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Shattered	By : TarnishedArmour Category: G through L > Labyrinth Views: 7713 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Based upon the work of Jim Henson; specifically Labyrinth, copyright 1986 by Jim Henson & associated parties. I do not own or have legal rights to Labyrinth, etc., or make any profit from them. *Individual disclaimers for other works in

Chapter List
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"I'll have to wear something other than those breeches, Jareth," she said, suddenly worried.
"Oh?" he asked, wondering what she was thinking.
"Well, your shirt is lovely," she said, "and the black boots and pants and jerkin are nice but it's not appropriate for the Festival." Sarah thought she was being reasonable.
"You won't be wearing anything at all," Jareth replied, stifling a laugh at her lack of information. "In case no one has mentioned it, the opening ceremony involves the chosen pair coupling in the village square, on the bare earthen dais."
"What?" Sarah wasn't sure she heard correctly.
"It's a…what is the term from your world? Dionysian festival, though for prosperity and fortune in years to come, more than the rest of it."
"Dionysus, as in the Greek god of sexual abandon, fertility, vegetation, partying, wine, and mysteries?" Sarah said, not processing anything else that he had said just yet. She was still trying to picture a man and woman willingly having sex while the rest of the townsmen looked on.
"The very one," Jareth replied. "The entire festival is rather Dionysian. You won't be the only ones coupling, just getting the ball rolling, as it were."
"Wait." Sarah's eyes grew wide as she finally realized that she, not some nameless, faceless woman from the village, would be in the square, naked and…"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "Not me."
"You, Sarah. It is the man's dream, and I have already agreed to grant it." There was steel in the softly spoken words.
"Then have him pick someone else. I am not going to be in that village square…screwing someone I don't know!" Sarah raised her voice to him, growing louder with each word. She was almost yelling by the time she finished.
"You will," Jareth's voice was cold and distant. "And you shall do so willingly."
"Who do you think you are, giving me away to someone else like that?" she snapped. She was standing now, the better to fight with him.
Jareth took her chin lightly in his hand. "Mine to command," he said softly, coldly as he looked into her angry eyes. "Do you remember that, Sarah? You swore to be mine to command, to take, to give, to pleasure, and to punish."
"Oh, please, Jareth! You couldn't be serious about that! It's not an oath-it's…it's…slavery!" she retorted.
"Nonetheless, I have taken you and pleasured you. You are delicious, Sarah. Now I am giving you to a man who has done more for my kingdom than you have, and it is my command that you go to him at the Festival tomorrow with an open and willing heart." The soft, low voice held menace in it. Sarah was too angry to heed the warning.
"I will not!" she hissed, jerking her chin out of his grasp. "I refuse to be…whored out! I am running the labyrinth to be your Queen, not your glorified whore!" She gasped as Jareth grabbed her upper arms in a steel grip and hauled her so she was nose-to-nose with him. Her vision was filled with angry, mismatched eyes, the blue eye cold and the hazel-brown eyes hot with the rage he was projecting.
"The greatest reward I could give to any of my kingdom is the body and blood of my Queen," Jareth hissed. Rage was awakening in him now as her stubbornness proved itself out. He shook her once and continued speaking. "As my Queen, should you actually manage to make it that far, you will be mine still-to command, to give, to take, to pleasure, to punish, to bear my children, to rule and fight by my side, to provide comfort and solace to my court, to have, to hold, and to suit your life to mine, living only to serve me and my realm. If you are so squeamish you cannot stand to be touched by another before an appreciative and reverent audience, you do not deserve to finish the run, much less become my Queen."
"I accepted you as my King with those words, Jareth," she hissed back, "not my pimp! I am no one's to give away, and you will have to force me to go through with it! I will not be willing or happy!"
"An' you be mine," he whispered, the familiar line spreading a cold fear through Sarah, "I give you to my subject." She knew what should come next, but this was Jareth, and he was angry. "And you be not," Jareth paused, "I will break you first and then give you to my subject, a pretty doll to use and discard."
"You wouldn't," she whispered, wanting to be certain of him, having the sinking feeling that she was wrong.
"Will you obey me in this?" he asked, ignoring her hopeful statement and focusing on the argument at hand. This was the crux of the matter. She had vowed to do as he commanded, honestly. That his symbol was dark black above her heart proved her oath was true. Now she was refusing this politely worded command.
Sarah grew hot with anger, the blush of her cheeks not from a delicate innocence any longer. "I will not!" she hissed. It was worthy of Elizabeth Taylor's Kate in Taming of the Shrew.
In response, Jareth's hand struck her cheek hard, making her stare at him in shock. She reached out one hand and found the riding crop he had put beside his side of the bed. Without thinking, she slashed the whip across his face, leaving a bleeding stripe from the corner of one eye down his cheek. Jareth smiled at her.
