Loces and Chains

Thank you all for staying with this series thus far. Fair warning: in this episode, Ezzo has to suffer through quite a bit of violence, though it remains bloodless. Not all future chapters will be this focused on BDSM content, but Ira's parts in general will. In any case, I hope you enjoy this.

***

Ezzo watched his formation getting obliterated yet again. Clara had opted to give him the white pebbles for a few rounds now, hoping going first would grant her slave a meaningful advantage. It was now clear that wasn't enough.

"You're getting better at this, Ezzo." She smiled apologetically as her turn, and thus the game, came to an end.

She is such a terrible liar,

Ezzo thought to himself with a smile.

All in all, Ezzo was surprised about his own good mood. He knew himself to be anything but a graceful loser, but Clara was sweet enough not to make this endless series of humiliations feel like hell.

They had spent a whole morning in the garden, playing with the rocks in front of the fountain of the bleeding lion. After her third consecutive victory, Clara had stopped keeping track.

Probably for the best

, Ezzo figured.

The rounds lasted around twenty minutes, though he still managed to drop the ball at times and get wrecked by Clara in under ten. He'd expected to grow bored of this, but there was something... charming about getting crushed by his mistress. Ezzo wasn't sure if there had ever been anyone in his life that put in that much effort just to make a flawless victory bearable for the loser.

"Again?" she asked with a tentative smile as she rearranged the pebbles on the squares of the board.

"Of course, my lady."

At least he could help her set the board up. At first, he was wondering if the repeated games weren't a way to avoid uncomfortable silence between them. But his mistress was quite happy to talk as she gobbled up Ezzo's pieces. About flowers, about her recurring dreams, about small infractions that had happened too long ago to warrant a punishment.

I really must be a whole lot more fun to beat than I think.

"By the way," she smiled as she motioned for him to make his first move. "I think your orchid will be ready soon."

"That's... wonderful, Lady Clara." He smiled at her so brightly it almost looked like they were evenly matched.

He chose to move the same first pebble as Clara had moved the game before. This strategy had failed him over fifteen times and counting, but Ezzo felt he still lasted longer this way.

Clara's soft smile faded as he chose this opener. And he noticed.

"I know it is not a particularly original move," he said a little defensively. "But you've seen where improvisation has taken me so far."

She didn't laugh at his joke, which struck Ezzo as even stranger than her vanishing smile. His mistress had been quite chipper all morning.

Something's wrong.

Clara's blue eyes didn't seem to be looking at the Scombian now, but

past

him. He only needed to look over his shoulder to find himself mirroring her facial expression.

"I see your slave is comfortable in your presence, Clara."

Ira Locke was standing motionlessly behind him, her hands clasped behind her back. Her lips were still locked in that frown she was so fond of.

It's almost a pout. Cute, if it was attached to a nicer person.

"Hi, Ira," Clara said meekly. "We are playing

latrunculi

."

"So I see," said her older sister, her gray eyes swivelling downwards to their wooden board. "Is he any good at it?"

"He's learning." Clara attempted a soft chuckle, but halted her attempt when she noticed Ira wasn't lightening up.

"Father would say teaching a war game is wasted effort on a Scombian," Ira smiled very faintly.

"Well, it's... it's still fun," muttered the younger sister.

"Right." Ira let a lone second of silence fall upon them, before speaking again. "Anyway, I need to borrow your slave."

Ezzo immediately felt his blood running cold.

She can't be serious. Just like that?

"Oh. But... but I'm with him now," Clara said, though her eyes couldn't stay on Ira's for too long. "Why don't you use one of yours?"

"Because I feel like using a Scombian, this once," the Inquisitor scoffed with a shrug.

"But I'm using..." Clara shook her head. "Using" was not a word she liked concerning slaves. "I'm

spending time

with him now."

Ezzo felt Ira's hand landing on his shoulder.

This is

not

a gentle grip,

he thought as he suppressed a wince.

"And I'll give him back to you. Once I'm done."

Her pull was so strong it forced Ezzo to stumble out of their bench onto his feet. He had to admit it surprised him to see Clara rising too.

"No! You can't do that!" she exclaimed as she pointed a finger at Ira, her voice gaining just a bit of conviction.

I am very much in agreement with my mistress,

he thought.

But I doubt I'll get away with voicing it.

