Inception 1. Saito Part 1

The Initiation. 1/?

Note: India & Spa is a real place, but I have no idea if they do waxing of any sort as I cannot read french well enough. But the pictures were pretty J Also, I'm going to start out slow - some light humiliation, to heavier humiliation paired with sexy times and bondage etc, etc, I wouldn't want to over load anyone ;)

* * *

"Cobb, I don't feel comfortable doing this."

"If Ariadne feels she can handle jumping into dreams, building and manipulating things based on her will alone she is more than ready for the initiation."

"She's too young for this, none of us were here age."

"Like hell, Arthur. we've all done this in some form or another at some point or another - even Mal did it!"

"Dom - we all knew each other- none of us knows the new architect well enough…"

"We don't have time for well enough. She's seen the dreams, she knows who we all are, we can do this the old way - one at a time in the dream or out of it. But all of us have to chose and make our moves within the next week. The only thing we do know is that Ariadne's fascinated by the building - lets see how far we can push her before she breaks."

The meeting was one of less than savory intent. The little architect had gone for more modeling supplies when Dom had called the little gathering. It had been two days since the "start" of the job, and it was time to give Ariadne her initialization into their little family.

Each of them had been through the process before - the most recent in history being Yusuf and Saito(and god did that man have some serious skeletons under the workbench). Arthur remembered his even if it had been ten years ago - Mal had been the first instigator, stalking him through his dreams until she had finally trapped him. She'd tied him to a bondage cross, slipped a bright red ball gag between his lips and proceeded to cane the living hell out of his back.

The memory of the bruises haunted him like a dream, but Mal had never broken his skin when she did it - none of them had. That was the point - pain, but no serious injuries, trust without initial betrayals to mar it. The point man didn't feel it was time for the little architect yet, but something in Dom's sharp manner, the heat in the man's other wise detached voice, told him he waif-ish woman had stumbled on something she wasn't supposed to.

An hour later, Ariadne blazed into the warehouse, arms weighted down with modeling supplies, some of which seemed a bit excessive - but then again this had to be the Mac daddy of dreams- graph pads, clay, a set of exact-o knives and modeling tools, miles of light weight cardboard and cardstock, what seemed to be a gallon of glue and paint. The thing that really garnered the most attention from the men in the room, was a shiny chess piece peeking out of her pocket, glinting in the waning sunlight.

Only one of the warehouse occupants moved to help her and surprisingly it was Saito. The manicured businessman took half of the load, chuckling when he was rewarded with a brilliant smile. It wasn't shocking when he escorted the sweet little architect out of the building once more, her voice drifting to the remaining team members, making them simultaneously smirk and cringe.

"This is really nice and all Mr. Saito, but I've never had any waxing done - it seems like a very painful way of removing hair…"

The car ride was pleasant enough, in Ari's mind, filled with idle chatter and questions about the city for the grand majority of it. Paris rolled outside the window in a comforting display of lights, a mixture of humble beauty and grandiose imaginings put to stone. The entire situation so comforted her that she forgot Saito had insisted he was going to take her to the spa - put from her mind the unsettling prospect of being waxed - anywhere other than her eyebrows.

Saito knew the architect had pt their impending adventure from her mind for the sake of mental security, and it made him smile. The girl had no idea what she was in for the next few days and that he'd gotten to her first made the soon to be tycoon grin and leer. He ushered her inside India & Spa, laughing softly as she took in the building and then the internal decoration. Waving over a smiling receptionist Saito spoke in hushed tones while Ariadne busied herself with scrutinizing the mosaic tiles.

All too soon, in Ari's opinion, she and the Japanese man were ushered into a back room. It seemed harmless enough, tiled like the rest of the rooms Ari had seen on the way back, a flat cushioned bed stood in the middle, a sheet of hygienic paper running down it like at a doctors office, a stool and some supplies. Fidgeting Ari casts a glance at Saito, her face draining of color as she watches him remove his sport coat and start to roll up his sleeves.

'Oh GOD! This is going to end up some terrible gynecologist-rape scene with me dead on the table strangled with a silk tie!'

"Calm down, Ariadne. I am not going to hurt you." Saito spoke in his foreign and calming cadence, causing Ari to jump and blush at her inner dramatics.

"Now, you need to disrobe so we can get this part of the outing done with and move on to the next."

Curious and terrified -the table and Saito's eerie calmness were wigging her out- the lithe Architect did as she was told. Stripping down to her skivvies in mere seconds, the young woman stood fidgeting for a moment before dashing to the table and sitting on it. Bracing her hands on the edge, she hunched over, much like she would at the doctors when she didn't want to be there, her hair becoming a bouncy brown curtain over apprehensive orbs.

The older man did nothing to quell the apprehensive sparks that ran up and down the thin woman's frame, instead going about heating wax, lighting some lavender and vanilla scented candles, getting cloth strips- among other things. The entire time, Saito felt Ariadne's eyes on his back, watching fearfully, curiously studying the way he laid things out on a little table beside the stool. In a process that took about fifteen minutes, the room smelled sweet; the scent having a calming effect on the twenty-three year old , and the wax had melted sufficiently enough for Saito to sit on his stool, hands resting on his knees, dark eyes locking with the architects.

