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Now that you think of it, you can't really remember anything before all of this. Like all your life, all you've ever known is the walls of the Baroness hallways. You've tried looking out the window in your room, hoping to see a city you could recognize. Lights, a skyline, signs, anything. And maybe you had seen that when you gazed out that window. But it just doesn't process right. You're quick to forget about anything you see the minute you step away from the window.
So you'd given up trying with that pretty fast.
It's not right, though. You don't think you're the forgetful sort. Well...not about stuff that matters. Like where the hell you are and how did you get here and what are you doing here and how much is the nightly rate for this single king room? Those are more expensive than double queens usually--do you even have the money to pay for that?
You found another thing wasn't right about this hotel when you'd traveled down the lobby, hoping to find a receptionist you could ask your question to. There is no one here. Well, except for one other person. You hadn't initially noticed him at first, even though you should have. He stands out.
The doorman.
He doesn't have a name tag. He stands straight and properly, in royal red and gold. Like even if he's just a service worker for the hotel, he's something much more. Someone much higher than you.
That didn't bother you at first, because, hey, you'd just been happy to finally find another person. The silence and emptiness of the lobby had almost prompted you into panicked hyperventilation. You come to realize, after first meeting the doorman, that just like the rest of this place, he's all wrong.
And what's worse, he seems intent on being entirely useless. You can ask him a question, any question your heart desires, and he'll find a way to never answer it directly with the biggest smile on his face. After all, he's just the doorman. That type of stuff is really the concierge desk's department. They should be happy to help you!
"Uhm...there wasn't anyone there," you'd offered, awkwardly, now feeling like you were torturing a service worker for no reason by continuing to push.
"Really?" he asks, looking genuinely surprised. Then, he leans down, a bit closer to you. "Perhaps they're on break? Lazing around somewhere?"
You don't like the way he looks at you.
"I, uh, guess I could look for them," you mutter, leaning away from him.
He shrugs, standing back up straighter, arm held neatly behind his back. "Suit yourself. Please let me know if there's anything more I can do for you."
Then, he takes your hand, unexpectedly, bringing it up to his lips. Head bowed, he looks directly at you through strange, blue eyes. You're so stunned you don't react fast enough to tear it away. He watches you stammer, a gloved thumb rubbing over your hand, before he lets it drop down from his grip.
"Yep, yeah," you say, stumbling back as soon as he releases you, ignoring the way heat crawls through your body. "Got it. Thanks. Bye."
And then you're gone, fled back to the elevator. Without even a single thought of trying to leave out the door he stood guard at so diligently. You don't hear it, but he chuckles to himself a little bit. Oooh...you'll be fun to toy with. You do, however, feel his eyes stare into your back. He watches you go.
You'd come back some other time when that creepy doorman wasn't around. He had to go on his break or go home eventually right?
Yeah turns out that time does not exist. He's always there.
That encourages you to try and explore around the rest of the hotel, searching for any information at all. Or other doors that opened perhaps. But no. Nothing at all. Except maybe the name of the place--The Baroness. But you don't think that counts. You'd known that when you'd first opened your eyes to this place. But you feel like you've seen that name on a sign, outside. Like you'd come here to check in or, or do something.
You feel like beyond that, your mind just goes in circles.
It doesn't help that you've started to see that doorman in other places around the hotel you'd been attempting to investigate. Even if you're not going for the front door, suddenly he's behind the front desk, looking properly busy, sorting through a guest logbook. A logbook you've never been able to find for yourself when you'd snooped behind the desk previously. Or perhaps you catch a glimpse of his red uniform disappearing around a corner when you try to navigate through the halls.
Once or twice you've been caught in the elevator with him.
Awkward.
But he's always pleasant to you. Like...overly pleasant, really, considering the situation. Sometimes you wonder if you're just imagining him. But you remember him touching your hand the time before. That had felt very much real. You'd felt his lips at your knuckles. Cold, but they were certainly there.
"How are you enjoying your stay at the Baroness?" He asks you, standing besides you as the elevator slowly rides up.
You'd just been trying to go back to your room...it's the one place that doesn't change. It feels like the halls here just kinda loop around or blend together. But it always leads you back to your room. You don't even know its number off the top of your head now, feeling fuzzy whenever this man talks to you.
When you don't reply, his head tilts a little.
"Miss?" He asks again, voice cutting through your mental fog.
"Oh, uh, it's nice. It's...yeah it's nice here. I think."
"Are you feeling well?"
