Chapter Text
Chapter 1. The Nightjar
Is this how men felt all the time?
Ezra caught herself musing outside the confines of the room that she and Slug- no...what was his real name? Ah, Edgar, currently cohabited. Him settled beneath her, whimpering, tied to a chair with the underwear he had cum in shoved unceremoniously into his mouth. Punishment for climax without permission – it could have been a lot milder, but she liked Edgar. And Edgar liked to be humiliated. She watched him wriggle, heaving breaths against the gag. A warm drip of honey pooled in her chest as she gazed down at him – so helpless, so restrained, unable to hurt her. The safety of it all, that had to be what men desired in power, right?
“God, you're pathetic.” She sneered, mouth torn downward into a grimace, heels ticking on the floor as she walked a slow circle around him. “Mewling like a bitch, snot running down your nose...I imagine your wife finds you this repulsive all the time.” The last statement ripped through the air like a whip, slashing Edgar in the tender underbelly of his insecurities. His head lolled and he choked back a sob, muffled against the murky cloth in his mouth, shoulders wiggling as he wept. His entire body bounced in a comical way – it made her laugh, which shrank Edgar even further.
What next for poor Edgar, she mused, surveying the blue lit room. It was dim but comfortable, with an array of frightening toys adoring the walls, shelves – some even on the floor. There was a leather cushion, “bed,” pushed up parallel to the wall in front of her, and Edgar sat in a somewhat medieval looking chair full of straps and O-hooks. She never needed to hook him in however – he'd been her most frequent client over the last year and was nothing If not obedient. Light restraint was all he needed. Life as a high powered executive was grueling, and it was more common than most people thought, that people like him wanted to be restrained and yelled at. Spit on. Horrified – just a taste of what he made most people go through in his day to day.
Ezra began eyeing a particularly wicked looking paddle, running her gloved fingers over the small spikes protruding from it, when a sweet and rhythmic beeping started to play from somewhere within the room.
“Ah-” She breathed, looking over her shoulder to where her phone sat illuminated, timer display strobing 0:00 as marimba dotted the air cheerfully. In a swift movement it was disabled. “Seems our time is up, Slug.” Slug, a pet name she had chosen for him as he wasn't deserving to hear his actual name come from her lips. Still, even the nickname came with a smile and a sweeter voice than she had used previously.
A still slightly bewildered Edgar breathed audibly through his nose, shoulders dropping slightly, tension beginning to abate.
Light sluggishly melted back into the room as Ezra spun a dimmer on the wall, enough so she could properly assess the situation. He wasn't wearing any pants, penis sitting half limp on the seat of the chair, and he looked up at her with tired eyes. She approached, wrapping a latex gloved hand around the bottom of his jaw and tugging softly.
“Open”
His jaw went immediately slack, and she fished the now sopping undergarments from his mouth, placing them gingerly on the bed behind him. While there, she undid the ropes tying his hands together and he brought them forward, rubbing his wrists and wiggling his jaw from side to side. Her hands sat lightly against his shoulders, skimming over his shirt in a soothing way, and her voice lifted to an even more sweet hum.
“You okay hun?” This part was important – while gagged and bound he only had physical cues if anything were to become too intense. For Edgar, it was a repeated stomping motion, which he had not displayed. However, double checking helped insure she didn't inflict any lasting damage. Again – she liked Edgar. And while this is what did it for him, the thought of inflicting actual lasting pain made her sick to her stomach.
“Oh yeah, I'm feeling wonderful, Mistress” His voice was still strangled, throat tight from crying, but his face shone brighter than it had when he had entered. He looked cheerful, even. Eyes twinkling and cheeks rising into a grin. “You truly know how to uh, cut right to the gut of me.”
“Hmm,” She hummed, softly delighted. Her fingers thrummed his shoulders once and she stepped away, still assessing to make sure he was intact. “You may get dressed now.”
He chuckled softly, and rose to begin putting his pants back on. Though a double tut from Ezra caused him to stop dead in his tracks.
