Chapter 13: The Dining Table Reckoning
The morning light cut across the dining room in sharp, unforgiving planes, illuminating dust motes dancing over the black marble. Ava knelt in her designated spot beside the sideboard, the heavy collar a familiar weight. The chain was gone, but its phantom presence remained in the stiffness of her neck. She held a silver tray bearing a single cup of black coffee, steam curling in the cool air. Her knees ached on the hard floor, a deep, persistent throb that mirrored the dull pain between her legs where the cage pressed. She was naked, save for the collar. A living fixture.
Jessica entered the room, dressed in one of Ethan’s old university sweatshirts and nothing else. Her bare legs were pale against the dark floor. She moved with a new ownership, a languid confidence that didn’t quite reach her eyes, which were shadowed. She didn’t look at Ava as she slid into the chair at the head of the table, Ethan’s chair. He was still in the shower; the distant hiss of water was the only sound besides the low hum of the refrigerator.
“Coffee,” Jessica said, her voice morning-hoarse.
Ava rose smoothly, her movements economical, and placed the tray on the table. She stepped back, then knelt again, head bowed, hands resting on her thighs. Jessica picked up the cup, took a sip, and immediately her face contorted. She spat the liquid back into the cup with a violent, retching sound.
“What the fuck is this?” she snarled, her voice cracking.
Ava flinched. “Coffee, Mistress.”
“It’s salt!” Jessica shrieked. She launched to her feet, the chair screeching back. “You put fucking salt in my coffee!”
Ava’s head snapped up, genuine confusion etched on her pale features. “No, Mistress, I didn’t. I swear—”
Jessica hurled the cup. It missed Ava’s head by inches, exploding against the sideboard in a spray of scalding liquid and ceramic shards. Hot coffee splattered across Ava’s back and shoulders. She cried out, jerking away from the stinging pain.
“You lying bitch!” Jessica was on her, fingers tangling in Ava’s hair, yanking her head back. “You’re trying to poison me because of last night? Because I put you in your place?” Spittle landed on Ava’s cheek. The bubbly girl was gone, replaced by a raw, jangled nerve of fury and insecurity. The transgression, real or imagined, was a catalyst for all the unprocessed horror of the previous day.
Ethan appeared in the doorway, a towel around his waist, his hair damp. He leaned against the frame, watching. He didn’t intervene.
“I didn’t, please,” Ava sobbed, her hands coming up to claw weakly at Jessica’s wrist.
“Get up.” Jessica dragged her towards the kitchen. She shoved Ava inside, following closely. Ethan followed, a silent spectator. Jessica’s eyes scanned the sterile kitchen. They landed on the trash can. A cruel, desperate idea solidified in her gaze. She looked at Ethan, seeking permission, validation. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
“You think you can disrespect me?” Jessica hissed, her voice low and trembling with a rage that bordered on panic. She kicked the stainless steel trash can, toppling it. Peels, coffee grounds, a wad of paper towels, and the torn, empty packaging from last night’s takeout spilled across the tiles. The smell of old food and decay filled the air. “You want to serve me filth? Let’s see how you like it.”
She grabbed a large, clear glass dildo from a drying rack—an impersonal, clinical toy. She scooped it through the mess on the floor, stuffing the end with wet coffee grounds and soggy vegetable peelings. She held it up, dripping. “Kneel. Here.” She pointed to the mess.
Ava was hyperventilating, her eyes wide with primal terror. She looked to Ethan. His expression was one of mild, academic interest. No salvation there. Slowly, she lowered herself into the garbage, the cold, wet refuse squelching beneath her knees. Eggshells cracked under her weight.
“Jessica,” Ethan said, his voice calm. “The eggshells. They require more… precision.”
Jessica looked at the broken shells. A sick smile touched her lips. She gathered a handful, crunching them to finer pieces, and sprinkled them in a cruel circle around Ava’s knees. “Kneel up. Properly.”
Ava sobbed as she adjusted her posture, the sharp edges of the shells biting into her skin. Tiny pinpricks of blood welled up and smeared on the white fragments.
“Now,” Jessica said, brandishing the garbage-stuffed dildo. “You’re going to take this. And you’re going to thank me for it.”