"I thought I told you to disrobe, Miss Architect."

Ariadne tilted her head slightly, eyes widening a fraction in confusing.

"But, I am-"

"Panties off."

"Saito that's going a bit far -" her protest was cut short when Saito scowled, moving forward and pushing her on her back. Stunned the little architect couldn't voice a protest when the business man's slightly callused hands all but tore her simple white panties from her. When the same hands grip her ankles however, the bouncy brunette finds her voice.

"Whoa, what the hell are you doing, Saito?" Ariadne cringed at how small and feeble she sounded to herself.

Saito didn't answer, instead tightening his hold on her ankles and pulling her forward until her ass rested at the edge of table. When he pulled her legs open, baring her most private of area's to his piercing eyes, Ariadne felt her eyes tear up. Biting her lip to hold in a noise of protest and sheer terror, Ariadne blinked before she locked her eyes on the ceiling and muttered silent prayers to whatever gods were listening, her ink and graphite stained fingers curling in on themselves to form fists resting on her stomach.

Shaking his head at the Ariadne's tense form, Saito began his task, marveling internally at how - even though she was terrified and did not want to be on that table, the architect stayed put. Watching her muscles tense and jump as he guided the applicator stick with wax over the beginning of her neatly trimmed mons was strangely fascinating. Her little fists unfurled at the warmth, but quickly turned into little vices when he pressed the cloth over the wax.

The first rip made Ari yelp out loud, hands flattening against her stomach before her nails dug in slightly. Saito surmised one pain would keep her mind away from analyzing the other - he couldn't have that. Reaching up he slapped at her hands until she removed them from her body as he stood, moving his stool and table to the actual end of the massage table. Seeing her eyes track his movement, wide like a doe's made the Japanese man smirk.

"You have a choice little architect. Move to the same position down the table or I shall do it for you."

The man was almost impressed with the woman's speed. Her limbs moved without grace, and she caught her foot on the table corner, but Ariadne did situate herself as he wanted without making him do it. Settling back down between her legs, Saito began his work anew, smirking every time he lulled her into security and tore it from her with each pull of the wax.

Ari was deep in thought between each application and removal of wax and hair, the little tiles of the ceiling her lifeline. This whole scenario was twisted. Had anyone told her a month ago that she would be taking a leave of absence from her graduate program to work on an illegal team to plant ideas in someone's head - she would have laughed like hell in their face and recommended they go to the University shrink. Even more twisted - the fact she was naked except for her flimsy excuse for a bra, in a spa, being waxed by one of the major energy company tycoons.

"Sweet mother of fucking _Jesus_ Saito!" Ariadne swore when a particular strip did not come as easily as the others.

"Language Miss architect. Ladies do not swear."

'This is bazaar, worse than when Superman finds out there's a topsy-turvy wacked out world mirroring his own.' she mentally declared as Saito finished waxing her pubis bald and started in on her legs.

'No where in the job description did Cobb mention letting strange older men wax my legs or my pussy. I thought this was just some random good-will trip. "Lets take the newbie out for some R&R before her brain implodes." That I could have handled -'

The architect cut her inner monologue off with a very real and loud squeal when she felt fingers - _cold_, _wet_ fingers- touching her skin, over her legs and cupping her mound. It was an invasion and that was _bad. _Before she registered herself moving, turning over- when the hell had Saito turned her over-;and then Ariadne was sitting up, her arm lashing out a Saito with the intent to slap the taste right out of his perverted mouth. The slap never connected however, because the man was nothing if not intuitive, his arm rising at just the right moment to thwart Ari's assault.

"If you didn't want the calming lotion you should have said something. Though it would be very uncomfortable later and we still have a few more stops on our agenda."

Ariadne just looked at the smug man - mind lingering on the last half of his speech. "A few more stops?"

* * *

Ok this is going to be huge. But, here you have it- the first installment of Saito's part in Ariadne's initiation.


	2. Saito Part 2

The Initiation 2/?

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or its characters! Don't sue me!

* * *

Saito doesn't give Ariadne her clothing back when he finally lets her up from the table. Instead he gives her a dress that makes her look at him with wide eyes.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. Why can't I wear my clothes?"

"Put on the dress Ariadne," Saito is growling and for the absolute life of her Ariadne can't understand why she is shrinking away from him "and I told you about the language. Now you won't get your panties back."

She almost wails out an indignant remark but the look on the older man's face gives her pause. No panties won't be so hard to bear, even if she's dressed like a godforsaken cupcake. It takes a moment but Ariadne relents, and her eyes fall from Saito's face, she can feel the satisfaction rolling off him in waves.

'It's not that bad' she reasons with herself, slipping the soft dress over her head.

'It's white, it could have been pink, and the bows are black, they could have been polka-dotted, it looks like it will reach my knees and has a built in petticoat thing, so the lack of underwear isn't going to be an issue, and its got really cool sleeves and a high collar. I can work with this, it's going to be all right.'

And it would have been all right had she not have finished buttoning the dress and looked at herself in the mirror. Brown eyes widened in abject horror at the site of herself - she looked like a thirteen year old again, not a twenty three year old woman! Turning to and fro doesn't help to sooth the growing dread residing in the pit of her stomach, either.

