Soft, white light. Opening my eyes felt like a novelty as I floated back into consciousness. I felt a vague sense of calm, contrasting to a half-remembered torment of exertion. That didn't matter now. I was warm, a little stiff, but comfortable. A few dull aches reminded me of their existence, but the idea that anything could hurt right now simply seemed out of place. Wherever I was, I liked it there.
The slow, deep rise and fall of my chest seemed to set an unhurried rhythm to the moment, whatever the moment was. I felt a smile seep across my face, for some reason I knew that this sort of comfort was something I had not had the chance to appreciate for quite some time. As my eyes wandered across a white room, watching it slowly come into focus, I wondered why that could be. Everything seemed just fine. What problem could I possibly have to trouble me?
I lazily continued my dreamlike survey of my surroundings, managing to extrapolate that I was in a bed, nothing too elaborate, a bit smaller than most, but certainly not uncomfortable. The room was fairly sparse, at least to the left, where my head was pointed. A table with a few pill bottles, some shelves on the wall with similar containers- was I in a hospital? The thought seemed revelatory for an instant, but it made sense. After all, I saw the world through one eye, only feeling the sensation of bandages over the other. It was still there, of course, but the fact that I was injured unsettled me. This was definitely some sort of medical facility.
I knew that whatever my injuries were could not have been serious. Even so, the question refused to leave my mind: why was I here? What had happened? Although the pleasant haze in my mind did not permit any real distress, I still came to the conclusion that further investigation was required. Lazily, I turned my head to take in the other side of the room.
Nothing too remarkable here, either. A small window, another shelf, a figure sitting in a chair, some sort of desk. The figure seemed familiar, important. Working to focus, I made out a few more details. Female, definitely, if on the tall side. Long hair, pulled back into something or other. Unignorable chest. My senses seemed to sharpen, almost as if in anticipation. I was a lot closer to normal consciousness, an almost instantaneous change.
Although still slow, my breathing felt just a bit less placid. Full lips. Wearing red, dark red, some sort of dress. Gloves. This seemed familiar. Legs crossed, dark stockings, maybe even boots. What looked like a glass of wine, also red, in one black-clad hand. The gloves were long, reaching above the elbow to a very noticeable bicep. And an impressive tricep. Feminine, powerful, a pattern that continued to the deltoid, the firm, powerful contours of the shoulder. I knew this woman.
All of a sudden, my reverie was over. The last traces of the drugs were gone from my body, thankfully. That nightmare was solidly in the past. I still did feel generally comfortable, and the pleasant warmth of the bed was right where I had left it, but the fuzzy, blurred train of thought and the misty sight were both gone. I must have finished the fight, and I had probably been sedated. Naturally, she was nearby, presumably for the express purpose of some sort of gloating.
I winced as I remembered the events immediately before the fight. While I was no longer able to tell myself that I wasn't attracted to her, that sort of display remained utterly out of the question. Knowing that I had revealed myself so completely without a trace of hesitation was a lump of lead in my stomach. She knew now, if she somehow hadn't already, and there was no concealing the fact anymore.
More than anything else, I wanted solitude. It was immediately clear that I was not likely to be so blessed in the foreseeable future. A long, pinched exhale failed to release any of my tension along with the air. It occurred to me that she must, by then, have been aware that I was awake. Not only was I going to be subjected to another one of our encounters, I was expected to make the first move.
I was staring, and I knew it, lying lifelessly on my back with my face pointed to the right. My eyes still fixated on the woman who had become a constant, looming presence in my life, the woman who had taken away my willpower, reduced me to her "slave" and left me, thus far, with no evidence to the contrary. I let a small sigh leave my mouth, conceding to the inevitable. I had to say something. The sooner I began the conversation, or whatever else I was going to suffer through, the sooner it would be over. Deep breath.
"I'm..."
This was surprisingly difficult, like speaking through a pillow. I wondered just how long I had been asleep.
"I'm a... awake."
"Hmmm. Well, given the circumstances, I suppose I can let your shameful lack of courtesy go unnoticed, just this once."
She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, placing one leather-clad thigh over the other and adjusting herself in the chair, as if making herself comfortable in the throne of the underworld. The same demonic smile, which never failed to remind me of a cat with a cornered, exhausted mouse, was imperiously pointed in my direction, punctuated by a small sip from the wineglass.
"That doesn't mean I don't expect you to atone for your transgression, Champion. Go on, I know you remember the proper courtesy. Just like last time, dear."
I was not conscious enough to properly handle the full impact of her voice. Floating through my ears like unholy incense, brushing against my desires with a soft, teasing assertiveness, it left me breathless for a moment, just as irresistibly as the sedative had a few minutes ago.
Unlike the sedative, however, this came with a compulsion. I could not simply ignore her instructions, after all. Dimly aware as I was of my own dismay at slipping so easily back under her spell, my own voice quickly came to occupy center stage.
"My apologies, Mistress. I simply wished to inform you that your servant has awakened."
Where the hell did that come from? I had never sunk to that level of submission, not even when she had a knife to my throat. She had not, for once, so much as suggested the possibility of physical enforcement, yet I was even more compliant than before. Shaking my head, which resulted in a barely-perceptible wiggle thanks to the numbing effects of whatever substance had been put into me now, I resolved to at least try to maintain a semblance of dignity.