“Please, no,” Ava begged, shrinking back. “Not that, it’s dirty, I’ll get sick, please—”
Jessica’s hand connected with her face in a hard slap. “Open your mouth.”
When Ava resisted, Jessica looked at Ethan, frustrated, her fury tipping into helplessness. Ethan walked calmly to a locked cabinet near the pantry. He opened it and retrieved a simple, black cattle prod, about a foot long. He tossed it to Jessica. She caught it, her hand fumbling on the plastic. Her thumb found the button. A terrifying, vicious crackle of blue electricity bridged the two metal prongs at its end. The sound was like tearing fabric.
“Persuasion,” Ethan said mildly, leaning back against the counter.
The buzz of the prod seemed to focus Jessica. The trembling in her hands lessened. The weapon was an extension of a will she desperately wanted to own. She pressed the button again, bringing the snapping, sparking end close to Ava’s thigh. The smell of ozone cut through the garbage stench.
“Last chance,” Jessica said, her voice steadier now. “Open wide.”
A choked scream tore from Ava’s throat as she complied, her jaw unhinging in abject terror. Jessica didn’t hesitate. She shoved the garbage-packed end of the dildo into Ava’s mouth, pushing it deep. Ava gagged violently, her body convulsing, but Jessica held it there, her own breath coming in ragged pants. Coffee grounds and slime coated Ava’s tongue, her gums, the back of her throat.
“Suck it,” Jessica commanded, her eyes blazing. “Suck the garbage like it’s his cock. Get it nice and wet.”
Tears streamed down Ava’s face as she obeyed, her throat working around the intrusion. The taste was overwhelming—bitter, sour, rotten. She retched, but nothing came up.
“Now,” Jessica said, pulling the filthy toy out with a slick, obscene pop. Saliva and brown muck dripped from Ava’s lips. “For the main event. On your hands and knees. Ass in the air.”
Shaking uncontrollably, Ava moved into the position, her back arched, her face hovering over the refuse on the floor. The cage between her legs looked absurd, a locked gate to a place no one wanted to enter. Jessica positioned herself behind her. She spat on the dildo, then pressed its blunt, soiled tip against Ava’s tight, clenched asshole.
“Relax,” Jessica sneered, “or I’ll use the prod inside you.”
Ava wailed, a sound of pure, animal despair, but she forced her muscles to go slack. Jessica pushed. The intrusion was brutal, dry, and filthy. Ava screamed into the garbage, her body seizing as the glass, coated in its foul lubricant, breached her. Jessica shoved it deeper, inch by inch, a grimace of concentration and revulsion and excitement on her face.
“It’s in,” Jessica breathed, almost to herself. She looked at the prod in her other hand, then at the mess on the floor. An idea, fully formed and utterly depraved, clicked into place. She pulled the dildo out, now streaked with filth and a faint trace of blood. Ava collapsed forward onto her elbows, sobbing.
“No, no resting,” Jessica said. She grabbed a handful of Ava’s hair, pulling her head up. She shoved the dildo back into her face. “Clean it. With your mouth. Every bit. Then swallow what’s on it.”
Ava stared at the offered horror, her mind breaking. The prod buzzed near her nipple.
She opened her mouth. Jessica scraped the dildo over her tongue, coating it again in saliva and grime. “Chew,” Jessica instructed. “There’s bits of food. Swallow them.”
Ava’s jaw moved mechanically. She chewed on a piece of soft, unrecognizable vegetable matter. She gagged, her throat convulsing, but she forced it down. A string of bile-laced saliva dripped from her lips.
“Again,” Jessica said, her voice hypnotic with cruelty. She pulled the toy out, examined it, and shoved it back in. “Get it all. You made this mess. You consume it.”
This went on for minutes, a cycle of violation and forced ingestion. Each time Ava swallowed, Jessica would smile, a brittle, terrifying thing. Ethan watched, his arms crossed, his cock visibly hard beneath his towel. He was a curator observing a particularly successful exhibit.
Finally, Jessica seemed satisfied. She dropped the dildo onto the floor with a clatter. She was panting, her face flushed, her pupils dilated. She looked from Ava’s destroyed form to the cattle prod. The power was a heady, addictive drug. She needed to cement it.
