Chaos Theories

Summary: Joyce gets a good hard look at the forces of Chaos
Rating: NC17
Completed: April 3, 2004
Disclaimer: Sadbhyl was seriously traumatized in the writing of this story. Any injured copyrights were unintentional
Notes: Once again a contribution in the Ménageaverse. Follows immediately after Strange Attractors. Mydeira held my hand and encouraged me to go for it. What a difference it made! For more from the Menageaverse, please visit our website at www.responsibleadults.sadbhyl.riverworld.net.


Joyce gave Ethan the keys to the Cherokee, let him drive her home. She could see his hands clutch and release the wheel over and over, his eyes darting around as though he were seeing more than the physical world around them. She didn’t touch him, but didn’t shy away from him either, just gave him time to pull himself together.

By the time he stopped the car in her driveway, his breathing had settled, but his knuckles remained white on the wheel. She got out and came around to his door. He climbed out as well, very stiff, very restrained. Very unlike the irrepressible bastard he usually was. “Ethan,” she said quietly, laying a hand on her arm.

He flinched away.

That hurt more than it should have. “You don’t have to go. Come inside. I’m sure between us we can find something to do with that energy.”

He gave her a painful grimace of a smile. “It’s not that kind of energy, my dear. And pleasant as it sounds, staying here would be a very bad idea.”

“Why, are you going to turn me into a toad?”

His barked laugh sounded forced. “Not in the literal sense, no.”

She put her hand on his arm again, squeezing so he couldn’t throw her off again. “Then stay.”

“Joyce.” His eyes closed in suffering, and he swallowed before looking at her again, his eyes gone ominously dark. “I’m not the gentleman that Ripper is. It really would be better if I just went.”

She felt anger rise up inside of her. “I’m tired of the two of you treating me like old china. This is a part of you, and I deserve to know about it.”

“You want to know?” He grabbed her by the back of the hair and jerked her to him. “You want to know what I do to the whores I go to when I’m like this?” He spun her around to slam her up against the car door, the handle jamming into the small or bar back, making her cry out. He smiled at the sound, a satisfied, contemptuous expression on his now-florid face. He ground against her and she could feel how hard he was. “Do you want to hear how I fuck them raw for hours, how I leave them limp and aching and used, and how if that one isn’t enough, I send her away and call for another one? Is that what you want to be, Joyce? A used up, discarded whore?”

“Do you kill them?” She forced down the panic she felt rising.

“No.” He scented along the length of her neck, rolling his hips against hers.

“Do you put them in the hospital?”

He inhaled her hair. “Not intentionally.”

She pulled back and met his eyes fearlessly. “Then stay.”

He slammed his mouth over hers, her head locked in place by his grip on her hair. His other hand grabbed the front of her blouse and tore, letting the scraps fall from his fingers.

“We could at least go inside,” she murmured against his demanding kiss.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, but jerked her towards the front porch by her hair and her arm. “Open it,” he insisted when they were stopped by the locked door.

She fumbled the keys, and he jerked her head. “Faster.”

Somehow the key finally slid home and she opened the door. He shoved her hard, and she stumbled across the foyer, catching herself on the third step. He was right behind her. “Hold still.” He held her down on the step as he shoved her skirt up over her back and ripped her panties away. “Perfect.” And with one smooth motion, he rammed himself inside.

She cried out, bracing herself on the stair as he pistoned into her, driving her shoulder against the riser. The pain flashed through her and a wash of fear and behind it a wave of pleasure tinged with shame. Ethan’s fingers digging into her hip, his cock pummeling away in her pussy regardless of her own pleasure, all reduced her to a purely submissive creature. And she loved it, gave herself over to it. To him.

It wasn’t long before he came, shooting hard deep inside her. He held her locked in place around his shaft as he gulped in fresh breath, then slid out of her, turning her around and pushing her to her knees. “Look at the mess you made, bitch. Clean it up.”