“Ahhh, no...Dear Slug. You'll be wearing those home as well.” She motioned to the bed with two fingers, where his soiled underwear lay. “Consider it a parting gift, as I don't know the next time I'll be able to see you.” A slightly somber tone ambered her previous lilt, and she let out a small sigh. Summer was over, and she needed to mentally prepare for her courses the next day. Something which, oddly enough, Edgar was aware of.
“Of course, of course...Thank you, mistress.” He mused, still wearing a soft grin which quickly turned to a grimace as he pulled on the cold, sticky garment. “Are you uh, looking forward to your senior year?”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself in a slightly defensive manner. Now that his time was up, the act began to fade. Some clients appreciated the illusion to continue even after the marimba played, but Edgar actually seemed to regard her, Ezra, with fondness. Not just Mistress. And with her family life in shambles the way it was, she wouldn't rebuke the soft and kind attention from the much older man. He had proven through time that he was respectable, and not at all interested in her sexually. He was, after all, a married man. And loyal – as he had put it once or twice before.
“Yeah, I am excited I suppose...mostly nervous. The honors program...” She trailed off, taking a deep breath as anxiety prickled through her. The fingers she held against her arm began to worry a strip of exposed flesh – it would have been more satisfying were they not encased in thick latex. “It's going to be really tough. And it's so, so important that I - that I -” another pause, another deep breath. “Do really well this year. No distractions. Which I guess I have you in part to thank for...facilitating.” in by which she meant, hefty and generous tips that would float her through the next year if she budgeted right. She smiled, no teeth, just a warm and affectionate gaze his way.
Now pulling up his pants and adjusting his buckle, Edgar chuckled softly as he bent down to pull on a perfectly polished leather shoe. He was a good looking man – it always shocked her that he wanted this service, that someone like him needed to pay for it. I guess it was the discretion he desired – and her employer made sure discretion was top of the priority list. And while there were other girls whose specialties lay in pain, or bondage, or disfigurement, Ezra excelled in humiliation. She was able to inflict gutting pain with little to no contact at all. It gave her a sense of confidence that she could apply in the real world.
Edgar, now fully dressed, approached her and stopped calmly in front of her. Even in her heels, he was slightly taller than her, and he held his hands out, palms facing each other at waist height.
“May I?”
Ezra looked down at his hands and then back up at him hesitantly. His eyes crinkled slightly at the sides in smile. He had a thick, short white beard cut neat with sharp edges. His hair was white as well – usually combed back neatly, but currently a bit in disarray due to their session. He looked warm, kind – at least to her. She knew he wasn't. But with her, he didn't have a choice. She nodded.
His hands raised to sit on either shoulder, cupping them and squeezing lightly – it was supposed to be comforting. The contact felt like static and she resisted the urge to shrink away. They'd had interactions like this in the past, peps talks and the like. Her coaching him on how to be good to his wife and kids, and him softly lecturing her, like a father would, about her schooling. He was a very smart, very successful man, and she heeded his advice with reverence. The contact seemed like a small price to pay.
“You are going to do amazing, mistress.” Even as the conversation turned more casual, the title of respect remained. Not that he could have used her name even if he had wanted to – he didn't know it. And with most of her face covered by a black mask, he didn't even really know what she looked like either. “If you can pull off an illusion like this-” His eyes moved from side to side as if to gesture at the room “in real life? There's no telling what a convincing writer you'll be.”
Another soft smile and gentle squeeze, and he let go of her shoulders. Suddenly she felt a hollow in her chest, an ache – Was this how a father was supposed to act? Was this the closest she was going to get?
“Oh! Another thing before I go -” She snapped out of her haze for a minute, eyes to his as he gathered his coat. “I'm leaving you a gift up front...and don't forget, always accept the risk.” She frowned at his last statement, tilting her head slightly in befuddlement. It was something he said quite often, but had always seemed out of place. His eyes flashed momentarily and he smiled, winked, then turned to leave. She felt the hollow in her chest fill with a slow trickle of dread.