“You tried to poison me,” Jessica stated, the original excuse now a bedrock truth. “You need to be reminded of your place. Of what happens to bad slaves.” She pressed the button on the prod. The blue arc crackled.
She touched it to the back of Ava’s thigh.
The sound was a wet, sharp sizzle. Ava’s body arched in a violent, rigid spasm, a silent scream locked in her throat before a shattered, airless shriek escaped. The smell of burnt skin, faint and acrid, joined the other odors. A perfect, blistering red circle bloomed on her pale skin.
Jessica jerked the prod away, horrified and electrified by her own action. She looked at the mark, then at Ava, who was now shuddering in silent, shocky tremors, her cries reduced to whimpers.
“Thank your Mistress,” Ethan’s voice cut through the haze. It was not a suggestion.
Ava’s voice was a broken rasp, filtered through garbage and pain. “Th-thank you, Mistress.”
“For what?” Ethan prompted.
“F-for… for correcting me,” Ava choked out, her eyes staring blankly at the grimy floor. “For… for the reminder.”
Jessica stood there, the prod hanging from her hand, its buzz now silent. The fury had drained, leaving a hollow, trembling shell. She had done it. She had crossed every line. She looked at Ethan, seeking something—absolution, condemnation, a cue.
He walked over to her. He pried the cattle prod from her numb fingers and set it aside. He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. “You did perfectly,” he murmured, his voice warm with approval. “Now go shower. You’ve earned it.”
She nodded, a marionette with cut strings, and stumbled out of the kitchen.
Ethan turned his attention to Ava, still crumpled in the garbage. He crouched beside her. “Look at you,” he said, almost tenderly. He traced the fresh burn on her thigh. She flinched. “She marked you. That’s hers. A significant step.” He stood. “Clean this mess. Then yourself. The cage stays on. The collar stays on. You will present yourself to Jessica when she’s done, and you will ask if her coffee is to her liking.”
He left her there.
Ava lay amidst the eggshells and coffee grounds, the taste of garbage and ashes in her mouth, the burn on her leg a throbbing brand of a new, terrifying reality. The water in the shower turned on. She heard Jessica crying, the sounds muffled by the water and the wall. Or maybe, she thought, as she pushed herself up on bleeding knees, that was just the echo of her own shattered heart, now nothing more than another piece of refuse on the cold, hard floor.
The water from the shower finally stopped. Ava heard the silence that followed, thick and heavy. She pushed herself up, each movement sending fresh jolts from her knees and the crisp, burning ache on her thigh. The branded skin pulsed with a bright, sickening heat. She began to clean, her motions slow and robotic. She picked up eggshells and wet coffee grounds with her bare hands, depositing them back into the canister. She wiped the smeared filth from the tiles until they shone again, her own blood making tiny pink streaks in the water.
She scrubbed the glass dildo with antibacterial soap until it gleamed, erasing the evidence of its violation. Her own taste, mixed with garbage, still coated the back of her throat. She did not look at the cattle prod where Ethan had left it on the counter. It was a dark monument. When the kitchen was sterile once more, she cleaned herself at the utility sink, the cold water biting at the burn. She did not cry. The tears seemed frozen somewhere deep behind her ribs.
She knelt again in the dining room, waiting. The apartment was quiet, a tomb holding three living things. When Jessica finally emerged, she was wrapped in a robe, her hair damp. She looked younger, her face pale and washed of its earlier fury. She avoided looking at Ava as she walked to the table, where a fresh cup of coffee—unsalted, untouched—had been placed.
“Is your coffee to your liking, Mistress?” Ava asked, her voice a dry rustle. The protocol was a lifeline, a script for a self that no longer existed.
Jessica flinched at the title. She picked up the cup, took a cautious sip. Nodded. “It’s fine.” Her eyes flickered to Ava’s thigh, to the visible, blistering burn. She looked away quickly, her fingers tightening on the porcelain. “You can go.”
Ava rose and retreated to the kitchen’s shadow, a ghost dismissed. Ethan entered then, dressed for the day. He went straight to Jessica, his hand slipping inside her robe to cup her breast, his thumb rubbing her nipple. She leaned into him, a desperate seeking of warmth.