"Once again, my dear," he said, snatching the whip from her hand, "you choose the most difficult path." He said nothing more as she screamed his name and tried to back away from him, turning to run to the door.
Jareth grabbed her arm and pivoted, slinging her toward the bed. Her thighs hit the bed and she fell forward, catching herself on her arms. Just as she started to push up, Jareth's hand tangled in her hair at the base of her neck and shoved down. Restraints appeared at her wrists and pulled her arms out wide to the far bedposts, chains drawing tight enough that she felt muscles in her shoulders tighten. She tried to crawl up onto the bed, but again, restraints at her ankles anchored her in place.
"No! Please, Jareth! Don't do this-" Her words ended in a scream as he brought the riding crop down hard across her bare back. The first stripe glowed red. The second left stinging welts. Thereafter, he drew blood with each stroke.
Sarah screamed and begged for him to stop, but it didn't matter to Jareth now. The minute she cut him with his own whip, he had pulled them into the broken moments. Minutes, hours, weeks, or months, they would remain almost motionless in time while he taught her to honour her oath. When she had stopped screaming, he stopped the beating.
"Will you obey me, Sarah? Will you go to this man with a willing heart?" he asked, his voice soft. Ah, but she screamed so sweetly!
"Why are you doing this," she rasped between sobs. "Why?"
Jareth sighed in response. That was not the question he had asked. She needed to learn to answer only what was asked, not go out into her own conversations.
He looked at her bleeding, welted back, the stripes he had placed at the top of her buttocks, the matted hair bunched around her head, the streaming tears. She was beautiful. Sarah couldn't hear the sound of him unbuttoning his breeches, nor the whisper of cloth as it peeled away from his skin. She felt him, though, when he forced himself into her. She screamed again, then again as he pressed down on the bruised, bleeding flesh of her back. Jareth rode her until he climaxed, noting that, though she had become wet and begun responding to his demands, it was nowhere near as quickly or as copiously as when she had held this position for pure pleasure. She had not come close to climax, but her pleasure hadn't been his concern. He righted his clothes and smiled at the scene. Beautiful.
Jareth stretched out on the bed beside her, making sure that he was on the side she was facing.
Sarah moaned when Jareth came into view. Her eyes begged him for a reason, but her lips could only form whispering moans as her eyes were red with the tears she had shed.
"You are mine to punish," he said, leaning over to lick her tears. "Sweet," he commented, then returned to his point. "You refused to obey me, and so I am punishing you. This will continue until you agree to do as I say and do it willingly, no matter what you want or what you think or what you feel. I am the King, Sarah. I do not require you to be happy, only to do your duty."
"But…this?" Sarah wasn't specific. She didn't have to be. It was clear to Jareth that she meant all of it-the dream, the Festival, the beating, the argument that resulted in her rape.
"Necessary," he replied in clipped tones. "Now, will you obey me?"
Closing her eyes, feeling the tears begin again, Sarah gave her answer.
"No."
"Oh, Sarah," Jareth sighed. "I was hoping you'd say that."
He picked up the slender leather whip again and the first cut fell across her thighs. This time, she was panting and trying to scream, to sob. She couldn't. She was becoming dehydrated, and, for some reason, she hadn't passed out. Several times, it felt as though she were going to, but she never did. Jareth knew she wanted to faint and was ruthlessly preventing that escape.
"Think on this," he said as he timed and placed the last several lashes. "A whip is only the beginning of your punishment. There is more, and worse, to come." Again, the sight of her bleeding body was pleasing to him, arousing him. He kept the whip in one hand as he stepped behind her again. She felt his legs brush the tender, raw skin of her thighs and closed her eyes. She knew what was going to happen.
Again, she was wrong. This time, Jareth moved gently into her, slipping one hand around to tease her. Sarah's head swam as the sensations of pleasure pulsed within the agonies he had inflicted upon her. Her body responded, tiredly, even as her mind was lost in the vying reactions. She began to shiver and shudder with pleasure, the responses he had instilled in her during their time together evicting her outrage and competing with the pain of the beatings he had given her.
Jareth smiled evilly as he drew her close to pleasure. He withdrew from her and changed his position, pressing into her as he had only once before. He listened to her groan as he stretched her anew, smiled as he felt her body shake with remembered pleasure. This torture used her own body against her, insult to injury. No matter that he had just beaten her as no one in the world had ever done, she still wanted him, responded to his touch. He opened the magic between them, tasting her emotions
Knowing it was his touch driving her toward ecstasy was a dagger to her heart. These same hands had just beaten her; the same body that was moving carefully within hers, the angle of his thrusts teasing out the most pleasure from her too-cooperative body, had not long before shoved into her and torn her tender flesh. The bitter pleasure tested his control. He moved his concentration from her emotions to her reflection in the mirror. Watching, he smiled.