Flat in her hands, the dress looked longer - much longer. But on, with the sash tied the right way and having larger breasts than she gave herself credit for - the dress rested at mid thigh.

"This must be a dream…" She whispered, sure it was just some fucked up trick the team was playing on her, but Saito held the truth in his palm, waiting for her to test it.

The pawn stood short and proud in the middle of his hand, light glinting off its polished brass surface as her fingers curled around it. Setting the totem down on the table, Ariadne took a deep breath, said another prayer and flicked it - horrified eyes only widening more as it fell over with a soft "clunk".

"Satisfied?" Saito drawled, sleeves back in place and suit coat on, not a wrinkle in sight.

The little architect could only nod mutely and cringe visibly when Saito took away her comfortable converse and laid before her feet a pair of patent leather mary janes. She looked up to protest, to plead, but a stern look silenced her, and she just knelt down to strap on the offending footwear.

Saito lead her back to the car after that, and all was silent until they stopped again. It couldn't have been more than a twenty minute drive and already Saito was leaning forward, a dark serious expression pinning Ariadne to her seat.

"When we leave this car, little architect, you will not speak. If you are spoken to, reply respectfully, succinctly. Address those speaking to you as Sir or Ma'am. From the moment you step out of the car you will walk two steps behind me on my right, only addressing me as Danno*. Furthermore you will avert your eyes from the faces of your, now, betters. If you don't do this Ariadne, I will make Cobb fire you, and see to it that you never acquire a real architecture job."

Shock lined the small woman's face, her brain shutting down nearly all thought. Her brown eyes were wide with disbelief as she scanned the man before her, seeking some sign that this was all just a terrible joke. No sign was forth coming however, and Ariadne hung her head, nodding silently - humiliation heating her cheeks as she was ushered out of the car.

Together the pair walked down the street, the architect dutifully stationed to the business man's right and two steps behind. There was no talking, and Ari only found her way down the mildly busy street by training her eyes to the heels of Saito's shoes. Their gate was reminiscent of when the architecture student was late for class, no stops or detours just short cuts. She lost herself to the sound of their shoes meeting the cobbled pavement - and nearly barreled into Saito when he suddenly stopped.

"Go inside the store, ask for Francis , tell the you are the Saito appointment. When you are done, go to the patisserie at the end of this street. I will be waiting for you, so do not dawdle. Is that clear, girl?"

Ariadne fought to keep her cheeks from flaming up in humiliation, she could hear the whispers of the consumers who passed, hearing snippets of Saito's directions. Fearing a more humiliating errand, she lifted her face slightly and spoke.

"The directions are clear, Danno." It was half a whisper and half a choked sob as Ariadne directed herself to the store in question. She did not even think to look at the name, so when she looked up and was faced with creations made from leather, glass, pvc, silk and many other materials she was a bit confused. For a moment she wandered, moving between racks and shelves toward the desk she saw hidden in the back.

Some of these creations were meant to be clothing, others were instruments she was familiar with from dorm mates and explicit stories. It made her face heat, and sent a jolt of electricity through her body, the girl barely noticed when a young man stepped from behind the desk.

"Do you need something Miss?" He drawled in a thickly accented English, snorting when the potential customer jumped. Ariadne swung around to face the voice, chocolate eyes wide when they settled on him before remembering her orders. Tilting her face down a bit she quickly spoke.

"I am the Saito appointment Sir."

"Wonderful, and right on time. Saito is always punctual, come with me m'dear and lets get you out of the horribly fitted dress."

From there it was a whirlwind, Ariadne was stripped, random articles of clothing pulled onto her body, cinched, prodded and pinned. The woman felt harassed and vaguely embarrassed that this clothier was seeing more of her than any other man had. At first she'd covered her petite breasts only to have her hands slapped away and the business man tsk at her "childish antics".

It could have been minutes or hours later when she was left standing in a blood red chiffon blouse, a black and gold corset, and equally black leather pencil skirt that ended at her calves and ankle boots. Ariadne breathed a sigh of relief to be rid of the dress and mary janes, the ensemble had made her feel childish and meek, though even in the new cloths she doubted she would be able to stand up to Saito. Not when her future after this damnable job was hanging in the balance.

"Monsieur, do you need me for any further fittings?" She called, still standing on the dais Francis had left her on.

"Not for clothing petite fleur, now comes the fun part, to the front of the store with you!"

Wordlessly she did ask commanded, eyes landing on a recently erected table filled with dildos, vibrators, anal plugs, and other sexual toys. Ariadne's breath caught in her chest and her cheeks lost all color.

'I can barely touch myself in a dark room - what the hell is that old pervert Saito getting out of making me view and possibly buy these things?'

"Now Mademoiselle, these are previews of the bags that I have pre-packed, specified to Monsieur Saito's instruction. These purchases are non-refundable so I do hope you enjoy them and the clothing. If you wish to ask any questions about the items on display please direct them to me now or I have your bags all packed and ready to be sent to your address so you can be on your way."

Hesitantly Ariadne stepped toward the table, her mind running a mile a minute, rationalizing her curiosity, her need to know what was used on what body part and why. A rounded set of metal rods in varying lengths and sizes caught her attention first and she pointed at them, her voice tinged with innocent inquisition.

"What do these to Sir?"