You look at the man. The only other person (?) here. Besides the room, he's the only other constant in this hotel too. Your eyes trail over him, the ginger curls not contained with the rest of his neat hair, the splash of freckles and beauty marks over his face, the perfect straightness of his nose and jaw. How bright his eyes are. Nothing like yours. Nothing like you've ever seen before. Just...the uncanniness of him. You think you might have still found a man like him attractive if you weren't, well, stuck in this hell with him.
It makes you wonder if he is actually a figment of your imagination again, if you found him attractive.
It's rude to stare.
"I...I guess not," you manage to answer. "No. I don't feel well at all."
"My, poor thing. Isn't that unfortunate? How awful."
The words just keep coming. Sometimes you forget he's the only one you can actually talk to in here. "I can't...think straight in this place. It's all strange. I keep forgetting things I should know. It's like-"
"You've forgotten your room number?" He suddenly cuts you off, almost too conveniently. "You're in much worse shape than I imagined. Not that you don't look lovely tonight, of course."
"Uh..." your face kinda heats up. What's he talking about?"
"Not to worry! It'd be my pleasure to assist you~" his hand finds your back, as the elevator conveniently grinds to a halt and the door open, releasing the two of you into the hall.
Well, it's more like he sweeps you along with him, acting as though you might collapse at any moment. You just feel like you're going crazy. Before you know it, you're in front of a door. You open it. Guess this is your room. You turn around to face the man.
He's still there, smiling down at you.
"Ah, thank you," you say, a bit softly.
"Like I said before," he continues, "it's my pleasure. Please, don't hesitate to call if you need anything more."
You nod, a bit faintly, before shutting the door.
A soft sigh leaves you, and you let your head fall forwards and thunk uselessly against the door. Then you do it one more time. And a third time just for the hell of it. You're just...tired of being here. You wonder when it'll end. But you don't like your mind wandering to that kind of topic.
So, you collapse down onto the admittedly comfortable king bed. This bed's always made when you come back. Like you never slept in it at all. You nestle your face into the clean, white pillows, letting your eyes fall shut.
When you rarely chose to sleep, the dreams you received certainly didn't help your mental state. Dreams of something running its hands over you, holding you, gripping you tight so you can't move. Helpless in your sleep, like how you're helpless when you're awake. Fingers threading through you, pumping. A tongue on your neck, lips too. Warmth. This place is so cold. That's how you know it's a dream every time.
Truth be told, you never felt tired or hungry or thirsty in this place. If you slept, you did so out of boredom. Or some sort of obligation to attempt to pass the time. But even sleep is no longer a way to escape, with these dreams.
You'll awake with a start, and even the most momentary, shameful pleasure your own mind might have given you is long gone. Or...or is it your own mind? You're not sure anymore.
What had you done? Why did you come here? Is this punishment?
You usually sat on the edge of the king sized mattress just...thinking. Or at least, trying to. It's just so...foggy in this place. And quiet. Too quiet still. You can only grow more restless, despite how calm you try to stay.
Once, you'd worked up the courage, and you'd tried to go back to that doorman. You'd been avoiding him for awhile now. But you figure he must have something to do with all of this. All you wanted from him was more information. He'd told you if you needed anything you could call on him right?
The conversation just goes in circles. Frustratedly, you'd turned away from him and gone back to the room.
The second time, you had attempted to head straight for the door. You just can't stand being here doing fucking nothing anymore. So fuck that doorman. Fuck this. You're just gonna go straight for the door this time around, and you'll shove him out of the way if you have to. Yeah, he's bigger than you, but if you can catch him off guard, it should be fine.
So you do just that. You're silent, riding the elevator down, the tension growing in your body. It's the most awake you've felt since first opening your eyes to this hotel. You take in a breath as the doors grind open. You start your march for the door. But somehow you just keep ending up anywhere but out those ornate turnstile doors. Why are you in the corner of the lobby now, looking over some of the art on the walls? Why are you at the receptionist desk waiting for a worker who isn't coming?
And why are you now. Back. In. This. Fucking. Room.
You want to rip out your hair and cry. You want to tear up the floorboards from this place. You want to bang on every door in the hall, screaming for anyone.
But you know that no one is here to help you.
No one but him.
So what the hell, right? Why did any of it matter at all? You shoulder open the door to your room once more, the nightstand lamp clutched in your hand. Restless, you stand there for a moment, before taking in a breath. And you smash it up against the wall as hard as you fucking can.
It felt good.
Nothing ever feels good in this place.
You turn back towards your room, thinking of other things you could start breaking next.
Then, you feel a hand on your shoulder and ice sweep through your veins, causing you to freeze in place.