---
After changing out of her latex suit, she spent the next hour disinfecting, trying as well to wipe the discomfort from Edgar's last statement from her mind. Every surface either of them had touched, every inch of leather, metal, the floor, the bathroom, needed to be sterilized. Safety was something her teacher had instilled in her from her first day of training. In fact, the first year of her employment was spent doing nothing but cleaning for her teacher as well as the other girls. Stainless steel toys sterilized in big metal containers, leather triple washed, outfits soaked and dried thoroughly. Nothing was ever left untouched. She had done it over and over for every girl – an act of submission of her own. And while she knew what each item was used for, she had not managed to try any of them on herself. Aside from a few clumsy fingerings in the back room of her fathers church, her experience was close to zero.
“You're such a timid little thing, Ezra...and so inexperienced. Are you sure this is a path you want to go down?” Mistress Trillium, her teacher, had mused to her one day as Ezra crouched on hand and knees, scrubbing behind an already spotless toilet. She was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a peculiar knit in her brow. “Things get much more intense from here. I don't want to see you getting...hurt.”
Truth was, Ezra didn't know at the time if she was cut out for any of it. Cleaning, sure. But some of the noises and “leftovers” she had observed in her first few months had roiled her stomach on more than one occasion. There was little choice in the matter for her – she needed the money, desperately. And she needed it on her own terms.
“As long as I'm in control-” Ezra had puffed, large yellow latex gloves gripping a sponge and scrubbing furious circles. “There's nothing they can do to me.” Perhaps an overly confident statement, but followed with a hiss through gritted teeth. “My father conditioned me well.”
After that interaction, and Mistress Trillium's slightly less than shocked reaction, she had been introduced into training. Starting the summer of her Sophomore year and reaching just to the beginning of her Junior, when she received her first solo client. Who happened to be Edgar.
After she was finished, Ezra bundled up her cleaning clothes into a laundry bag she'd drop with Marco on her way out. She then changed into what she'd be wearing home – loose fitting sweatpants, a slightly cropped short sleeve and squishy sandals. Dark hair was gathered into a tight bun near the nape of her neck, and she used a double cleansing oil to melt the pounds of makeup off her face. She looked at herself closely in the mirror, turning each cheek to make sure there was no residue clinging to her skin – just dark lashes, and her own golden amber eyes staring back at her.
“Alright then, Marco?” She made her way to the front of the club, laundry bag in hand. There were a few girls walking lazily on stage for a sprinkling of drunk men. They paid her no attention in her frumpy clothes. She had chosen this club specifically because it was close to her apartment, but it had panned out quite well for her in the long run. They already had a dungeon-esque room she could rent for clients – and having a “dominatrix” on staff was a huge draw for curious patrons. A lot of pro Dom's worked out of their own homes or private spaces, but Ezra enjoyed the extra layer of security that a fully staffed club entailed.
“Hey Ezzie!” Marco, one of the clubs many bouncers, a formidably large and imposing man with tattoos smattering his chestnut arms, grinned at her from where he leaned in front of coat check. He pushed off the wall, holding up a finger and looking into the small room where coats would usually line the walls. “Oh, hey, I've got something here for you. One second.”
He ducked into the little room and came back moments later with a bag. Thrusting it toward her by the handles, he cocked his head inquisitively to the side.
“That old guy sure likes you, huh? What uh, what is it exactly that you guys do in there?” It seemed Marco even, was curious about her profession.
Ezra knit her brow and imitated his head posturing.
“What do you mean, Marco? Didn't you know...” She drew out the silence for a minute, Marco's eyes widening slightly with enhanced curiosity. She again widened her own gaze to match his, finally abating his conjecture. “I'm an accountant?”
With a low groan, his shoulders fell and he shook his head, chuckling softly.
“Sorry, shouldn't have asked, I know” he put his hands up and shrugged defensively. “Can you blame me?”
