(no subject)
So, while scrolling through some fic that had the whole 'sex slave' schtick going on, I couldn't help but be struck by the glorification of what was rape - a trope most wildly popular fiction engages in when it deals with that issue; that if it feels good, it isn't a bad thing to be forced into sex; that if the rapist is kind and gentle, the violating act in and of itself is therefore lessened. Which was a disturbing fictive process to encounter. I've never been assaulted, but live with the knowledge that this statement - "I've never been asaulted" - is accompanied by a hidden, ominous, "yet". The threat of it lurks. Statistically, the chances are high that I will experience at least one incidence of physical sexual attack by the time I die - realistically, the chances are high that I will experience repeated incidences of physical sexual attack. I've certainly been made uncomfortable by innuendo and the insistence that I made promises on which I failed to deliver (promises I don't remember making, when I was fourteen, to a man who was in his late twenties - so very not cool; I feel unclean just remembering it).
Anyway; anyway. I felt this need to write a story in response to this glorification of the sex slave trope. I wanted to write something gender neutral, because men are not the only rapists, and women are not the only rape surivvors. The story that resulted came out more of an outline than anything else; it's sparse on details, and set in an alter-Earth type universe. Think fantasy setting.
Bindings
The first bond is the strongest, so common wisdom states, and needs must be chosen carefully - reason why it so often is left to the province of fathers to decide, old men with discerning eyes.
You were chosen for me by my great-uncle Arcturus. He groomed you from a child to be mine; taught you the graces of Court, bade you learn to keep me in comfort. And you did well in all tasks set before you. I was pleased to meet you, to know you would be mine, were mine, your eyes down-cast and shy, your form finely shaped with lean and limber grace, hair wisping soft against the nape of your neck.
When I touched your mouth with my mouth, you parted your lips willingly. So close, I could feel your eyelashes against my cheek. I took you, and you sighed around me, and relinquished yourself to me, and I swore in my heart I would care for you as I had cared for none other.
*
I had agonized long hours on the adornment of your rooms. Silk or satin? Bed-sheets so vitally important, though of course the texture of either cloth could not compare to the softness of your skin. Large windows to let in daylight, cherry wood standing furniture, a mirror in which you could admire yourself.
All wasted, the first time. Oh, how you fooled me.
Your eyes luminous, your breath caught in your throat, I should have known the wealth of emotion that swept through you - it was not joy. I should have known, but I was young and foolish, and to my foolishness almost lost you. My dearest pet.
And so you were moved to the innermost rooms of my castle and denied the light of sun, windows replaced with murals vibrant and newly painted. All the best for you.
I kissed the bandages on your wrists and assured you that your wounds would not scar. You touched my face so gently. You touched my tears with simple wonder. I do not think you had known I would cry for you.
Still, it would take you long months to win back that simple right of outside air.
*
The first bond is the strongest, and I felt you in me, your thoughts dim gems gleaming in the background of my mind, your emotions a steady current. When I took you, I could feel how you felt, the shuddering depth of horror mingled with desire. It never pleased me that you were horrified at my touch, but I did my best to understand, and over time your distaste faded, like ink into paper left out in the sun.
You soon learned what best pleased me, your mouth an open prayer, your hands open in supplication. I could do nothing but cry with the pleasure, the thankfulness, of having you.
The years passed and you grew yet lovelier. The years passed and I inhabited ever more of your mind, until you could not take a breath without my feeling your exhalation. And when you smiled, I felt the mysterious curve of your lips from inside my skin, that shift of muscle and love; when you closed your eyes, in welcome to the darkness, it was darkness I greeted as well. And at times, if I so wished it, I could move you. Could stroke the inside of you, cause you to writhe with my absent touch.
The first bond is the strongest, and the second the sweetest, as I have learned.
*
You smiled when I told you I was taking Another to join in our family, but I could see the frown in your eyes. I brought you with me to claim our second, a breathy young thing with dewy long-lashed eyes and sobbing breath. Our second had no wish to come with us and Come to us, and I could sense already the resistance I would encounter. And so I set you to the task, set you to the breaking, and you did such a lovely job.
I could see how our second would glare at you with injurious pride beneath prodigiously lovely lashes; could see how our second looked to me to be saviour and lover both, kindness personified. Where you were suppressed hate and rage (oh, don’t flinch, I never begrudged you, I always ignored the darkness of you in favour of your light, took your love and left your hate), our second was giving and loving and conniving, set to supplant you.
But you knew you could never be replaced. And I knew; but our second’s mouth, so sweet. And never begrudgingly offered.
And we were three, and at times I would have both of you at once, and at times have you take one another, and always you were mine.