"Ahh the sounding rod? It is inserted into the rectum, and this one-" Francis indicated the short and smallish rod off to the far left, "That one your partner or yourself taps the inserted rod with. It causes the inserted rod to vibrate and it creates a pitched sound."

"Oh" the architect murmured as her eyes moved on, a brow raising as she located a few tubs of body glitter with brush applicators.

"Why body glitter…Sir"

"Its not just body glitter, miss, those are scented, each differently and are edible. The scents are all enhanced with pheromones, it will make your partner unable to stay far from you for long."

The questions and answers continued for some time focusing on more of the anal toys, the explanations making Ariadne more and more embarrassed. She was sure that she wouldn't use half of these implements alone, let alone with a partner! Thanking Francis she gathered the considerable amount of bags and started off for the patisserie.

Some shoppers stared at her, eyeing the shop name on her bags with raised eyebrows - others just smiled knowingly, a few openly leered at the lithe woman. The different reactions urged the architect to move quickly and soon she was just inside the door of the patisserie. Shock filled her body when she saw different students from the university milling about, Saito sitting smack in the middle of the shop, an older, attractive woman with him, chatting away. Wordlessly Ariadne navigated the tables to claim the last seat with Saito. She kept her eyes down and cringed every time someone would pass by.

"Ariadne?" A voice called to her, making her head snap up and swivel to find the owner. The voices owner turned out to be her yoga partner, Elise, an old roommate who had always made fun of Ariadne's bookish nature.

Blonde hair that was always meticulously styled framed Elise's round, flawless face. There wasn't a pock mark or scar to be seen, and Ariadne would know, having searched long and hard for any flaw to make the blonde a more accessible being. Instead all there was to find were almost shaped hazel eyes, a pert little nose and full lipped mouth. "Stunning" was the given label for Elise as she towered over most other women at 6'0", the perfect height and shape of a couture model.

To see her here gave Ariadne the chills. The entire university would know about her new look, the bags, being seen with Saito. If Elise spoke more than five words to her, the world would know about Ariadne's order to address her betters as Sir or Ma'am. This was a nightmare in the making.

Elise made it to the table before the architect could feign having not seen her. Smiling wanly, Ariadne offered a quick greeting.

"Elise, fancy meeting you here."

"I know, I thought for sure you'd never crawl out of that book pile in your apartment."

A scowl marred the corset clad woman for a moment before she moved on as if Elise didn't try to insult her.

"Yes, well, I am quite invested in my architectural future. But I desperately needed to do some shopping, Danno Saito offered to take me and here we are."

Elise's eyes darted to Saito, who conversed with his female companion as if neither of them existed and then back to Ariadne. The architect offered a smile and a shrug as if to say, "what?", frowning once more when the blonde burst into laughter.

"You expect me to believe the great, pristine Ariadne Papaellis has a sugar daddy? That's about as plausible as the outfit you're wearing! Who are you trying to kid."

"Sugar daddy? What the fuck is wrong with you Elise! He's a family friend who while in town offered to take me shopping. And who are YOU to tell me how I dress? Living together for one semester -"

"Ariadne." Saito spoke firmly, and Ariadne's mouth snapped shut, though her usually kind eyes shot daggers at the offensive blonde.

"The company here is less refined than I had hoped. My personal assistant has finished her update on my company, we'd best get back to work."

Nodding once, Ariadne gathered her bags as she stood, murmuring a thankful "Yes, Danno" and utterly ignoring Elise.

With her head held high, Ariadne walked from the café, two paces behind Saito with a lighter spirit. Even if this outing had been strange and mostly humiliating, Saito had come through for her - and seeing Elise's face as they left together put a shine on the day for the lovable architect.

* * *

Danno - Head of Household or Master.


	3. Enter The Chemist and The Conman

**T**he Initiation 3/?

Get ready for round two of Ariadne's initiation everyone! Enter: The chemist and the forger.

* * *

Yusuf needed leverage on the little architect or his plan was never going to work. Being married severely limited how he was able to initiate Ariadne into their team, but to make this work he needed some piece of information. So he'd gone to her Facebook, Myspace even her student profile. Nothing that wasn't already known to the team turned up so he turned to Arthur. The point man had a file on every member of the team, gathered from various contacts both legit and shady.

Lucky for Yusuf, Arthur hadn't read Ariadne's file yet. Most of the information was boring. Twenty-three year old exchange student at the University of Paris, top of her Architectural program. Greek father, American mother, wealthy each in their own right, elder sister who resides in Switzerland studying ballets and physiology. A perfect family had to have dirt - _this _was Yusuf's break!

* * *

Meanwhile Ariadne and Eames sat chatting on the lawn chairs, the third level of the dream perched on her lap. The thief listened with half an ear as the little architect gestured animatedly at each nook and cranny of the building. It seemed she had left no eventuality not thought out. However, he didn't care about that right now.

Saito had dropped the little architect off about half an hour ago, dressed in leather, chiffon and satin. Eames wanted to do terrible, terrible things to the girl who is the picture of virginal innocence wrapped in clothing made to tease. A fantasy plays in Eames mind, the only dreams -if you can call them that- that he has the luxury of anymore. It's little fingers dig into his brain and kiss his desire until it enflames.