Ezra rolled her eyes teasingly, beginning to walk toward the front doors. She turned at the last moment using her backside to push them open.
“Hey, if I don't see you for a while, please don't blow up Sadie's phone like last time, eh?” Her eyebrows raised and she angled her chin to the side, eyeing him. “It's my senior year – consider me on permanent pause unless stated otherwise.”
Marco raised a palm, bashfully, as if swearing an oath. And with that she was out onto the street, perhaps never to return. At least, she hoped.
---
The walk home was uneventful. She never had much trouble alone in this city – even when students went home for the summer it was very lively. It was quaint, historic, with brick sidewalks and trees lining every block. The houses were old Victorians and brownstones, each a little different in their own way. She was able to traverse without attracting much attention, walking for around fifteen minutes before turning onto her own street.
Off campus housing. Her freshman year she had wanted to be in the dorms, to get the full experience, but her scholarship didn't lend her the option. It was either the dorms and no refund check, or off campus with multiple room mates, and a hefty little chunk of change left over from her full ride every semester. The houses on this street, while still old, suffered. Bloated with too many rooms, too many occupants – a slurry of constant move ins and move outs. The yards typically were strewn with red cups, beerpong tables, disassembled furniture. But as she made her way down the street, she approached her own apartment and remarked on how cute they had managed to make it against the frat bro hell. Their yard had shrubs, plants, flowers, even a little bench on the front porch. The brick had been painted a nauseating shade of mint – for whatever godforsaken reason – but it did enhance its charm in some odd way.
Once inside her apartment, she instinctively locked the door – including the deadbolt, and threw her keys into a little bowl. Immediately to her left was a small kitchen with a bar and stools, and beyond the kitchen was the living room. The ceilings were significantly higher than most new builds, and two enormous windows towered floor to ceiling on the farthest wall. It was an odd weave of stunning victorian architecture sullied by decades of landlord specials and shitty flips.
“Ezzziiiee!!!!” A screech came barreling through the hall to her left, coupled with bare feet thrumming quickly against the wooden floor. “Hooker! Or should I say, hooker no longer – it's time for shots!” Sadie, dressed in just a long t-shirt down to her thighs, scurried happily into the room and threw her hands up high above her head. She had her usual mess of curls propped up in a disheveled bun, a few tendrils defiantly popping out to frame her face.
Ezra couldn't help but be infected with her cheesy enthusiasm. She grinned and raised her hands as well, though not as high as Sadie’s
“Okay but like, only one! I do have my first class tomorrow!” Her tone mimicked the excitement of Sadies but tapered off to apprehension at the end. Indeed, there was a bottle of vodka and two already poured shots sitting on the low coffee table in the living room. Ezra kicked off her sandals and made her way to the room, plopping onto the stiff cream colored couch to eye the shots. Sadie was incredibly charming – she'd have to watch herself to make sure the night didn't devolve into a drunken last hurrah.
“To my sweet, too sweet, timid little dominatrix roomie,” Sadie had bent down to grab a shot and placed one foot on the table before her, knee at a 90 degree angle, hand on her hip. She held the shot out theatrically as Ezra's eyes darted across the room to the invisible people listening. She motioned with her hands to 'cut it out,' but Sadie just grinned in return. “The only virgin I know-” Ezra's jaw popped open and she shook once with a puff of a laugh, staring up at Sadie in disbelief. “...who managed to gather a years worth of rent from men, simply by being a cunt. An accomplishment we all should aspire to.” Sadie gave one last wolfish grin, raised her glass, and downed the vodka in one fell swoop.
Ezra took hers as well, though not as assuredly as her cohort. She coughed, and winced, placing the shot glass back on the table with a slight “Tink.”
“Speaking of-” Ezra coughed slightly, voice constrained as the burn dissipated in her throat. “He left me with a parting gift...want me to open it?” Her eyes motioned to the bag at her feet.
