her gut, thought better of adding more agony to her already bursting bladder.
Grinding her teeth and rubbing her thighs together, Bree tried to concentrate on the fact that she was losing feeling in her hands. The hemp rope was cutting off circulation and her fingers were going numb. Exasperated and near tears again, Bree took a deep breath and screamed. “LYNETTE!” The last syllable cut off by the sob that tore from her.
The creak of the door brought an icy coldness to her veins and she came to the realization that she was afraid of the moment Lynette would come down those stairs. Her friend was unpredictable these days and there were moments when Bree didn’t recognize the woman at all. Their love for each other was the only thing that reassured her in the face of Lynette’s cruelty.
The dread traveled through her veins to lay claim to every organ in her body; her bladder lurched in its cold grip. Whimpering, she watched as men’s shoes descended the stairs and her eyes followed the pants up to Tom’s frowning face. Immediately Bree was flooded with relief and then shame that she should feel such respite from Lynette’s absence.
“I believe Lynette’s words to you were that you will sit there until you learn the proper way to address her.” Tom’s voice rang out stoically as he leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, and looked at her with distaste.
Her throat burning from the lack of liquid and her earlier cries, Bree choked out a response; “Tom. Please! I have to use the washroom. I didn’t agree to this. This wasn’t what I wanted.” Her eyes filled with tears again and she lowered her face, willing her hair to shadow her anguish.
Moving towards her, Tom crouched down and gripped her biceps with his hands firmly. “You don’t know what you want Bree Van deKamp. That’s the point, isn’t it? You want someone else to tell you what you want.”
His voice wormed its way into her mind even though she closed her eyes against it and made to move away; her bonds held her tightly to his cacophony of truth and she found no release from its honesty. “Tom, please.” Bree whispered, her voice broken, her fingers clutched at the fabric of his pants imploringly.
Tom pulled back and followed the trail of Bree’s tears as they splattered wetly against with his gaze. He felt a tug of guilt pull at his compassionate heartstrings but with a glance towards the open doorway upstairs, he steeled his resolve and shook his head. “You’re hers tonight Bree, I’m just the messenger.”
Taking a shuddering breath, Bree’s fingers dug into Tom’s knees. “Just tell me what she wants Tom. What does she want from me?”
Her voice was so pathetic and small, so vulnerable and unsure that Tom felt a small crack in his resolve; a fissure of tenderness as he reached up and brushed a tear away from the redhead’s blotchy cheek. “Your surrender, Bree, that’s all she wants. To harness that stubborn will of yours and ride it to exhaustion.”
Bree’s eyes widened at Tom’s explanation and her head fell to her chest dejectedly. Tom leaned down and brushed a friendly kiss to her cold fingers before he stood without another word and turned towards the stairs. Bree turned her head sharply, opening her mouth to call out to Tom. “But what if I can’t?!”
Halfway up the steps, Tom stooped low and looked Bree directly in the face. “You can.” He stood up, his head disappearing from her view and continued upstairs. “And you will.” He sounded so sure of those words, so confident.
The door closed with the finality of a bullet leaving its chamber and Bree began to believe him. She could surrender this will of hers. She could metaphorically regurgitate her bleeding heart into Lynette’s hands and trust that it would be held lovingly. She would be what Lynette believed she could be. With a smile, Bree shifted in her bonds and was rudely reminded of her aching bladder.
Those newspapers weren’t looking so terrifying now.
...To Be Continued...
PS - The winning icon goes to lyly76, I'm such a huge fan. Thanks doll!!
x-posted to flickacross bree_lynette desperate_fic allfandomfics
Fandom: Desperate Housewives
Pairings: Bree Van deKamp and Lynette Scavo
Chapter: Part I
Rating: N17 (is there a higher rating?)