“You’re tense,” he murmured into her hair. “The adrenaline crash. It’s normal. You pushed through a barrier. That’s growth.” His words were rational, medicinal. He kissed her neck. “You need to come down. I’ll help you.”
He led her to the living room, guiding her onto the large leather sofa. He pushed the robe off her shoulders. “On your knees. Facing the back.” His tone was gentle, instructional. Jessica obeyed, climbing onto the couch, her backside presented to the room. To the kitchen doorway where Ava stood, watching, because she had not been told she could leave.
Ethan unzipped his trousers. He was already hard. He spat into his palm, slicking himself, and positioned the head of his cock at Jessica’s entrance. He didn’t tease. He pushed in with one smooth, deep stroke, filling her. She gasped, her back arching.
“That’s it,” he said, his hands gripping her hips. He began to fuck her with a steady, possessive rhythm. “This is your reward. This is the anchor. Feel it.” His thrusts were firm, measured, a metronome of reclamation. Jessica’s initial stiffness melted. A low moan escaped her as her body accepted the rhythm, the familiar penetration. Her earlier violence was being overwritten by a more familiar submission.
Ethan’s eyes found Ava’s in the shadows. He held her gaze as his hips snapped forward. “See how she takes it?” he said, his voice only slightly strained. “See how a good girl accepts what she’s given?” He punctuated each question with a deep thrust, making Jessica whimper. “She earned this. You could earn it too, if you learned.”
Ava stood frozen, the burn on her leg screaming. She watched Jessica’s body move with his, saw the conflicted pleasure on her face. This was the connection she had once craved, now twisted into a public lesson.
“Touch yourself,” Ethan commanded Ava, his pace never faltering.
Ava’s hands trembled at her sides.
“Through the cage,” he amended, a cruel smile touching his lips. “You don’t get to feel skin. You get to feel steel. Do it.”
Her fingers brushed the cold, locked device. She pressed against it, a pathetic mimicry of sensation. The metal ground uselessly against her flesh. A dry sob racked her.
“Harder,” Ethan grunted, slamming into Jessica, who was now crying out with each drive. “Make yourself feel something, you worthless cunt.”
Ava pressed the heel of her hand hard against the cage, pain and frustration and a grotesque ember of arousal mixing into a unbearable wave. Her knees buckled, but she stayed upright, her face a mask of torment.
Ethan’s breath hitched. He was close. He pulled Jessica’s hair, tilting her head back. “Tell her what you are,” he demanded.
“I’m yours,” Jessica panted, her voice slurred with pleasure.
“Tell her what you own.”
Jessica’s eyes, clouded with sex, found Ava’s. A flicker of that same cruel ownership from the kitchen surfaced. “I own… her.”
“Yes.” Ethan drove home one last time, his body tensing as he emptied himself inside her with a low groan. He held himself there, pulsing. When he slid out, he turned Jessica around. Cum leaked down her thigh. He kissed her, deeply, possessively.
He left her boneless on the couch and walked to Ava. He surveyed her trembling form, the hand still pressed pathetically against the steel. “Clean her,” he said, nodding back toward Jessica. “With your tongue. Be thorough. Then you may begin the day’s chores.”
He zipped his trousers and left, the sound of the front door closing behind him final. Ava stood for a moment, the taste of garbage still haunting her mouth. Then she walked forward, toward the girl on the couch, toward the new chain of command seared into her skin and soul, and lowered her head to obey.
The leather of the couch was still warm from their bodies, damp in places. Jessica didn’t move as Ava approached. She stared at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling rapidly. The smell of sex—musky and sharp with sweat—hung thick in the air. Ava knelt on the floor, the cold hardwood a shock against her bruised knees.
She leaned in, her face hovering near Jessica’s inner thigh. The evidence of Ethan’s possession gleamed on her skin, a viscous white trail. Ava closed her eyes. She extended her tongue.
The taste was salt and bitterness, a biological tang that made her stomach clench. She licked a slow, flat stripe from knee to the juncture of Jessica’s thigh. Jessica flinched, a tiny intake of breath. Ava worked methodically, cleaning the spend from her skin, her movements clinical and detached. She was a utensil.
“Does it disgust you?” Jessica’s voice was quiet, hollow.
Ava paused, her mouth a centimeter from Jessica’s skin. “My feelings are irrelevant, Mistress.”