"I

can't

?" Ira looked faintly amused at her sister's small burst of bravery.

And her hand is still gripping my shoulder like a vice,

Ezzo noticed. "Why not?"

"I'll... I'll tell Mother!"

There was a long moment of silence as Ira took those words in. She eventually smirked and allowed herself to lean against a nearby tree. Since she didn't let go of Ezzo, he was only pulled closer to her as her body tilted sideways.

"You know what, Clara?" Ira smiled, her fingers now deliberately pulling Ezzo closer to her.

Just because it annoys her sister, I'd bet.

"I think that's a

wonderful

idea. We could call Mother here, and have a long talk about what to do with Ezzo. Maybe she'd even share her thoughts about you teaching him to play

latrunculi

."

As if on cue, his mistress was blushing furiously and averting her eyes.

She's more afraid of Vera Locke than I am, isn't she?

There was silence from Clara then. Nothing but helpless embarrassment and the sounds of her agitated breathing.

"I'll return him in a moment." Ira pushed herself off the tree and turned around. It went without saying that Ezzo was pushed out of there in front of her.

This is it,

he thought.

I'm going to die in some basement in this estate. All because my mistress can't tell her sister to play with her own toys.

He

wanted

to be mad at Clara, to curse her lack of assertiveness and the fact that all that strategic thinking didn't make her any good at preventing her relatives from running loops around her. However, Ezzo found himself unable to do it.

Like I'd turn out any different with a family like this. Besides, I don't doubt she'll mourn me. For all the good it will do.

What he

did

find was that he had no trouble being mad at Ira.

I

was

having a pleasant morning, Lady Ira. And you didn't even bother to think hard like Viktora to ruin it.

Ira's fingers dug into his skin without pity as she herded Ezzo back into the manor. He could feel her literally breathing down his neck as she shoved him forward.

This has to be the first time I am hoping to bump into any Locke,

the Scombian mused as he looked around. Anybody, from Gareth to Vera, would be a welcome reprieve from Ira's undivided attention. And the first time he'd hoped there'd be a Locke to leer at him, none bothered to show up.

Ira walked him into her dark office. It was deserted. No guards, no prisoners of the Inquisition, and certainly no other Locke relatives.

It's just the two of us.

The thought was terrifying.

"You remember my office, don't you, Ezzo?"

Ezzo

did

. The uncanny tidiness, the dark curtains, the eerie way the light seemed to stop at her desk and reach no further - the memory of the place had stuck with him throughout the fortnight he'd spent at the Locke estate.

Her hand was still wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him close to her body. Ira's posture was firm, even if her breasts were not. It didn't seem to bother her that she was pressing Ezzo's shoulder against herself like that. He opted not to reply to her.

"It's odd," Ira said as she let go of him at last. "You struck me as a very quiet man when you first came in here. But back in the garden, you seemed quite chatty. Care to explain?"

Why don't you guess, Inquisitor?

Ezzo was surprised at his own rebellious thoughts. He was terrified of Ira, of course, but that was to be expected. The fact he was feeling mad at her for ruining his morning was rather new.

Do I even have a right to feel entitled to good mornings?

"Quiet again?" Ira shot him a taunting little smile.

She's just

daring

me to stumble into a trap,

he realized. "I hope Sura hasn't already snuck up to you and filled your head with nonsense about defiance being a game of any kind."

Ira took a step back, placing a hand on the surface of her immaculate desk. There it was. The same item that had drawn Ezzo's attention the first time he'd been there.

That damn lash.

"I want you to harbor no illusions about what will happen between us, Scombian," she shot him a smile that was almost sweet. And her fingers, Ezzo noticed, were gently strutting on the table, crawling ever closer to that weapon. "Unlike my sisters, I do

not

play games. I win by default."

One small step with her index finger, and Ira's hand was finally touching the handle of that heavy-looking lash. Her smile only deepened as she reached it.

That's a very heavy tool to bring about a victory by default.

"Of course..." She hoisted the lash very slowly. It seemed she'd read his mind. "Sometimes I must put in some work to get that permanent victory."

Ezzo could feel his heart beating faster already.

I'm not giving her the satisfaction,

he decided.

She will not see me fear or beg her.

Still, his body was already feeling tense, ready to bolt and run.