Joyce met his gaze, then dropped her eyes yieldingly to begin licking their mingled secretions off his shaft. She made soft sounds of pleasure as she worked, hoping it would please him, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead he gripped the back of her head and forced his way between her lips to carelessly begin fucking her mouth.

She fought down the panic, forced herself to relax and let him thrust deeper and faster, holding still and letting him have his way. Her jaw ached, her mouth ran with saliva by the time he shot down her throat in long choking spurts. He pushed her away, knocking her hard into the newel post, his chest heaving, his eyes dark. “Acceptable, I suppose. Upstairs. Now.”

She turned without question to climb the stairs unsteadily, as quickly as she could, not wanting to risk his anger. She led the way into her room, then stopped next to the bed, uncertain of what to do next.

Ethan brushed past her into the room, looking around disinterestedly. “Undress,” he commanded as he unbuttoned his own shirt, never even looking at her. She did as he ordered, letting the scraps of her top fall to the floor, quickly shimmying out of the skirt and remains of her underwear, her bra joining the pile. She shivered, more in apprehension than chill.

He made Joyce wait as he finished undressing, making a detailed study of the room. When he finished, he turned to her, and she noticed for the first time that his eyes had gone black. Not the usual passion-dilated dark she loved to see, but totally void, blacker than night, absent of all emotion or expression. And Joyce realized just how far in over her head she was. This wasn’t her Ethan, playing power games. This was Ethan Rayne, servant of Chaos, taken over by the power he served. She felt the overwhelming need to run.

She fought it down. She could do this. She just had to do what he said, take what he gave and ride through this. She could do this.

“Well?” He demanded snidely.

She dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t. . . “

He sighed in frustration. “Get on the bed, you stupid cow.”

She obeyed instantly, kneeling humbly in the center of the mattress, eyes demurely down. He was on her in a moment, grabbing her wrist to twist her away from him, bent over so her face was pressed into the mattress, her ass high in the air. The mattress gave behind her, and she felt his cock, still hard, still hungry as he drove back into her tender cunt. She whimpered, in pain, in excitement, and he growled his satisfaction, wrenching her arm higher up her back, fucking her mercilessly.

His endurance seemed to increase with each orgasm. She was beginning to dry out, each thrust adding to a slowly building painful burn before he grunted and came again, the slippery ejaculate soothing on her raw skin. He pulled out, still incredibly hard, and, never releasing her, adjusted his angle to ram his full length up her ass.

This time she screamed the pain of intrusion overwhelming. He laughed and took up a fierce pace, pummeling into her tight hole as the pain faded and was replaced by a euphoric trance. He released her arm to grab her hair again, her tender scalp screaming at the abuse as he used his hold to lever her upright, changing the angle of penetration. She keened softly, and even she couldn’t tell if it was from pain or pleasure.

He moved faster and faster as his release approached, and she relaxed as much as she could, not wanting to interfere in any way. She felt him hitch and pull her hard against his hips, three sharp, short jerks before shuddering with a roar.

He dropped her on the mattress, finished with her for now, and she lay there gratefully, not moving, not making a sound. She heard him moving about, hoped she heard him cleaning himself up.

He slapped her back hard, the growing bruise from the car door handle aching at the rough use. “Get up,” he demanded, and she instantly responded.

He pulled her to him and for the first time since the car he kissed her, his teeth cutting into her lower lip as he ground his mouth against hers. But she was too numb to respond and he gave up, turning her to pull her against him, his unrelenting hard-on probing yet again. She couldn’t even tell which orifice he thrust into, only that he was inside her, that she was full of him. Everything else was a soft, comforting gray.

And that’s when she felt it.

A subtle, almost imperceptible pull from the middle of her torso, just below her ribs. It felt as though fine tendrils were being unwound from all parts of her body to thread through a fine hole in her center and drawn out of her.

And she realized whe whe was doing.