"Darling, this may come off as a bit strange and random, but lets take a break. I want to see how it is you create, when you aren't using models that is." His voice is smooth, veiling the fact this is a split second decision. The original plan for Ariadne is thrust to the wind, scattered and no longer usable - but this new initiation will test the lithe woman's control, his control and maybe catch Eames a new companion.

The woman in question laughs, and shakes her mane of wavy brown hair, the scent of vanilla and freesias wafting around her for a moment. Getting up without a word of consent or decline, she walks off, taking her supplies with her. In those moments Eames is worried he came on to suddenly, mind already scrambling to remember plan A.

When a full five minutes has passed the forger stands, Ariadne has obviously declined. He makes it half way to his office when the svelte brunette re-emerges from her office. She's got this little smile on her lips, like their about to share a secret, and Eames supposes they are in a way. If Arthur got wind of what he was about to do to the architect -even in a dream- he would be sure to get shot.

"Are you coming, or just going to stand there gawking?" Ariadne quips, and for the first time Eames listens - really listens- to her voice. Its soft, with a sharp edge, warm and caresses like the favorite shirt your lover steals to feel nearer to you.

"Of course, little one, I was just thinking to myself how lucky all us old men are, with a cute little thing like you to keep us company."

"Sweet talk won't get you anywhere with me Eames. Now lets go or I won't let you watch me make a world around you." She teased, unmoved by the british man's flattery.

"Lead the way oh great architect."

In response Ariadne simply moved out of the door and curled her finger at him to come in. Eames highly doubted she even realized how sexual that was in his eyes. Didn't matter, he traipsed inside the small office and quirked a brow, turning when he heard the door shut and lock click.

Ariadne shrugged her shoulders and gave a sweet smile, the forger put it down to her not wanting to get in trouble with "Daddy Cobb" for going under without more than one other person in the room. Together they sat, and Eames wondered how the sly woman had gotten the dream machine case from Arthur without a lecture, or him noticing. The thought didn't last long because soon they were under, slipping into the dream.

Eames is standing in a building that rivals the louver, perhaps this is what Ariadne hopes to build - he doesn't know. All he can do is wander along the hallways filled with exquisite art until he finds her. It takes him a while, but eventually in a little darkened corner of the museum, sit's the brunette. Her leather skirt has been changed to a deep red, made of voluminous fabric and reaching her knees, the boots are flats - the corset is still wrapped tight around her torso, her pale breasts swelling at the top, covered teasingly by the sheer blood red blouse. She is a vision sitting in that alcove, a pad on her lap drawing the projections of Eames' subconscious.

A passing thought wonders if this Ariadne is just his projection of her, but it passes when she looks up and smirks. Flipping the drawing pad closed and using the pencil as a hair pin to wrap her hair in a bun, the architect watches the forger approach. When he is in hearing distance her voice drifts around him, hugging like a lost lover, solidifying his plans for her later on, when she least expects a move.

"What took you so long?"

"I wasn't aware we had a time limit darling, the machine is set to last two hours."

"So sue me, I hate to be kept waiting." The light in her eyes and lilt of her voice indicates she is joking with him - that she's at ease, it brings a smile to the man's lips. Offering his arm, they view the museum, and Ariadne confesses that this is the one building she would give anything to create.

It holds more art than the louver, she argues, body animated as she speaks with conviction and absolute love for this piece of creation. I would have it constructed on international ground, so no one can claim to be more cultured than anyone else, the innocence of the statement is flooring. Like hearing a child declare they will put the world at rights - make peace, when they get old enough.

But Ariadne isn't a child, optimistic and resilient yes, but mature and fully aware of what the world actually holds. Soon they leave the building she so longs to create outside the dream, and walk in a nameless park. The stage is being set, and Eames isn't sure if its by her or him it came so smoothly - much like a real dream.

"I've been working on that. It helps to have one place meld seamlessly into another, the subconscious doesn't get quite as bitchy about it that way." the woman quips when she spies the question in his eyes.

For what seems like ages they walk and talk about everything and nothing. Finally Eames feels it is a good time to put his plan into motion. There are lampposts a few feet from each bench and if he can maneuver her just the right way - this will go off without a hitch.

Trailing behind Ariadne, the con man flops down on to the nearest bench. For a few seconds he watched the say of the architects gently curved hips before she realized the con was no longer following her. Turning slightly, her hair shielded the lower half of her face, brown eyes inquisitive as they looked Eames over.

"Come here pet, have a sit with me."

Ariadne quirked a brow at his odd wording but walked over anyway, seating herself beside Eames she waited for him to start speaking. However, the thief did not, choosing to memorize the girl's curves. He hadn't paid attention to the small but generous curve of her breasts, the way her waist nipped in, her face was lovely, sweet and innocent but always hiding something. Inching closer, Eames tucked a wayward curl behind the architects ear.

"You know, you're lovely."

The comment catches Ariadne off guard and her cheeks paint themselves a fetching red. The con didn't restrain himself from leaning forward and planting a soft kiss on each of her cheeks before sealing his mouth over hers. The movement was a shock and Ari's immediate reaction was to lash out. A loud crack sounded through the park, and the cold look that came over Eames' face chilled Ariadne's bones to the core.