"My, what a mess."
Him.
"Um..." you say, the bravery drained from your body, "It slipped?"
Your voice quakes, betraying you. And he laughs. You find yourself taken aback. It's a real laugh, not one of those little muffled, smirky chuckles he does.
"I'm sure it was just an accident, wasn't it?"
You find yourself compelled to nod. "Y-Yeah. I'm sorry."
He clicks his tongue, head cocking to the side a bit. "Well, no need to worry about it, my dear. Why not return to your room while I take care of it?"
He gives you a smile. It doesn't reach his eyes.
One more time. You'll try to leave one last time and then you'll give up forever, you swear. You'll resign yourself to rotting in that bed.
"Yeah. Yes, that's a really nice idea."
It's like this voice isn't your own. Your mind isn't your own. But for just a moment, maybe when you realized this, you free yourself.
Quickly, you turn, darting for the end of the hall, to the elevator. It stretches longer than it's ever felt before. But you don't care. You just keep going. And by some miracle of God (one that you imagined had abandoned you to this place), you actually make it.
You don't look at him.
Don't look at him.
You just kept your eyes on the wall, praying the elevator would make it all the way down. It's ridiculous to think he'd have the power to effect the elevator. Or the halls. That'd just been a figment of your imagination. Next thing you know, the doors squeak open once more, and you make a mad dash for the front door. Through the reception area, through the lobby. Just for a second, you can't help but glance over your shoulder, worried he might be following.
When you redirect your attention to the door, he's there.
You'd have expected him to look more peeved. But no. He's look at you the same way he always does. With that smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
You find yourself stopping, just in front of him.
Just because you feel like maybe you can, you still reach for the side of the glass door, to push it to make the gap in the turnstile bigger. So you can get it and leave. Something suspends you there, reaching for it. The doorman just watches.
"Oh I really wouldn't. After all, there's nothing out there for you, is there?"
Your hand falters. And you slowly withdraw your arm. Your voice comes small.
"But I-"
The man looks down at you, that same smile on his face, prompting a sudden silence from you. It's something you'd first excused as bougie, haughty hotel worker thing. But seeing it now, seeing it for what feels like the millionth time, you realize it's downright torturous. A look that says "I know everything, and you? Nothing at all". You were wrong before, it did reach his eyes. It's a sort of awful twist on his face that extends right into his eyes, the freckled corners crinkled in amusement.
You've been staring for too long. Not that it bothers him. He could look at you all day, just to witness that same confused, deer-in-the-headlights daze he's found himself so fond of. Your eyes tear from his, and you cast your gaze down at the ground, at the rich red carpet.
...Why were you trying to leave again? You think you might have forgotten something important in your room. You can't leave without it.
But...that doesn't feel right either. Why are you thinking about that now?
I can't leave.
You feel kind of lightheaded. You look like you want to say something--your lips even part a little, suggesting you might. But you don't. He feels a hint of disappointment. There'd been a time, long ago, when you'd fought a lot harder to untangle your mind. Perhaps he's played with you a little too rough and a little too often.
Without another sound, you turn away from him, and begin your path back into the hotel. Back to your room.
He clicks his tongue, in mock sympathy, not quite done toying with you. He does a real good job of playing his role, you see.
"Perhaps another time?" he calls out, and his words prompt you to suddenly stop dead in your tracks.
"...If I didn't know any better I'd say you were keeping me here on purpose," you say, heart pounding in your chest, and the lightheadedness subsides. You don't even realize you said it at first. Like you'd just...blurted it out.
Even with your back to him, you can feel him come closer. Not like...a person walking to you. No footsteps. No clink of his keys, no shifting of fabric, no whistle of breath through the nose. Like he's something else. You have no idea what, and that makes you even more nervous. You think he knows that. Perhaps that's why he feels it all too simple to reach for you, to pull you into his body.
His touch isn't right. Nothing about this man is right.
“You don't know better. You are mistaken,” he breathes out, in your ear, chin coming to rest at your shoulder. His hand wanders further down your body, white, slender fingers delving between your legs.
A sharp gasp escapes you, as you feel his hand cup over your clothed sex, fingers already beginning to relentless tease. You feel his other hand, the free one, grab at your jaw, tilting your head to the side. He does so gently, but with a firmness that suggests you’re not to break out of his grip. His skin is cold through the material of the gloves.
So very cold.
“I’d never dream of it…” His lips press up to the side of your neck, and stay there, his eyes shut in momentary bliss.
Can a God even feel that way? Or is he just pretending to pass the time? To wane his boredom?