"No comment at all?" Ira raised her brow as she bunched the tendrils of the lash with her free hand.

"None, Lady Ira," he tried to muster his most neutral, dispassionate tone for his reply.

And I hope that infuriates you, Senior Inquisitor.

Ira let out a tuneless hum. Then, she brought the hilt of the lash to her chin, feigning pensiveness.

"You know, I was planning to just give you a few kisses of the lash and call it a day," she said with a chuckle. "You looked like such a lost puppy during your first week here... I would hate to overwhelm you."

The lash was taken behind her back as she clasped her hands. Then, she started circling him slowly.

"Of course, since you're being

so

brave now... I can't help but feel like this slow build-up would do nothing but bore you. Isn't that right, Ezzo?"

Ezzo felt a flicker of worry, before steadying himself with an internal appeal to spite.

She's just trying to scare me. I won't give her the satisfaction.

"That stands to reason, Lady Ira," he said steadily.

The Inquisitor smiled as if he'd fallen into a trap.

A bluff,

Ezzo tried to reassure himself. Even as she ran another lap around him. Even as his body felt even stiffer under her gaze.

"Wonderful. It's been so long since I've had someone fun to play with." She gave him a satisfied, thin smile.

Ezzo didn't quite think of anything infuriatingly neutral enough to say on time. Ira suddenly slammed her heel against the floor. The carpet under her muffled the thud of her kick.

Sounds... hollow?

"As I was saying," Ira declared as her gray eyes narrowed on him, "I wasn't planning on showing this to you so soon. But since you're clearly ready for it, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited."

I'm not backing out,

he told himself again, mostly to get a grip over his own uncertainty. Ezzo's brown eyes tried to mask his fear as they followed Ira's casual steps around him. She finally stopped, right behind him.

"Peer under the carpet, Ezzo," she commanded.

Ezzo opted not to say a thing.

Should I comply? Would that be more or less satisfying for her?

He did not have much time to think it through. An instinct, perhaps a misguided one, interrupted his own thoughts with a very simple command:

duck.

Just as Ira moved the lash, Ezzo crouched so quickly he almost lost his balance. The instinct

did

turn out to be right: the Inquisitor was indeed swinging the lash at him. Unfortunately, she swung it downwards, meaning ducking only allowed Ezzo to get struck on the shoulder half a second later, and just as hard.

The pain burnt into his skin immediately once the tendrils of the lash bent around his shoulder and drummed against his upper torso.

Gods, that thing is heavy!

It took every ounce of his will not to make a noise as Ira's long lash thundered against his flesh.

In the end, Ezzo wound up losing his balance all the same. He'd barely managed to steady himself before the searing pain all around his shoulder knocked him forward.

Right in front of the carpet... damn it.

"Peer under the carpet, Ezzo," Ira commanded again in exactly the same tone.

Ezzo reluctantly obeyed. He couldn't exactly tell why.

Yes, I can,

he sulked internally.

That lash hurts like hell, and if I want to act tough, I need at least a moment before she hits me again.

The velvety carpet came off, unveiling a stone hatch among the tiles on the ground. He felt the whip landing softly on his shoulder, a quiet reminder that Ira was still standing behind him.

"Open the hatch, Ezzo," came the command in that same, unsettlingly neutral tone.

He curled his fingers around the iron ring and pulled it as hard as he could. The lash remained perched on his burning shoulder as Ezzo lifted the heavy lid. The faint light of the office was barely enough to illuminate the stony steps underneath.

It gets darker, somehow,

Ezzo lamented internally.

"We're going down there," Ira declared menacingly behind him. "But you may choose whether you walk or crawl down those steps."

Just as Ezzo prepared to stand up, he felt her boot pressing against his calf, pinning his leg against the floor.

"You may choose.

If

you tell me your choice."

"I prefer to walk, Lady Ir-"

The lash interrupted him, landing on the opposite shoulder this time. Ezzo slumped forward with a grunt, gripping it as he tried to keep his tears in and his mouth shut.

"I forgot to mention, Ezzo," Ira said nonchalantly. "In my office, it's

Mistress

Ira. It's never too late to learn."

So fair...

was all Ezzo could think as he grappled with the blinding pain.

"I'll... walk, Mistress Ira..." he still mustered the strength to say.

Ira's boot came off his calf. The lash retreated behind her back. And she was, again, smiling faintly.

