The clothes are Archaya's. When Reyna came to Besek, she brought nothing but the stolen uniform on her back, and she has never owned a match for these sweeping skirts and satin corset. The shackles are Archaya's, too. They are too small for Majin limbs, and there was another pair hanging on the wall that would fit wrists still smaller than Reyna's. This room is Archaya's, tucked away in the back of the upper floor of the Traviata House, dark and luxurious and secret as everything about her. All the trappings, then, are Archaya's. Only this terrified pleasure is Reyna's own.
She watches the dance of candlelight in Archaya's eyes, her breath coming fast. The corset Archaya laced her into only reaches up as far as her lowest ribs, reminding her to think about her breathing but not actually containing it. So much of her skin is left bare. Archaya tips the candle and Reyna thrashes, pulling against the shackles, the heat searing her skin. Anywhere but there, her nerves plead, but everywhere the wax falls is equally tender. She trembles, feeling her self fully inside her own skin, if only in this moment.
Archaya lowers the candle and drips the wax directly onto one of her nipples, and Reyna keens, trying to make herself hold still. When she looks up, Archaya is smiling. "Well?"
Reyna swallows hard, twice, trying to remind her throat how to shape words. "Thank you, my lady."
"Ask for the other one," Archaya says.
"Please," she says. The words come hard, though not for lack of wanting. "Please. The other side. More wax."
It's not elegant, because it's true, and for a moment Reyna fears that the truth won't be enough -- but then Archaya tips the candle again and sends another bright bolt of heat hissing through her.
"Very nice," Archaya says. She sets the candle down and rises to her feet. "Now flip over." She reaches for her array of instruments and picks up a slim rattan cane.
Reyna does as she's told, awkwardly, her hands caught above her head and her legs tangled in the folds of the skirt. She aches, wanting this; Archaya gathers up the skirt and hikes it up to bare her thighs and the sound Reyna makes is like a sob.
The cane barely grazes her flesh, laid gently against her skin for a moment, a promise of what comes next. "Say yes," Archaya purrs.
"Yes," Reyna says. "Yes. Please."