Warning: Strong BDSM themes - humiliation/torture ect
Disclaimer: I'm completely paranoid that this fiction is too highly anticipated and thus, will fail miserably. But, in keeping with the rest of my fics, I refuse to re-read this. I'm a perfectionist and if I read through every one of my fics before posting them I would never post anything because I'd be too busy editing and re-editing things. (x 100) So - here it is. Raw, bare boned et al. Part I!
“Lynette…” the whispered name breathed passed Bree’s parched lips. The name was just a mantra, chanted for strength and voiced in hope. Bree had given up calling for the blonde, knowing she would come when she was ready to. Tears were making a mess of her mascara, trailing it down her face in a smudge of inky ebony; her shoulders ached and her wrists burned where the hemp rope bit viciously into them.
Bree Van deKamp often wondered what had brought her here. What sort of madness had made her submit to Lynette Scavo. The morning Lynette had fixed that pearl necklace once more around her neck, Bree felt changed somehow; faithful to Lynette and fiercely proud of that necklace as if it were a talisman of strength. Strength she no longer felt she possessed on her own.
It hadn’t taken long, after that re-gifting of the pearls, for Bree to seek out Lynette once more with her thirst for surrender. Lynette had been amused though not surprised by Bree’s enthusiasm and Lynette gave Bree the date of a weekend where she was to make arrangements to stay at Lynette’s house.
Now, it was here and Bree was beginning to regret ever returning to kneel at Lynette’s feet. The forced arch in her back was beginning to spasm and Bree shifted against the icy steel bars of her tiny cage. Her hands had been thrust through them and tied together on the outside so as to limit her movement away from the bars; a large hamster-like contraption was attached to the top of the cage and dripped water down into her mouth when she struggled to pull up and suck on it; and a pile of newspapers had been left in one corner of the cage for her to ‘do her business’ on as Lynette put it.
That pile of newspapers had forced Bree’s heels into the ground the moment she saw them. “No. No no no. Lynette, I am not going in there. I am not urinating on those newspapers.” Shaking her head vehemently, she had struggled against Lynette’s grip and in the end it was Tom who thrust her into the cage and tied her to it.
“You will sit there, pretty, until you learn the proper way to address me.” Lynette’s tone had been stern but when Bree looked up for reassurance, the warmth was there in the blonde’s gaze. “Obviously, as your hands are tied behind your back, you will be unable to use those newspapers even if you wanted to. I suspect I will be hearing your cries soon enough.”
With a shuddered sigh, Bree stretched her legs out in front of her and crossed them in a futile attempt to hold her aching bladder at bay. Sniffing, she rubbed her nose against her shoulder and leaned her head back against the bars. The pressure in her stomach was unbearable and yet she was determined not to soil herself. Her shoulders shook once more as she began to sob.
That morning Bree had come to Lynette Scavo’s door with a small leather bag full of neatly folded clothing, her toothbrush and paste sealed in a plastic bag, her cosmetics in another, her hair brush and, of course, the velvet box with her string of pearls. Tom had welcomed her at the door, taken her bags and given her a note from Lynette that said simply; Go to the basement, take off your clothes and wait for me.
She’d waited for what seemed like hours, first standing still with her hands folded nervously in front of her naked form and then pacing the length of the concrete floor eyeing the box-like thing in the corner covered by a blanket. When Lynette came downstairs, she found Bree looking at her clothes contemplating their replacement on her body and with a firm kiss on the redhead’s mouth that had her yearning for more, Lynette presented her neighbour with her cage.
Flexing her fingers, Bree gazed longingly at the stairs that rose to the Scavo’s kitchen. She could hear Tom’s deep laughter and the pitter patter of feet running around wreaking havoc; it made the humiliation that much worse. To know that life was going on as usual upstairs while her life was in complete turmoil down here in the dark. Bree Van deKamp was naked, tied up and caged in a basement by her own volition. Shaking her head, Bree couldn’t begin to understand her own desires.
After the first hour, Bree had lost count of how long she’d been in the basement alone. The pressure in her bladder had been building for a while now and she was near the breaking point but her will was winning the battle - for now.