*
But then our second tried to take you from me. Tried to open the scars so long healed into new skin (and don’t think I didn’t notice how you leaned so willingly into the knife, how you didn’t smile but yet had the light of joy shining in your eyes).
I executed our second, and mourned the necessity of such an act; but you, I saved.
The second bond is the sweetest, but betrayal at such a level I could never have borne. And to put you at risk, unthinkable. The first bond is the strongest, after all.
*
It would be another year before I could contemplate a third. Frightfully young, in mind if not in body - developmentally challenged, Great-uncle Arcturus murmured to me in confidence, fully capable of providing in pleasure without managing the complexity of thought required for treachery.
Exactly what I was looking for, the docility of such a creature unquestioned. I learned from my mistake, beloved, and didn’t play the two of you against one another; set our third instead the task of keeping you occupied and entertained. Such devotion I have never seen - dumb devotion, but no less sweet for that. Our third lavished attention on you, and you blossomed beneath such care.
I would watch the two of you, in moments you thought yourselves unobserved, and note how you would kiss with close-mouthed tenderness. How you would make love without me to see.
You should have known, my dearest, how that would make me feel. You should have known I would not enjoy being second in your heart when your heart belonged to me.
Though it was my hand that held the knife, it was yours that placed it there.
You should not weep, pet, for the things you force me to do.
*
Perhaps I shouldn’t have tried a fourth time. But your chilly silences abraded me, and I sought to appease you with more company, sure you had learned your lesson and would be more circumspect in your attentions. To be safe, I chose a child; one who would grow into the knowledge of how to physically appease me, but one you would not find appealing for years yet.
And in a strange way, the child became our child. Such a small creature, with swift feet and fair hair - I saw how you would stroke its hair, love a soft expression on your face. You would rock the child to sleep and sing to it small inconsequential songs, and I would watch you glow contented with joy.
A few years passed in this familial bliss. Neither of us very young, any more, lines wrinkling my face and mature beauty become your charismatic presence. You aged so well, love, that it seemed time was your lover more than ever I was. I did as was reasonable and began to coach our child in the art of sensual gratification; and you abided over our lessons; and if the look on your face was forbidding, it was not within your jurisdiction to forbid.
Perhaps it was a bit much to demand you be the one to conduct the final lesson. The child looking wide-eyed between us, as you stoutly denied my order; perhaps I should not have over-stepped my bounds.
But when it comes to us, my heart, there is no boundary, and I had thought you had by now - at long last - understood that one fundamental fact.
When it comes to us, you will do as I say.
*
When the knife slid in, I wasn’t sure whose hand held it and whose heart it pierced. We had been so closely intertwined. Perhaps it no longer mattered; the first bond is the strongest, and one death is another’s; and you gasped your blood-flecked gasp, and you said, “The child goes free.”
And I laughed and laughed and laughed, died laughing, because, my dove, there is no such thing as ‘freedom’.
Anyway; anyway. I felt this need to write a story in response to this glorification of the sex slave trope. I wanted to write something gender neutral, because men are not the only rapists, and women are not the only rape surivvors. The story that resulted came out more of an outline than anything else; it's sparse on details, and set in an alter-Earth type universe. Think fantasy setting.
Bindings
The first bond is the strongest, so common wisdom states, and needs must be chosen carefully - reason why it so often is left to the province of fathers to decide, old men with discerning eyes.
You were chosen for me by my great-uncle Arcturus. He groomed you from a child to be mine; taught you the graces of Court, bade you learn to keep me in comfort. And you did well in all tasks set before you. I was pleased to meet you, to know you would be mine, were mine, your eyes down-cast and shy, your form finely shaped with lean and limber grace, hair wisping soft against the nape of your neck.
When I touched your mouth with my mouth, you parted your lips willingly. So close, I could feel your eyelashes against my cheek. I took you, and you sighed around me, and relinquished yourself to me, and I swore in my heart I would care for you as I had cared for none other.
*
I had agonized long hours on the adornment of your rooms. Silk or satin? Bed-sheets so vitally important, though of course the texture of either cloth could not compare to the softness of your skin. Large windows to let in daylight, cherry wood standing furniture, a mirror in which you could admire yourself.
All wasted, the first time. Oh, how you fooled me.
Your eyes luminous, your breath caught in your throat, I should have known the wealth of emotion that swept through you - it was not joy. I should have known, but I was young and foolish, and to my foolishness almost lost you. My dearest pet.
And so you were moved to the innermost rooms of my castle and denied the light of sun, windows replaced with murals vibrant and newly painted. All the best for you.
I kissed the bandages on your wrists and assured you that your wounds would not scar. You touched my face so gently. You touched my tears with simple wonder. I do not think you had known I would cry for you.
Still, it would take you long months to win back that simple right of outside air.