“But I know you’ve dreamed of this plenty,” he continues, at the loss of his lips pressed to your neck forever and ever. “Your needs are so…obvious to me. It's been difficult to refuse indulging you. After all, I'm supposed to be...”
A soft chuckle comes from him, and he doesn't bother finishing the sentence. You realize then that even if his breath flows over your skin, there’s no warmth to that either. You feel the pressure of it, sure. But nothing more. It’s neither cold, nor hot. The strangeness of it all, of him, only extends your stupor. His lips press to your cheek next, then the corner of your own lips.
A slow, practiced movement, like a vulture, circling lazy and idly. Like time stands still for him.
“I’m afraid it’s far too easy to read you, my dear. Even if you think otherwise.” He directs your head to the side, so you’re nose to nose with him, face to face. So his gaze swallows you whole and keeps you paralyzed. “But then again…what you think doesn’t really mean anything at all, now does it?”
“…Would you like me to humor you?” you manage, feeling fuzzy as his fingers continue groping at you.
“Always,” he muses in response, with a flash of white teeth. Yessss, this is what he's wanted from you.
“I thought I’d been doing a pretty okay job, y’know, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Staying away from you, the creepy doorman that just won’t leave me alone,” you admit. “But that’s just what you wanted me to think…am I getting that right, at least?”
”You are. Such a fun little game wasn’t it? I know it thrilled you. I know how it thrills you now.” His pointer strokes over your clothed clit, with a little more pressure, and you lurch a little in his grasp. “I know how lonely it’s been for you here. How lonely you were even before you came here at all. How lost you were.”
Another soft laugh sounds from him. "It was impossible for me not to intervene."
He watches you carefully, as he moves in closer.
"But you need not worry...you no longer need to be lost. I will be your shepherd. And you, the lamb."
As his lips come closer to fully and finally meeting your own. He drinks in every micro-expression, even if the daze he's put you in dampens it. You can't bear to look into his eyes any longer, letting your own fall shut, as he kisses you. It isn't long before his tongue creeps into your mouth--he wants a taste of your insides too.
His tongue should have been hot. His lips and saliva should have been warm on you. But it isn't. You feel the pressure, and the slide of the muscle along your own tongue, but no heat. It's...such a strange sensation. Like a detail forgotten.
You'd known he wasn't normal by any means. Not at all a natural human being. But the idea that he could be something other entirely, as basic as it was, had not even been introduced to your brain until now.
He's. Not. Human.
He's something else.
You don't know what. But for some reason, you don't panic. The Doorman doesn't even hear your heart rate spike. Stuck in your dream, with Him deep in your mouth, you let Him take you in His arms. He feels your muscles slacken.
There was never a chance to escape here. Or Him. Never at all.
When His lips finally leave yours, tongue trailing slightly over your lip, you hate yourself. Because you wish you didn't derive this strangest of pleasures from this. You wish this wasn't the only good feeling you've gotten here in what feels like forever. Other than smashing the lamp. But that satisfaction paled in comparison to this. And it didn't feel nearly as wrong.
What is wrong with you?
"You must feel so ashamed to want this. But I couldn't possibly blame you. After all, it's what I intended for you. And who are you to stray from the path I set for you? You can't." Then, He gives another laugh. It echoes in your ear. You don't know if you're just hearing things now. "You won't, will you? Because you want me to play with you. To make your dreams reality."
I...I do?
I do.
You think you might have softly said it out loud, without even meaning to. Based on the way you feel another chuckle shake through His broad chest, you probably did. Heat rises in your face. How did He know about those dreams? The memories of them only weakens your resolve further.
The answer to your question is obvious, but you couldn't possibly accept it. You don't want to think about it right now.
When you open your eyes, you're no longer in front of the ornate, glass turnstile doors. You're back in your room. On the bed, and He's beneath you, an arm wrapped over your hips, His other hand wrapped around your throat. You know this room is yours. Your bleary eyes wander to the nightstand, as His thumb digs into the juncture of your neck and jaw. You'd expected Him to reset this--the lamp shouldn't have been there. You'd shattered it to pieces. You know you did. But there it was.
Perhaps just another detail The Doorman didn't care for. Just another way to fuck with you. To push you a little further.
His hand moves from your hip to infiltrate the slit opening of the dress— the one you’d never have worn in a million years. Had you always been wearing this old fashioned thing? Even when you'd been frantically sprinting through the halls, breath long forced from your body? You don't remember. You don't recall any mirrors in this place at all. You can't even recall what you look like anymore. You draw blanks. Again.