Suddenly Ariadne was being lifted by the conman, and thrust face first at one of the light poles. Ropes fly from now where to bind her arms around the light and she knows this is Eames. His subconscious won't go ape shit when he's the one manipulating things - mores' the pity for poor little Ari. Flinging her head to the right, hair flying, she looks at her captor frantically, stuttering.

"E-Eames! W-what is this?"

"A lesson on manner's my dear." Came the husky, cool reply before she felt the wind whispering over her bare skin. She didn't need to look to know she was naked save the corset.

"Please…don't hurt me." The whispered plea was caught on the wind and the con man heard half of it.

The first crack of the flogger made Ariadne cry out in terror and surprise. The next made her face heat in embarrassment. By the sixth the lithe woman held herself up with help from the pole her body dancing away from the strikes of the flogger. The twentieth made tears spill. The thirtieth made her beg.

"Eames! Eames please stop!** STOP**! Eames _please_!" Her face is red, her eyes barely visible as she hangs her head miserably. The forger grunts, a dissatisfied look coming over his face.

"I don't think I will pet, since you refuse to apologize."

"For what!" Ariadne wailed, hugging closer to the lamppost as the flogger came down on her abused ass and thighs again.

"You hit me."

"You deserved it."

***SMACK*** "Try that again Ariadne"

"I-I'm S-sorry Eames!" The young woman hiccups, burying her face into the flesh of her arm in shame. When the flogger ceased movement, Ariadne's mind cleared of the pain haze to find her limbs throbbing - some not unpleasantly. The rather soft footfalls of Eames moved closer to Ariadne, making the younger woman shrink forward.

"Exactly how sorry are you Ariadne?"

There is a light in the con man's eye that makes sparks travel over the architects skin and her mouth works wordlessly to answer. Eames seemed to discern something from her eyes however, his slacks coming unbuckled with one hand, the other forcing her to kneel, arms still held hostage in their bonds. In what seemed like seconds, the sandy haired con man stood before her, pants around his ankles, cock at attention and staring the bewildered woman in the face.

Brown eyes darted up to meet stormy blue and Ariadne moved to speak, Eames however, had a different idea. As red plush lips parted, the thick red cock surged forward, stuffing the poor architects mouth. Her first reaction was to gag, body lurching as far away as the bonds allowed. The con wasn't to be deterred however, his hand darting out, taking up a handful of Ariadne's curls and dragging her forward again. A pained sound left her lips as he did so only to be answered with a sneer, mouth full of cock - again, and a cutting, cold remark from the usually jovial forger.

"Bite and it will earn you a whipping that makes what I did previously feel like foreplay. Suck. _Now_."

Ariadne had little choice, Eames was in control here, no one was coming to attack her - save her, imagining a gun wouldn't do much with tied hands - she tentatively moved her tongue against the underside of the cock stuffed in her mouth. The vein there throbbed with Eames' heart beat, the skin though colored an angry red, was soft -almost yielding. The pace the kneeling, bound architect set was one conducive to exploration. The conman didn't much care for that, his other hand coming to rest, tangled in Ariadne's hair before his hips started forcing his cock in and out of her mouth.

With wide, panic filled eyes all Ariadne could do was wait out the ride, try not to bite Eames and not choke. The last was proving slightly difficult, his cock wasn't abnormally large but nor was it average, it hit the back of her throat easily and if the con man was so inclined a full thrust would take it further. That prospect was only slightly terrifying and if the subjugated dreamer was being truthful - absolutely truthful- to herself, she was enjoying this. Her slit was becoming moist from all the man-handling Eames forced on her, she _liked_ the slightly salty taste of his cock, she **wanted** him to make her feel helpless.

'God what the **hell** is wrong with me?' Ariadne's eyes took on a far away look as she contemplated her mental question. When Eames noticed however, he didn't let it slide, and on a particularly harsh thrust made sure hold the brunette girl's head to his pelvis. In a few seconds, the lithe body kneeling in front of him started to strain, wiggle, and buck away. He could imagine the distressed look in those warm, trusting eyes and though it disturbed him somewhere far in the recesses of his subconscious - this was her initiation.

-.-.-.-.-

Eames isn't done with her yet - I just thought you guys would enjoy an update!


	4. The Conman Part 2

The Initiation 4/?

* * *

The con man yanked the girl off his cock and knees the moment he saw the light in her eyes began to dull. It wouldn't do for the wench to pass out – he wasn't done with her yet. In seconds the scene was different again, and Ariadne's mind stopped. Plain walls, no windows, no door that she could see – but there were shelves, in a corner there was a saw horse, on the wall to her left were chain hooks but the rest she couldn't see.

"E-eames , " She gasped out, throat starting to show signs of being sore.

"Shut up, and move" A shove accompanied the forgers harsh command, pushing her to the saw horse. He had her laying on it and strapped down in moments, even when she kicked and screamed after her brain caught up again. The brunette continued to scream until he'd chosen a wooden paddle and turned to face her with it.

A sadistic, terrible smile graced the normally carefree features of Eames – and it chilled Ariadne. She had to work with him after this, still be able to go into his layer of the dream and teach it to him. How – after he was finished with whatever he had planned, could she do that?