*
The first bond is the strongest, and I felt you in me, your thoughts dim gems gleaming in the background of my mind, your emotions a steady current. When I took you, I could feel how you felt, the shuddering depth of horror mingled with desire. It never pleased me that you were horrified at my touch, but I did my best to understand, and over time your distaste faded, like ink into paper left out in the sun.
You soon learned what best pleased me, your mouth an open prayer, your hands open in supplication. I could do nothing but cry with the pleasure, the thankfulness, of having you.
The years passed and you grew yet lovelier. The years passed and I inhabited ever more of your mind, until you could not take a breath without my feeling your exhalation. And when you smiled, I felt the mysterious curve of your lips from inside my skin, that shift of muscle and love; when you closed your eyes, in welcome to the darkness, it was darkness I greeted as well. And at times, if I so wished it, I could move you. Could stroke the inside of you, cause you to writhe with my absent touch.
The first bond is the strongest, and the second the sweetest, as I have learned.
*
You smiled when I told you I was taking Another to join in our family, but I could see the frown in your eyes. I brought you with me to claim our second, a breathy young thing with dewy long-lashed eyes and sobbing breath. Our second had no wish to come with us and Come to us, and I could sense already the resistance I would encounter. And so I set you to the task, set you to the breaking, and you did such a lovely job.
I could see how our second would glare at you with injurious pride beneath prodigiously lovely lashes; could see how our second looked to me to be saviour and lover both, kindness personified. Where you were suppressed hate and rage (oh, don’t flinch, I never begrudged you, I always ignored the darkness of you in favour of your light, took your love and left your hate), our second was giving and loving and conniving, set to supplant you.
But you knew you could never be replaced. And I knew; but our second’s mouth, so sweet. And never begrudgingly offered.
And we were three, and at times I would have both of you at once, and at times have you take one another, and always you were mine.
*
But then our second tried to take you from me. Tried to open the scars so long healed into new skin (and don’t think I didn’t notice how you leaned so willingly into the knife, how you didn’t smile but yet had the light of joy shining in your eyes).
I executed our second, and mourned the necessity of such an act; but you, I saved.
The second bond is the sweetest, but betrayal at such a level I could never have borne. And to put you at risk, unthinkable. The first bond is the strongest, after all.
*
It would be another year before I could contemplate a third. Frightfully young, in mind if not in body - developmentally challenged, Great-uncle Arcturus murmured to me in confidence, fully capable of providing in pleasure without managing the complexity of thought required for treachery.
Exactly what I was looking for, the docility of such a creature unquestioned. I learned from my mistake, beloved, and didn’t play the two of you against one another; set our third instead the task of keeping you occupied and entertained. Such devotion I have never seen - dumb devotion, but no less sweet for that. Our third lavished attention on you, and you blossomed beneath such care.
I would watch the two of you, in moments you thought yourselves unobserved, and note how you would kiss with close-mouthed tenderness. How you would make love without me to see.
You should have known, my dearest, how that would make me feel. You should have known I would not enjoy being second in your heart when your heart belonged to me.
Though it was my hand that held the knife, it was yours that placed it there.
You should not weep, pet, for the things you force me to do.
*
Perhaps I shouldn’t have tried a fourth time. But your chilly silences abraded me, and I sought to appease you with more company, sure you had learned your lesson and would be more circumspect in your attentions. To be safe, I chose a child; one who would grow into the knowledge of how to physically appease me, but one you would not find appealing for years yet.
And in a strange way, the child became our child. Such a small creature, with swift feet and fair hair - I saw how you would stroke its hair, love a soft expression on your face. You would rock the child to sleep and sing to it small inconsequential songs, and I would watch you glow contented with joy.
A few years passed in this familial bliss. Neither of us very young, any more, lines wrinkling my face and mature beauty become your charismatic presence. You aged so well, love, that it seemed time was your lover more than ever I was. I did as was reasonable and began to coach our child in the art of sensual gratification; and you abided over our lessons; and if the look on your face was forbidding, it was not within your jurisdiction to forbid.
Perhaps it was a bit much to demand you be the one to conduct the final lesson. The child looking wide-eyed between us, as you stoutly denied my order; perhaps I should not have over-stepped my bounds.
But when it comes to us, my heart, there is no boundary, and I had thought you had by now - at long last - understood that one fundamental fact.
When it comes to us, you will do as I say.
*
When the knife slid in, I wasn’t sure whose hand held it and whose heart it pierced. We had been so closely intertwined. Perhaps it no longer mattered; the first bond is the strongest, and one death is another’s; and you gasped your blood-flecked gasp, and you said, “The child goes free.”
And I laughed and laughed and laughed, died laughing, because, my dove, there is no such thing as ‘freedom’.