Sadie squealed and nodded, abandoning her captain Morgan posturing to come sit next to her on the couch. She poured herself another shot and knocked it back without a single sign of revulsion. Ezra put the bag into her lap and reached inside, pulling out something soft, wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a bow. She set it to the side as another smaller item remained at the bottom of the bag. This was in a box, and she placed both next to her on the couch, grabbing the first package and beginning to unwrap it.
A stunning, slinky black dress unfurled from the wrapping, fabric bouncing and shining in a way that she had never seen before. It had thin straps and a modest plunge to the neckline, and it looked more expensive than her entire wardrobe combined.
“Oh my God, Ezzie...is that silk?” Sadie reached a hand out to feel the fabric, nodding and gasping in awe. Her fingers grasped a tag near the neck, and she inhaled a sharp breath.”Jesus Ezzie, this is custom couture! That old weirdo bought you couture!” she continued to make short noises of disbelief and excitement, head looking from side to side frantically as if she were searching for a specific and elusive thought.
Ezra just stared, enamored by the dress but also slightly perturbed. He had never given her anything this nice. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the word “whore” strummed in a familiar tone..
“Okay, okay, what about the little box?” Sadie filled in for her lack of speech, pointing next to her at the box. It was medium sized but shallow. Gingerly, Ezra folded the dress on her lap and placed it to the side, picking up the box and beginning to unwrap it. Inside, sitting on top of shimmering red paper, was a beautifully crafted leather mask. Sadie let out a disappointed grumble, muttering something about jewelry, but Ezra was transfixed.
Her own mask was from a pop up halloween store, plastic and...well, dumb. It was from a Catwoman costume, ears and all. She hadn't been able to splurge on anything after the purchase of her latex suit, a daunting realization as hiding her identity was the most integral part of this entire ordeal. She had told Sadie back before she even met Mistress, how desperate she was for money. How her Father had disowned her when she left, and her first refund check had gone entirely to first and last months rent, deposit, the whole ordeal. She still needed to pay for books, food, supplies. Sadie, who was working as a bottle girl at a strip club had offered to get her a job.
“It's good money, great money you know.” She had said, trying to be proactive.”The men can get a little handsy but the money totally makes it worth it. Or maybe like, camming? I don't know If our internet is strong enough for that, but...”
“No, no one can see my face.” Ezra had retorted through tears. Wringing her hands in her lap. The University had a strict honor code, and sex work would cost her scholarship. “And no one can touch me.” The last statement had come out as a hiss that made Sadie lean back in her seat. The tone carried an unspoken weight, one the other woman understood wordlessly.
“...Something with no contact and no face.” She had said softly, calmly, as if addressing a cornered animal. “I might have someone you could talk to.”
After that, Sadie had introduced her to Mistress Trillium, someone she had met at the club during a special event. The next few years unfolded, and during that time and her numerous encounters with men, she had confessed to Edgar her anxieties about being discovered more than once. He had assured her time and time again that the discretion worked on both ends – no one that came to see her wanted to be found out either. So she was safe. But it had never been enough, there was a boiling pit of anxiety in her stomach that churned when she was alone with her thoughts.
So this gesture, this mask – designed to resemble her old one, but offering more coverage...it seemed like the perfect punctuation to her concerns. Or at least that's how she interpreted it.
“Too bad I won't be able to use this.” She mused, running her fingers over the sturdy form of it. Why had he waited? Did he think she'd be back? Or was it just a nice gesture to send her off with.
“Okay well, I'm thinking we need to take this-” Sadie yanked the dress up by the straps, bobbling it from side to side as if to make it dance. “For some fresh air. How about Otto's?” Another wolfy smile as she wiggled her eyebrows.
“You want me to wear that to Otto's?” Ezra said with a puff of disbelief, shaking her head. “No way, beside – I told you, I have classes tomorrow and I can't afford to-”
“What about the Nightjar?” Sadie cut her off, jaw hanging open slightly, eyes wide as if she'd just remembered a lost thought. “You know, that place you mentioned a while back? Supposed to be a big secret or something?” She shook her shoulders with glee, smiling triumphantly “And it will be my treat, so you can't say no.”
