Breathing Fire (Heretic Daughters #1)

Chapter Nine: Mistress Jillian

 Lynn's pitch-black tent stood out like a sore thumb amidst the other pastel ones. A long line stretched out from the gothic, fortune-telling attraction. We waited in line gamely, trying to overhear any gossip about what was going on inside. Only one person was being admitted at a time. At this rate, we'd be here for hours. We killed time by thinking up pranks to pull on Lynn and her followers. When we got bored with that, we just bypassed the line, ignoring the jeers from the crowd.

We loomed over the skinny black-haired boy guarding the door. He looked up at us, wearing the perpetually tormented look on his face that Lynn's emos favored, the one that always made me laugh. "We're here to see your mistress," Christian told him after he'd stared him down for a good minute.

The boy shook his head firmly. "Mistress Noir is only admitting one truth-seeker at a time."

I smirked at him. "We aren't seeking the truth. Move aside, son."

He pursed his lips at me. "Are you acquainted with the mistress?"

Christian and I nodded. "Tell her Christian and Jillian are here." He disappeared inside the tent for a moment. He came back out, waving us in. "She will deign to see you," he sniffed. Christian messed up his stiffly coifed hair as he walked by. The boy gasped in outrage. "Good boy," Christian told him as we walked inside.

The inside of the tent was, of course, as black as the outside. It was broken up into sections by thick black curtains. The first room was, predictably, the fortune-tellers room. Complete with cheesy crystal ball. A young goth waited behind the ball, face aged with bad make-up effects. An old/young goth/gypsy? Whatever. We passed by her, entering the next curtained area. This room was much bigger, and obviously where the real party was going on. Lynn held court at the back of the room, dressed as a pirate now. I nodded in her direction, but quickly got distracted by the tableau being acted out in the opposite corner of the room.

A tiny dominatrix was putting on quite a show for the room. She couldn't be more than five feet tall, with curly black hair down to her waist. She had the perfect face of a doll. Its expression, however, was far from doll-like. She wore a savage look as she glared down at her feet. Her five-inch stilettos looked razor sharp, and were currently digging into the prone back of a man easily twice her size. He was moaning pitiably. "You ask permission to speak, worm!" she was barking at him as we entered the room. She used her whip on him with every word she spoke. She didn't even look up as we entered.

"Yes, Mistress Devour," the poor, submissive man moaned. His back was bloody.

I glanced back in Lynn's direction briefly. "That's fucked up," I told her. She smirked at me.

I wasn't ignorant about such things. I'd been hanging around Lynn long enough to see my fair share of it. But I didn't like the look of this little spectacle.

I approached the kinky couple, kneeling down beside the bound man. He lifted his head the barest amount. His long, curly, auburn hair nearly covered his eyes. I brushed it away with one fingertip. His dark blue eyes met mine reluctantly. I was sure eye contact wasn't something his vicious lover encouraged. I could tell with one look that he was truly submissive. "You okay?" I asked him directly. "You're consenting to this?"

"Yes." His hoarse voice was soft. Mistress Devour started whipping him in earnest. "I didn't give you permission to speak!" she screeched. Her voice sounded petulant and childlike. I grabbed her whip easily with one hand, not taking my eyes off her tortured lover.

"What's your name?" I asked him.

"Luke."

"Well, Luke, my name is Jillian. Your friend here is a little overzealous. If she ever gets to be too much for you, let me know if you need a hand getting loose." He could always overpower her physically, so that wasn't really what I was worried about. But a bound sub with little to no boundaries in the hands of the wrong dominant could always use a friend. He nodded slightly, lowering his gaze.