Infuriatingly

, he added mentally.

"By all means, Ezzo," she said softly.

The trip downstairs was no less chilling than Ezzo's stay at Ira's office had been so far. He took uncertain steps in the darkness, hoping his feet would not slip on the worn stone steps. His hands would occasionally lean on the narrow walls to ensure his descent was safe. Ira needed no such cautionary measures. With the lash in her hands behind her back, she remained perfectly silent as her chew toy stumbled onwards through the spiraling stairs.

The temptation to rub his aching shoulders was certainly there.

Two hits. How do two hits hurt so bad?

In the end, Ezzo opted out of it, if only to avoid giving Ira the satisfaction.

Eventually, a flicker of light allowed his steps to grow more confident. Ezzo couldn't help but sigh of relief upon exiting that difficult passage. He was just as glad to no longer have Ira silently following him in the dark.

They wound up in a room that was closer to a cell than an office. Light only came in through small, barred windows at the top of a single wall. It was not hard to see grass growing behind those bars.

We're under the ground

, Ezzo noticed. Still, the Bbrasian weather made this place look a lot less sinister than the stairs had seemed. The bright rays of sunlight trespassed that room like spears. It couldn't ever be said to be welcoming, but Ezzo would perhaps still take it over either the office or the passage there.

There was very little furniture in this cell. A lone, wooden stool had been pushed against the wall and apparently forgotten for a long time. The curled up chains in the corner did not appear to have been in use recently either. Then, at the center, stood the contraption Ira had clearly brought Ezzo there for.

That strange machine had a wooden base - a platform that was about a step tall - with four sturdy beams delineating its edges. The beams supported a large box above them. This box was also wooden, and clearly built into the ceiling, which made its full size unknown. The container above the beams also had a strangely shaped hole cut into it. It was shaped like a long, horizontal straight cut, with vertical cuts spreading out of this initial line like branches in all directions. From it, on different ends of the canals of this complex slot, four ropes were dangling peacefully just above the ground. They had a particular knot, holding leather cuffs on their ends - clearly designed to entangle someone's limbs.

However, more ropes with that same knot were present on the ground, attached to hooks on the wooden beams and the platform the person would be standing on.

Just how many limbs does Ira expect her victims to have...?

Ezzo had to wonder.

Right in front of this bizarre layout, a complex panel of buttons and levers had been built on a steel surface.

Too complex for the dumb victim. That's for Ira to operate

, Ezzo concluded.

"Do you like it?" Ira pushed Ezzo closer to the machine. It was still decidedly not a gentle shove. "We at the Inquisition call it the Puppetmaster.

I

prefer to call it the Puppetmistress. But we'll cross that bridge when we get there. Undress."

The order came out of nowhere. Ezzo didn't even have time to consider defying Ira before the lash struck him on the ribs.

The Scombian let out a whimper, before steadying himself.

Damn it, I couldn't even think!

"Undress," she repeated, her tone far too patient for someone who'd struck her prisoner after two seconds' worth of hesitation.

"Yes, Mistress Ira," Ezzo hurried to say, before she could strike him again.

Now the side of his torso was burning. These clothes were too thin. With three swings, Ira had thoroughly proven her ability to hurt him wouldn't be hampered by a slave's humble garments.

Ezzo kept his eyes on Ira, still trying to conceal his fear, as well as the burning pain that lingered on his shoulders. His undressing was deliberately slow, but not enough for Ira to hit him again. Each time she narrowed her gray eyes, Ezzo would hurry his undressing accordingly.

With the garments pooled at his feet, Ezzo found himself laid bare before the Inquisitor. His eyes landed on his shoulder. That single hit had been enough to give him a few rosy welts there.

He wasn't covering himself, though. There was no need to give her more excuses to hurt him. Nor would he let Ira gloat at his shame. The fact that the cellar wasn't too cold definitely helped here.

"Good." She looked him up and down for a moment, the hilt of the lash pressed against her chin again. "Get on the Puppetmistress."

Ira's positioning of the lash gave Ezzo enough time to interpret her order this time around. She'd already been preparing another swing, but that extra second to adjust her grip allowed Ezzo to comply on time.

"Good," she repeated, sounding a little disappointed. Ezzo would take any hint of dissatisfaction from her as a victory at that point.