Ezra opened her mouth to protest, but the thought gained steam in her head. The Nightjar was something Edgar had mentioned in passing during the end of one of their sessions. He had remarked on how “she might enjoy the privacy,” as it was apparently a well kept secret. She had asked Sadie about it but the other girl was as flummoxed as her, though the idea of something secretive had thrown her into a flurry of excitement at the time. Ezra eyed the dress, running her hand along it – surely there wouldn't be another opportunity to wear something so extravagant. And it was, after all, a night of celebration. She had just untethered herself from sex work, and was about to start her senior year in the honors program – an accomplishment she had not yet consecrated.
A slight nod was all Sadie needed to jump up from the couch with a squeal, hammering across the floor toward her bedroom before turning back to address Ezra.
“I'll have you home in bed before ten, I promise!” Her eyes darted toward the clock above the front door, currently displaying 7:28pm “You're going to kill it in that dress. I don't think I have a single thing that will compare-” she trailed off, reassuming her trip toward her room.
Ezra made her way to her own room down the same hall, right across from Sadie’s door. She shut it with a click and put the dress down on the bed. She had her own bathroom while Sadie laid claim to the one in the hall, and she made her way inside to apply makeup for the second time that day. Nothing she did at work ever carried on into her real life, including her makeup choices. She chose to apply a modest amount of eyeliner and mascara, forgoing foundation and concealer all together. Again she studied herself in the mirror while untangling her long hair from the bun she had put it in earlier. Even coiled up for that amount of time, it held only a slight wave as it fell down against her shoulders. She ran her hands through it, trying to add volume. A little dirty, but it would be dark, and she wasn't trying to impress anyone.
Next came the dress, and she found to her surprise that it fit her...almost as if it were made for her. She frowned, looking at herself in a slightly distorted mirror hanging on the back of her door, running her hands over her hips and stomach – it fit her perfectly. How? Had Edgar really been paying that close of attention to her? Rationally it wouldn't have been very hard – due to her lack of funds she ate sparingly and was therefore quite small. It wasn't exactly her choice, though it did make her the typical “size” when it came to clothing.
Sadie all but screamed once she saw her in it, choosing herself to wear a tiny two piece set.
They ubered to the speakeasy, once again Sadie's treat - the two of them dressed the way they were seemed like a bad idea to test on the street. The driver gave them a once over with a raised eyebrow when they made it to their destination – an abandoned looking road near the outskirts of the city. Dead looking buildings, illuminated dimly by the occasional streetlamp.
“You sure this is it?” He muttered, pulling to a stop at an unremarkable spot of road.
Sadie nodded and popped open her door, Ezra followed suit.
“Don't worry about us, hun.” A term Sadie used on almost anyone. “Thanks for the concern though, five stars for you.”
With a wink she shut the door, and the slightly befuddled looking driver pulled off with a shrug. Once his taillights were out of sight, both girls turned a corner to walk along a long stretch of blank building, coming to stop at a steel door. Ezra felt a chill of adrenaline down her arms, the hollow in her chest from earlier returning. Something seemed...off. She wrapped her arms around herself, pinching the back of an arm, breathing a little faster. Sadie, in her never ending confidence, didn't seem to notice.
The door opened without protest, and they entered a room the size of a long closet. It was dimly lit, with red walls and red tile floors, and they walked hesitantly to where a large man sat atop a stool, surveying them.
“Ladies.” He said, low and deep. They shot each other hesitant glances as he opened a large leather bound black book. “Do you accept the risk..?”
“Um-” Sadie faltered in a manner very out of character for her. Her mouth tipped open and she repeated a few um's and uh's before turning wide eyes to Ezra. Ezra stared back at her, a heat rising behind her ears.
Something from earlier gained clarity, sending another surge of adrenaline down her arms. It hurt, felt like something poisonous degrading her veins. She swallowed audibly and took a deep breath.
“I always accept the risk.”