Prompt: For the angst-bingo prompts Unfaithful; Emails, letters etc; Electrocution; Dungeons
Summary: Over the course of one week, Denna breaks a prisoner
He struggled in his restraints, arms wrenched above his head, feet unable to touch the floor. Neither beautiful nor ugly, neither tall nor short. No challenge here, but Denna would not compromise on his training.
"Whore," he screamed at her.
Perhaps a little more spirited than she'd given him credit for, she reflected as she circled him predatorily. That was promising. Spirited was more fun to break.
Denna pressed her agiel to the smooth flesh, watching the dark tendrils of pain mar it.
As a fully fledged mistress of the agiel, she could use the device both as a weapon or as an instrument of pleasure. She could brush the very tip of it against his body, sending feather light sensation throughout him. She could run it over his chest, watch the hairs rise like the static before a storm – and then, like the sharp lightning, jab the agiel into a pectoral muscle and revel in his groans.
Moans of pain sounded very much like moans of pleasure. To a Mord'Sith the two were inextricably linked.
"Jonathan," she purred, watching him gasp to regain his breath. "You know what I want."
"Never," he said, though tears stained his cheeks and welts were clearly visible against his shackles.
Denna pressed her lips to his chest, covering the agiel burn and sending further shivers of pleasure-pain through him.
Denna entered the dungeon and stood before her captive.
"Call me Mistress."
One of the junior mistresses had been a little over-zealous with her preparations for today's training and his left eye was almost swollen shut. Denna understood though. She could remember what it was like, those early days of finally taking power, of first wielding her agiel. Too often her prisoners had ended as corpses. She'd been punished harshly when she'd damaged one so badly that he could not be revived; a tiny scar on her left buttock was a reminder of the need for self-control above else.
"Your bravery will not save you," Denna said. "Yet a man who could survive this without breaking…I am impressed."
She was lying, of course. She let him down from the restraints, supporting his filthy body against her pristine leathers. He was too weak to do her much harm and so now it was time for her false tenderness.
"I cannot let you go free, not unless you are willing to tell Lord Rahl everything you know about the resistance." She brushed one gloved hand through his tangled hair. "But let me tend your wounds, at least. We need you alive if you are talk."
"I'll never talk."
But she was winning; she could see the truth behind his valiant assertion.
"Good morning, Jonathan," Denna said.
"Good morning, Mistress."
Denna smiled. He was almost completely hers. He thought he was pretending to be broken. That was not the case.
He was sitting in one corner of his cell and she strode over to him, bent over and kissed him full on the lips. She sensed his reticence, the last spark of defiance.
"Do you not love me, Jonathan?" she asked, letting a hint of sadness colour her tone.
"Yes, Mistress, of course. It's just…I am promised to another. She was to be my wife."
Denna sat down opposite him. "You fear being unfaithful."
"I'm sure she thinks you dead," Denna offered. "She has probably already taken another to her bed."
"No." He refused to meet her gaze, eyes fixed on the rough stone floor. "Never."
"Is she part of the resistance?"
He swallowed hard, weighing up his past and present loyalties.
"Yes, Mistress. She is."
Denna smiled. "Tell me more."
Jonathan stared at her, aghast. "Mistress. You're hurt."
Denna put one knuckle to the mark across her cheekbone, as she'd forgotten it were there. "It's nothing."
"Has someone hurt you, Mistress?" Jonathan gazed at her with devotion. "I will kill them."
"Lord Rahl demands answers," she said. Triana had been far too happy to inflict the wound that she was sure would finally sway Jonathan. "He becomes…angry."
Jonathan shook his head. "I've told you everything, Mistress. Everything I know."
Denna crouched down at his side. "Will you help me, Jonathan?"
"Yes, Mistress. Anything you ask."
Denna patted his head. She left the dungeon and returned a few moments later with a journeybook.
"This is your journeybook, Jonathan. I know you use it to coordinate attacks on D'Hara."
"Forgive me, Mistress," he begged. His snivelling was wearing on her now. It was a paradox that she needed men to be submissive to her – she would kneel before no man save Lord Rahl, and revelled in the breaking of men and women alike – but once they were her faithful pets she found them weak, vile, pathetic.
"No matter. Just write in the book for me, Jonathan. I will tell you what to say." She handed him a quill pen, guided him to prick her thumb to provide the blood that would act as ink.
Rahl would be pleased with her, she thought, watching the red ink dance across the page as Jonathan scribbled down her words. If the words were believed and the orders within them followed, the resistance would be led into a trap. If not…well, he really had told her everything he knew. Jonathan had served his purpose.
Denna licked at her thumb, tasting the salty liquid, and smiled.
"Thank you, Jonathan," she said, taking the book from him.
"I live to serve you, Mistress."
By sunset tomorrow, he would be dead.