But this time you can't summon the energy to care. You try to focus on the one thing you need. The one answer that you've decided you crave above all else.
His long, gloved finger hooks your underwear, pulling it gently to the side, before He continues threading His fingers through you. He smirks a little, feeling how wet you’d been getting from just a little over the clothes contact. He makes you weak. Helpless. So different from what you were on those streets.
All that power gone.
Pure pleasure rolls through His body, and His smile widens. You gasp out as His thumb rolls directly against your clit, the silk of His glove smooth and cool.
“B-Before any of this…um…" Your voice just barely trembles. But at least it's your own again, even for a little bit. "I just wanna know why.”
“Hmm…” He muses, shifting His long index deeper inside you. “I suppose I just take pity on you now. So fascinating.”
When the digit curls, to stroke up against the sensitive spot inside you, your back arches. Squirming on His lap, you let out a soft moan. The pressure of His arm against your body increases to keep you still, as His middle finger slips inside of your cunt as well. You get wet so easily...
He hums to Himself for a moment, like He's got all the time in the world. To His credit, He probably does.
"You've been so good for me so far, haven't you? I suppose I could satiate your desire."
He'd planned on keeping you in the dark entirely. He wanted you to torture yourself with constant questions and doubt and confusion. He found that after several centuries of hefty experience torturing mankind, the best thing to do was to leave them in their own mind. Such a flawed and fragile race... He'd wanted you to turn yourself over entirely to the hollow feeling of simply being lost. He wanted you to resign yourself to wandering the beautiful halls of the Baroness. Just another one of its ghosts.
Just another one of His toys. Abandoned once He was no longer amused by you.
But you'd been different. So lonely and desperate, the deepest and most unconscious part of yourself had begun to desire Him. The utter absurdity of it all. The first dream you'd had, of Him (even if you don't remember that detail), had been of your own mind's making. The rest...perhaps He'd had a hand in those.
Not that it mattered. Torture and pleasure can go hand in hand after all.
The Doorman finally answers you.
"How shall I put this? Let's just say...you were very naughty before you checked into this lovely hotel. The kind of arrogant gutter rat I just can't resist toying with..."
"W-What?"
So you did do something to deserve this?!
He shushes you, although clearly enjoying your distress. The sound soothes you instantly, and you don't know why. Like you're being lulled back into the fog. "Ah, ah, you wanted to know, lamb. And I wouldn't lie to a valued guest."
How can this...this thing speak to you with such a gentle voice? His tone never wavers.
"But...but..." you still try, struggling to speak. Not only because He was still slowly thrusting His fingers inside of you, playing with your insides. "I still...why...this?"
His even voice is in your ear.
"Oh, you already know that. You desire it. You are a guest at the Baroness, whether you like it or not,” He breathes against your skin, making you shudder around His fingers, even if there's no heat to feel, “so I must provide the very best service to you, my dear.”
A chill sweeps through you. Dull, but it's there. Your brows knot, as you feel yourself getting closer. The Doorman notices. He teases you, slowing the pace of His fingers to extend the torturous pleasure. The slow build of euphoria will consume you soon enough.
"A..ah~" you whimper, fingers grasping at His black pant leg. "P-Please..."
"Come undone," He whispers to you. His voice begins to reflect His true nature. "I'll make you."
He watches you writhe, helplessly crying out in His lap. His hand stays firm on your throat, preventing you from truly moving. Not that you even wanted to. He knows you're too deeply enthralled, too lost once again, to even think of straying from Him. You let His slender fingers guide you. You feel how His cheek presses to yours, perhaps some mockery of affection as He watches your body. His hair is soft on your face.
Finally, you climax, body curling into itself, face reddened and breathing uneven. The Doorman simply clicks His tongue and continues on, keeping His fingers deep inside of you. Gasping out, you thrash back against His uniform. Unexpectedly, your hand drifts upwards, to hold at His face. Your fingers travel further, threading through His ginger curls. They move to grasp at Him.
"Ngh, G-God-" you manage, in a whine, eyes rolling in bliss. He feels the sound vibrate through your throat, still held firmly beneath His other hand.
Undone. Just as He'd commanded. Your pussy tightens around His fingers needily.
Your head falls entirely back against His chest as you cum again, moaning out, before gasping desperately for air, trying to regain control of your body and senses. Somehow it's all foggier than when He'd first started. All you can do, is sit there in His lap, slowly coming down from your high. His fingers stay inside you.
He nuzzles into your cheek, feeling the heat of your skin.
"I think I'll keep you here forever."