She slammed her head back and heard a horrific crunching sound, didn’t hesitate as she jammed her elbow back, knocking him away. She used the impetus to push herself into the wall, grabbing down the ceremonial blade hanging there, turning to ward him off. “I said you could have my body. The rest of it is mine.”

He paced forward, his lips curled back, black eyes narrow, nose running crimson. “You think you can stop me with that trinket?” His normally lyrical voice was gravely, harsh, full of hate. “I take what I want and use it how I will, and you are powerless to . . .”

She took two steps forward and rammed her knee up into his groin She saw the sudden explosion of pain flood his system, his balls already sensitive from release after release, and he dropped like crumpled paper.

She stood over him, sword at the ready, her breath coming in heavy gulps. When he didn’t move, she sunk down on the bed. It took her a moment to realize her hands were shaking. She rose and grabbed the robe off the back of the door, slinging it around her shoulders without taking her eyes off of him. As an afterthought, she pulled the afghan off the chair and spread it over him. Then she sat down in the vanity chair where she could watch his face and waited for him to come to.

It took about twenty minutes before he groaned softly. She tensed, fingers clutched around the hilt of the primitive blade. But when he opened his eyes, she was relieved to see they were back to their normal sharp brown. She knelt next to him. “Are you okay?”

He rolled onto his back, wincing. “I’ll live. Rupert’s beat me up worse than that for less.”

“What was that? I felt something . . .” She laid her hand over her ribs.

“Solar plexus charka. It’s the source of will, of action. You were fighting your instincts so hard, yours was wide open. It was the easiest to steal the energy through.”

“And now?”

He pushed himself to a half sitting position. “You’re safe now. I’m in control again.”

She sighed and sank in relief, dropping the sword. They were silent until finally she rose to her feet. “I’m going to take a shower.”

She closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, closing her eyes against the welter of images and emotions flying around in her head. After a moment, she crossed over and started the water running in the tub, adjusting it to a soothing tepid flow before turning on the spray and stepping in.

As the water first hit the sensitive bruises flowering over her skin, she hissed softly. The water seeped through her hair to soothe her inflamed scalp. Slowly she began to relax.

Only to jump with a soft scream when he drew back the curtain and stepped in.

“It’s alright,” he said soothingly, his hands gentle on her arms. “You’re quite safe. I just want to make certain you weren’t hurt too badly.” He studied her slowly, mapping every mark with his eyes and his fingers before turning her gently to do the same to the other side. “You may want to put a compress on this,” he gingerly touched the car door bruise. “But at least there’s no blood.”

“Unless you count my lip.”

He turned her with just as much care and very tenderly kissed her swollen lip. Then he took down her bottle of body wash and squirted a dollop into his hand, rubbing it to full lather before gently washing her with it.

His touch was as soothing as the cool water, slippery and soft, leaving not a single part of her body untouched. Arms, shoulders, breasts, stomach, thighs, all were lovingly attended. Then he turned her and repeated the pattern on her back and buttocks and legs, all the way down to her feet. When he finished, he rose up again and drew her back to lean against his chest, wrapping his arms around her to hold her close, gently caressing her breasts and stomach. His right hand coasted lower, and she tried to move away. “No more, please.”

“Shh, my sweet, this is just for you. It won’t hurt a bit, I promise.”

With the cool water raining down on her torso, he gently let his fingers skirt around her labia, softly stroking her to sensitivity, holding her gently and murmuring comforting incoherencies in her ear. This was her lover come back to her, and she relaxed and let the soft pleasures of water and release wash over her.

He toweled her off gently and sent her back into the bedroom, following right behind. When he began to dress, she stopped him. “What are you doing?”

“This is the part where I make my graceful exit.”

“I’d rather not be alone tonight. Not after . . .”

“Fine. I’ll call Rupert.”

“I don’t want him. Not tonight.” She saw something flash behind his eyes. Guilt? Remorse? “Please, just come to bed.”

He stepped close and gathered her gently in his arms. “Whatever my lady commands.”