Having adjusted to the darkness, Bree concentrated on her surroundings. The cage was only a foot bigger than she was lying down and just a hand span taller than her seated form. The newspapers lay at the far end and she was tied across from them. Leaning up Bree made to get a drink, then wincing at the stab of pain in her gut, thought better of adding more agony to her already bursting bladder.
Grinding her teeth and rubbing her thighs together, Bree tried to concentrate on the fact that she was losing feeling in her hands. The hemp rope was cutting off circulation and her fingers were going numb. Exasperated and near tears again, Bree took a deep breath and screamed. “LYNETTE!” The last syllable cut off by the sob that tore from her.
The creak of the door brought an icy coldness to her veins and she came to the realization that she was afraid of the moment Lynette would come down those stairs. Her friend was unpredictable these days and there were moments when Bree didn’t recognize the woman at all. Their love for each other was the only thing that reassured her in the face of Lynette’s cruelty.
The dread traveled through her veins to lay claim to every organ in her body; her bladder lurched in its cold grip. Whimpering, she watched as men’s shoes descended the stairs and her eyes followed the pants up to Tom’s frowning face. Immediately Bree was flooded with relief and then shame that she should feel such respite from Lynette’s absence.
“I believe Lynette’s words to you were that you will sit there until you learn the proper way to address her.” Tom’s voice rang out stoically as he leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, and looked at her with distaste.
Her throat burning from the lack of liquid and her earlier cries, Bree choked out a response; “Tom. Please! I have to use the washroom. I didn’t agree to this. This wasn’t what I wanted.” Her eyes filled with tears again and she lowered her face, willing her hair to shadow her anguish.
Moving towards her, Tom crouched down and gripped her biceps with his hands firmly. “You don’t know what you want Bree Van deKamp. That’s the point, isn’t it? You want someone else to tell you what you want.”
His voice wormed its way into her mind even though she closed her eyes against it and made to move away; her bonds held her tightly to his cacophony of truth and she found no release from its honesty. “Tom, please.” Bree whispered, her voice broken, her fingers clutched at the fabric of his pants imploringly.
Tom pulled back and followed the trail of Bree’s tears as they splattered wetly against with his gaze. He felt a tug of guilt pull at his compassionate heartstrings but with a glance towards the open doorway upstairs, he steeled his resolve and shook his head. “You’re hers tonight Bree, I’m just the messenger.”
Taking a shuddering breath, Bree’s fingers dug into Tom’s knees. “Just tell me what she wants Tom. What does she want from me?”
Her voice was so pathetic and small, so vulnerable and unsure that Tom felt a small crack in his resolve; a fissure of tenderness as he reached up and brushed a tear away from the redhead’s blotchy cheek. “Your surrender, Bree, that’s all she wants. To harness that stubborn will of yours and ride it to exhaustion.”
Bree’s eyes widened at Tom’s explanation and her head fell to her chest dejectedly. Tom leaned down and brushed a friendly kiss to her cold fingers before he stood without another word and turned towards the stairs. Bree turned her head sharply, opening her mouth to call out to Tom. “But what if I can’t?!”
Halfway up the steps, Tom stooped low and looked Bree directly in the face. “You can.” He stood up, his head disappearing from her view and continued upstairs. “And you will.” He sounded so sure of those words, so confident.
The door closed with the finality of a bullet leaving its chamber and Bree began to believe him. She could surrender this will of hers. She could metaphorically regurgitate her bleeding heart into Lynette’s hands and trust that it would be held lovingly. She would be what Lynette believed she could be. With a smile, Bree shifted in her bonds and was rudely reminded of her aching bladder.
Those newspapers weren’t looking so terrifying now.
...To Be Continued...
PS - The winning icon goes to lyly76, I'm such a huge fan. Thanks doll!!
x-posted to flickacross bree_lynette desperate_fic allfandomfics