Freedom

A pactbound story written by Sylvia Sparks. Based on art and scenario concept by sheepwave.


CW: humiliation, general bdsm


You should have been embarrassed.


Your breath hazed against the reflective floor, spotlight glaring upon you, the prize of the night, chained by your heart to an unseen loft above. Your body was tied and displayed like art at a showcase, and the twisting mocking masks of forgotten, yet not unfamiliar peers, take your visage in like circling hawks.


Like hunters appeasing prey, they tested you, prodding fingers into sopping holes, gentle laughter hiding deepest depravity like the masks they paraded themselves in day by day, endless pride standing before the farthest reaches of shame in every breath.


Your Master's chime called to more than your own fiercely beating heart. You could feel its power Coax them forward, appeasing their shame and calling old fates to cross again, appointing them to take their shame from the woman they left below to times unflinching hands, to the chains that held your body for whatever act it called you to take upon the stage together.


It knew better what you both wanted anyways.


Somewhere you could hear them mocking you. Teasing behind their acts, performing their pride before your puppetted ties. You should have hated this, the disgrace, the shame, the disgusting use and degradation of your long forgotten pride.


And yet, you savored every second of it.


You loved how they used that disgraced body you wore. You loved how they tortured themselves in wait, knowing how deeply they wanted you, wanted to be you, as they watched partner after partner leave dripping mess across your form, and pretend their pride allowed them to escape their disgrace.


As they continued binding themselves in frivolous pretense, your Master rung its sweet praises in your ears, prodding the deepest fragments of your mind. It pushed seeping, patient claws into your very soul, dripping arcane reminders of your power over them, of the freedom you had from such choking rules and desperate masks. You were bound to your Master's will by a pact you could snap with a whisper. You were tied, but of the peers who beg for release from their stuffy lives, only one of you was truly free.


She was the only one who arrived without a mask to hide her shame. The only one who didn't have to choose to act. The only one who didn't have to pretend she was greater than the sinister depravity that soaked the stage your light shone upon.


The only one who sung free was clad in her own brightly shining chains, bearing her pact of freedom to match.


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