“Answer me.”
“Yes.” The word was a whisper against damp flesh. “It disgusts me.”
A strange sound escaped Jessica—a half-sob, half-laugh. Her hand came down, not to strike, but to tangle in Ava’s hair. It wasn’t a cruel grip. It was searching. “It disgusts me too,” she murmured. “Now. Do the rest. Where it came from.”
She guided Ava’s head upward. Ava’s tongue touched the swollen, slick folds. Jessica was still open, tender from use. Ava pressed her mouth against her, lapping at the mixture of fluids leaking from inside. Jessica’s hips twitched. A low groan vibrated in her throat.
“Use your fingers,” Jessica breathed, her voice losing its hollow quality, gaining a thread of heat. “Get it all out.”
Ava slid two fingers inside her. The channel was hot and soft, clenching weakly around the intrusion. She scissored them, collecting the remnants of Ethan’s cum, then pulled them out and sucked them clean. She repeated the process, her own arousal a distant, shameful echo trapped behind steel. Jessica’s breathing grew ragged.
“You’re good at that,” Jessica said, her fingers tightening in Ava’s hair. “You’ve had practice.” The words were meant to sting, but they sounded breathy. “Do it until I’m clean. Until I say stop.”
Ava obeyed, her world narrowing to taste and texture and command. She ate Jessica out with a desperate, focused diligence, trying to erase the earlier violation with this new one. The bitterness faded, replaced by Jessica’s own increasing wetness. The scent of sex changed, becoming sharper, more present. Jessica began to rock against Ava’s mouth, chasing a sensation.
“There… right there,” Jessica moaned, abandoning pretense. She ground her cunt down onto Ava’s tongue, her back arching off the couch. “Don’t stop. Fuck, don’t you dare stop.”
Ava felt the moment Jessica tipped over. Her inner muscles fluttered wildly around the fingers Ava had pushed back inside. A choked, sharp cry tore from her throat, and her whole body stiffened before collapsing back into the leather, spent. Ava slowly withdrew, her jaw aching. She remained kneeling, her face glistening.
Jessica lay there for a long minute, staring at the ceiling again. The conflict was back in her eyes—shame, pleasure, confusion, a dawning hunger. She pushed herself up on her elbows, looking down at Ava. Her gaze was different now. Calculating, not just furious.
“Stand up.”
Ava rose. Jessica’s eyes traveled over her body, lingering on the burn, the cage, the old bruises. “He’s at class until four,” Jessica said, as if thinking aloud. “He said I’m in charge.”
She stood, closing the small distance between them. She traced the line of the collar with a single finger. “You tried to run. He collared you. I burned you.” Her finger drifted down to the steel cage. She tapped it, making a faint tink sound. “He holds this key. But he gave me the prod.” She looked up, meeting Ava’s eyes. “What do I hold, Ava?”
Ava’s throat was tight. “My obedience, Mistress.”
“That’s a start.” Jessica’s hand slid between Ava’s legs, cupping the cold metal of the cage. She pressed up, hard. Ava gasped as the unyielding steel dug into her clit. “You can feel that, can’t you? Through this. You’re in there, screaming. I can see it in your eyes.” She increased the pressure, a cruel, grinding force. “You want to come so bad it’s killing you.”
Tears of frustration welled in Ava’s eyes. She nodded, a helpless jerk of her head.
“Maybe I’ll let you,” Jessica whispered, her mouth close to Ava’s ear. “If you earn it. A different way.” She released the pressure and stepped back. “Go to his room. To the display case. Bring me the paddle. The one he used on you. And the leather wrist cuffs.”
Ava moved swiftly, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. She retrieved the items, the smooth wood of the paddle feeling ominous in her hand. When she returned, Jessica had moved to the dining room. She’d pulled out one of the heavy chrome-framed chairs.
“Cuff your left wrist to the chair leg,” Jessica instructed, her voice assuming a calm authority that mirrored Ethan’s. Ava knelt, buckling the cuff around her own wrist, clicking it shut around the cold steel bar of the chair’s leg. Her arm was extended, anchored.