***Whack***

The paddle came down with and ripped a pained, startled scream from the young woman's lips. Two more blows rained down on her skirt covered ass – screams echoing off the walls, the wood creaking under her as she struggled to get free. Five more blows, the tears start up again, it hurts – it feels good, this is wrong – so wrong, makes both parties feel dirty for enjoying it. This is torture, Ari knows it, because the British man is giving her time to calm between blows, drawing the pain to lessen and then raining a new one down upon her. She can't imagine what this will feel like when he takes away the shield of her clothing. Ten blows after Ariadne's tears start, the lithe woman is hoarse, her tears are slowing and Eames is absolutely floored when she moans.

Giving another slap of the paddle, his narrowed eyes take in the way her back arches, the subtle strain of her body against her bonds – _toward_ him. A smirk plants itself on his lips, his mind processing the information as he stops, lays a gun calloused hand on the fabric of her skirt and rubs. The feeling makes the girl jerk, half away from him and half desperately nearer; the sinful moan that drops from her lips is delicious and the forger wants more.

The same hand that was so gentle with its attention bunches her skirt up and pulls – the sound of ripping material fills the room, makes its captive occupant squirm and gasp – her captor taking in a lack of underwear that must have translated from Saito's shopping trip with her early.

"No knickers, little girl? Who would have pinned you for such a _slut_" He bent over her back to tell her this, his still erect and exposed cock prodding and slipping against the skin of her stinging ass cheeks, making her squirm.

"S-saito-" She grinds out, hands fisting as she strains away from the wood, closer to Eames and half rocks away from him. The movement would have tipped her over were it not for the fact Eames' weight held her in place.

"Thought as much," The words are drawled and bored, even as he straightens, hands pushing her hair off the back of her delicate red blouse. In moments it is ripped away as well, and the gasp lets him know the fabric's rapid and rough exit has stimulated the lithe woman. Giving her abused ass a bare-handed slap, watching her jump as he leans down, hips grinding against hers mercilessly, Eames speaks again.

"You may as well be gagging for it Ariadne. Do you want me to fuck you – to hurt you while I'm thrusting inside of you? Or maybe you just want to be flogged until you scream and cum without anything else touching you – how much do you like pain hmm?"

It makes Ariadne furious, and her head whips to the side, eyes fierce when she spits at him. The bravado is short live however, the man's fingers dig into her abused flesh and make her cringe and pant, his eyes are merciless boring into hers and all the architect wants is to hit him, for him to do more, for him not to do anything else and to fucking wake up.

One of the con's hands move to wipe the spit off his skin and later curls in her hair, jerking her head to face forward as it also jerks back. The other hand is holding her with such force she is sure that it will bruise her out of the dream and when his teeth meet her shoulder in a savage bite, she screams for all she's worth and writhes. He is abusing her, violating her – she screams the accusations at him, voice failing the more anger she lets out.

"We'll fix that mouth on you yet, darling."

The fact Eames is calm in the face of her accusations is flooring. She called him a rapist, a sick bastard who can only get it up when women are tied down. But the weight of his body is gone within moments of the statement, the angered screams, and something is pushing at her slit – she squirms, yells, tells him no – it doesn't matter. All Ariadne receives in response is a heavy handed slap that makes tears spring to her eyes and then – _it_ slides in. It's large, stretches her, brings flairs of pain that lance up her abdomen and leaves her breathless, makes her tense and try to push it out.

"Take it out! It's too big it **hurts!**" The plea is helpless and weak sounding even to her own ears, so it is no surprise when Eames fingers rub at her soaked lips, and slap her ass again. He is so quiet that it scares her more than his promises of pain.

For a long, silent moment, Ariadne wonders if maybe one of her screams translated into the waking world and alerted one of the others – if they barged in and woke Eames first to see what the hell was going on. That hope is dashed when the object inside her begins to vibrate, it makes her clamp down on it harder, almost makes her eyes cross at the sudden and unexpected jolt of pleasure. Still the con man is silent, off somewhere in the room she can't see.

'_It's a trap.'_ Her mind supplies quickly, more wary than it was some forty five minutes ago.

'_He wants you to relax, and then he'll strike again. The bastard wants you to moan, to feel, to beg.'_

The thoughts are fleeting, the vibrations are stronger now, and the girl has all she can do to not bite through her lip or grind her clit on the wood underneath her. She lasts a few minutes before the taste of copper meets with her tongue. Gasping as pain registers in her lip; the curly haired brunette tosses her head from side to side trying to spot the man. With still no movement or sound from her captor it's only a matter of time before Ariadne is writhing against the saw horse, little hands and nails scraping over the legs for purchase.

For Eames, she is a vision of creamy skin, black leather and pure enjoyment. He'd been irritated that the girl he was now watching had enjoyed his punishment of her. That was never the way it was supposed to go, but he was satisfied that she was submitting, even if she didn't know it. He laughed internally when he watched her realize he must have left the room, smiled in satisfaction when that lithe body started responding to the pleasure and now it was time for them both to finish this.

The over sized Egg he'd dreamed up with extra long cord and control was turned to its lowest setting – a protesting moan echoing on the bare walls – as he stalked over to Ariadne once more. Picking up the leather covered and studded paddle, he swung it at her thighs, right across where the egg was nestled inside her. The architects reaction was sudden and pronounced – she howled, her skin flared pink, but she didn't call him foul names or try to get away. Truly she hadn't been trying this entire time, but it was much more gratifying to see her simply take this treatment.