“Now,” Jessica said, taking the paddle from her. “The other wrist. To the other leg.” Once secured, Ava was kneeling between the chair’s legs, arms spread, utterly exposed. Jessica crouched in front of her. “You remember the salt. You remember the garbage. You remember the prod.” She ran the edge of the paddle lightly over the fresh burn. Ava hissed. “This is a blank space. We’re going to write something new here.”
She stood. “Count them.”
The first swing was a testing slap, landing on the upper curve of Ava’s ass. It stung, but it was nothing compared to the past.
“One, Mistress,” Ava said, her voice shaky.
The second crack was harder, lower, biting into the still-tender flesh from the previous night. Ava cried out.
“Two, Mistress!”
Jessica found her rhythm. The blows fell in a steady, awful cadence. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Each impact jolted Ava forward against her restraints, the cuffs biting into her wrists. The pain was a bright, spreading fire. She lost count, sobbing the numbers into the marble floor.
“What are you?” Jessica demanded, pausing on stroke twenty-three.
“I’m yours! I’m yours, Mistress!”
“Who do you belong to?”
“To Master! And to you!”
The paddle landed again. “Why?”
“Because I’m property!” Ava screamed, the words torn from some deep, broken place. “I’m your thing!”
Jessica stopped. She was breathing heavily. She dropped the paddle; it clattered on the marble. She knelt behind Ava, her hands skimming the hot, welted skin. Ava flinched. “Shhh,” Jessica murmured, almost kindly. Her fingers dipped lower, tracing the edges of the steel cage. “You said you’d earn it. You’re being so good now. So perfect.”
Her fingers worked at the complex lock, not to open it, but to manipulate the small, secondary mechanism Ethan had shown her in a whisper this morning—a tiny, articulated nub of steel designed to press directly on the clitoris. She turned it. Ava gasped as a direct, focused pressure engaged.
“This is my control,” Jessica whispered, turning the screw slowly, increasing the pressure to a near-painful point of simulated sensation. “Not his key. This. I can make you ache. I can make you throb. I can leave you right on the edge for hours.” She gave it a final, vicious quarter-turn. Ava moaned, a sound of torment and need. “Now,” Jessica said, standing. She walked to the head of the table, where the silver coffee service sat. She picked up the small porcelain cream pitcher.
She returned and poured the cream slowly over the hot, reddened skin of Ava’s ass. The cold liquid was a shocking contrast, dripping down her thighs, pooling on the floor. Jessica got down on her knees behind her. She leaned in, and with a slow, deliberate swipe of her tongue, she licked a stripe through the mess.
Ava jerked in her bonds, a strangled sound escaping her.
Jessica did it again, her tongue flat and broad. Then she began to eat in earnest, her mouth roaming over the punished flesh, sucking, licking, biting softly. One hand snaked between Ava’s legs, fingers stroking and tapping the locked cage, amplifying the desperate sensation trapped inside. The mix of sharp pain and the relentless, humiliating stimulation of her tongue and the cage’s mechanism short-circuited Ava’s mind.
Her body began to shake, building toward a climax she was not permitted to have. Her cunt, sealed in steel, pulsed with agonizing need. Jessica felt the tremors. She bit down hard on the crest of Ava’s ass, just as she twisted the cage’s internal screw to its limit.
Ava shattered. A silent, breathless scream contorted her face. Her body bowed against the cuffs in a series of violent, helpless spasms, a dry, blocked orgasm that was all nerve-ending torture with no release. It was a seizure of frustration, more painful than any paddle stroke.
When the tremors subsided, she hung from the cuffs, limp and panting, tears and saliva dripping onto the cream-smeared floor. Jessica sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth. Her own breathing was fast. She looked exhilarated and terrified by what she’d just orchestrated.
She unlocked the wrist cuffs. Ava slumped to the floor, a boneless heap of shuddering misery.
“Clean the floor,” Jessica said, her voice unsteady but firm. “Then yourself. I’ll be in the bedroom. I’ll want tea brought to me in an hour. No mistakes.”
She walked away, leaving the paddle on the marble. Ava lay in the cooling puddle of cream and her own sweat, the ghost of Jessica’s tongue and the cruel, clever steel between her legs a new brand, deeper than the burn. The chain of command was no longer just seared into her skin. It was wired directly into her nerves, and the switch was in a hand that was only just learning how greedy it could be.