Murmuring and appreciative "Good girl", Eames swung again, and again, and again. The man kept swinging until his captured colleague was panting, body straining toward him, the paddle soaked with evidence of her pleasure. Ariadne had, rather impressively, kept from begging, he was delivering the pain her body asked for in droves, she was clearly responding and it was enough to keep her going but not enough to take her off the edge. Eames wouldn't give her that until she begged.'

Taking the paddling up a notch with full swings that made the woman screech, the forger turned the setting higher on the egg. In mere moment's Ariadne gifted him with a symphony of movement and sound, but not the ones he wanted. Turning from her, not giving any sign of hearing her protesting whine, Eames contemplated what he should do to her in order to achieve the results he wanted.

Inspiration floated through his brain in the form of some random porn clip and soon enough Ariadne was hauled from the saw horse. Almost brutally, Eames strapped her legs into a harness, Egg still seated within her slit and on a high setting, before crushing her against the cool surface of a wall. He trussed her with ropes so her breasts were free, arms folded behind her back and hooked to a chain she had early spied.

Leaving her hanging from it, the forger retrieved a wand and snapped into the harness, resting it so it sat directly on her clit and turning it on. Grabbing a hand full of her hair, the British man spoke in low tones.

"You aren't to cum from this Ariadne. You can't until I say so – if you do so before I will let the others know what a pain slut you are and make it seem like you asked for this when I tell them. Clear?" The threat probably hadn't been needed, but when brown eyes widened in shock and her head strained to nod, Eames felt it was perhaps more effective than simply telling her not to. Turning the dials up on high for both devices, the sandy haired con man stood back and watched.

'_Leaving the gag out of the mix was, without a doubt, good choice.'_ He mused, eyes not missing a moment of the captive woman's hips frantically moving against the massager hooked to her harness. It was almost comical, she bucked and writhed, moans, gasps and groans falling from her lips as she went, the chain holding her swinging back and forth in tandem with her movement. A part of Eames is wistfully wishing he had a way to capture this, keep it with him outside of the dream, because who knows how the spitfire will react once free from him and the sleeping machine.

Her moans set his blood on fire, and during this whole affair not once has he wilted. It nears the five minute mark, and frankly Eames is mentally applauding the lithe little woman before him. She makes more noise than most self-proclaimed screamers, but not once has she asked to cum. The thought of having to force her to near the end of the dream is appealing, but unsatisfying. Eames turns from her to scout out something to aid his endeavor.

The architect is half mad, straining closer to the vibrations, mentally cursing and praising her colleague for doing this too her. So lost in a sea of pleasure, Ariadne doesn't see what Eames brings back with him, doesn't notice the crisp crack when he slaps it against his palm to warn her. She does however, howl and dance for him when the crop breaks over her breasts. The blows are much lighter then the spankings she has endured in this dream, but leave a warm stinging that makes a coil curl in her stomach. It is hard to concentrate on **not** having an orgasm when the blows rain on her and the vibes get stronger.

Ariadne doesn't care that her face is red, her curls are wild and she's dancing like a sex starved harlot in front of Eames right now. All that matters is making it to the end, getting out of the dream, leaving the office and getting to her apartment to fuck herself silly. She may or may not slap Eames on the way out but – _oh Jesus._

The con man's fingers are inside her, crawling up next to the vibe and fucking _thrusting._ It's too much, and **god** being able to do that should be illegal. Her head is lolling forward onto his shoulder – when did he get so close? – And, _sweet lord_ he can still hit her with the crop. That coil is getting tighter, he must be able to tell because he's curling his fingers, hitting that spot and, and.

"Ask for it." His voice is dark, there is a promise there, and reassurance, an apology and it is so good that it's sending a spark of fire through her.

"Pleaaase, Eames…" She is breathless, desperate now not to go against what he's told her , but she _needs_ it now.

The fingers are gone now, there's something else pressing up into her. _Holy fuck_ should this even be possible, shouldn't she be tearing? Eames is fucking her, Ariadne is seeing stars, and one last crack of the crop on her skin sends her into oblivion.

Waking up has never felt so good, even if Eames tortured her for the last – she glances at the clock- Hour and forty five minutes. Glancing at the waking conman, Ariadne is up and out of her chair, iv thrown carelessly to the floor and gone before Eames can flutter his eyelids.

None of the men hear from her for the rest of the afternoon.


	5. Chapter 6

Leaving for AO3

I just wanted to put up a quick note altering you all to my move from here to Archive of Our Own. These stories will stay up but no longer be updated here.

Same penname, same chick, same stories. :D

archiveofourown users / MrsShadow

Also if AO3 is giving you grief about reading the stories without an account I'm going to do a giant post dump of stories into my livejournal over the next couple days (I've got work so it will be a couple days, people!)

washedawaycloud . livejournal . com

Things will be tagged accordingly.

I love you all and am sorry to be going but it's for my stories safety - especially the older ones. seems to be cracking down - one of my older ones (thankfully in the live journal already) was taken down after two years for inappropriate content.


End file.