He knew what she was thinking now. She couldn't see it, but her face reflected her thoughts so clearly. Her body tensed, then shuddered in release. He withdrew from her again. After carefully cleaning himself with magic, he moved back to where he had started, carefully drawing her back to pleasure. As he drove her toward her second release, the hand holding the crop whipped down across her back.
Sarah screamed, unable to stop the pain that ripped through her or the climax that swept her from herself. She felt his movements speed up, become sharper. He did something with the fingers that tormented her that brought her over and over again. She didn't feel it when he climaxed, but when he pulled out of her at the end, she was left shaking, so close to another release that she started whimpering.
Jareth stepped back and, with a wave, cleaned his body and clothing, restoring his appearance to its usual impeccable state. He watched as Sarah struggled to find something that wasn't going to come her way. Running the whip through his hands, he smiled cruelly. Then he brought the whip up hard between her legs, heard her shriek in pain-pleasure-pain.
Sarah felt the agony between her legs and screamed-but the same snap that made her arch in agony also brought her release, then faded into throbbing, mind-numbing pain.
Before she finally blacked out, she heard Jareth's voice.
"You will obey me, Sarah, and you will do it willingly."
Darkness cradled her mind, even as her body was left on its own to suffer.
Hours passed. Days passed, and still Sarah would not obey. Jareth was pleased and worried by her stubbornness. He enjoyed hurting her and bringing her to orgasm by turns. He didn't often have the chance to let his darker nature play so freely with a runner. He cherished each scream, be it of pain or pleasure. The ones she gave him that were fueled by both were pure enchantment.
Each time Sarah passed out, he would leave her in his "room" and rest in the adjoining chamber. His room more closely resembled a torture chamber now, but a nice one, meant for pleasure and pain. He was careful to heal her flesh, even while he left the pain and bruising behind. He had fed her, bathed her, freed her to order her about the room, testing her obedience. Even when she came close to perfectly obedient with him alone, when he ordered her to go to Helston and the Festival with a willing heart, she rebelled. He would start over with her. Sometimes, he pleased only himself. Others, he would make her beg for mercy from him when he had tortured her solely with her own need for release. It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience for him. Had he asked Sarah for her opinion, she would have given a different answer.
Nearly two weeks later, Jareth had finished whipping her breasts and belly with a torny vine as she hung from wrist-retraints in the ceiling, swaying on tiptoe with each blow.
"Will you obey me, Sarah?" he asked again, as he had throughout her ordeal.
Sarah was silent, her eyes closed, tears falling again. Instead of answering immediately, she was silent as she hung from the rafter, her wrists raw from the tight, iron manacles. This was new. Jareth waited. He could see the small changes in her face that indicated thought.
"I will leave you to consider your answer," he said, turning and walking out the door.
Sarah heard the door close quietly behind him. She knew he wasn't in the room, for his presence was tangible now. She could feel the weight of his eyes upon her, smell his desire, his anger. His pleasure. His voice engendered terror, but there were memories of his gentleness, his kindness that tormented her.
She didn't know how long she had endured this siege of the senses. Pain and pleasure blurred for her when he was near, when his were the hands giving her one or the other. Maybe that was his intent. She didn't know. Now, she just felt. She was a raw, throbbing mess of feeling. The vine he had shown her, the one he had just used to whip her, had sharp thorns. The had caught in her flesh and torn bloody scratches on her. She had simply accepted the pain, the weight of his gaze. Yes, she had screamed, cried, moaned. But this time she was able to think through the pain.
And he had asked that question again.
Again. She had lost count of how often he had asked her. She swayed on her tippy-toes, the pull of her weight on her shoulders causing lances of fiery agony to run down her body. She couldn't feel her hands. Her legs were cramping. But she could think.
He had warned her, hadn't he, when she said he should have a warning label. "It's King," he had said, his voice teasing. She believed him now.
She remembered giving herself to him in five different ways. She was his, by her own volition, to command. Yet she refused this one command. Was it worth it? Was the pain of his displeasure worth the command she was working to avoid? The answer…was no. She was giving him to another for pleasure. This pain was a high price for her…what? What had made her reject his command? Fear? Pride? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, she had paid for it over and over. She was tired of paying for something that, really, she didn't miss. Whatever had prompted her to refuse was gone now. Only her stubbornness had kept her hanging on this long-hanging here to be beaten, raped, tormented by…him. Her lover.
She was his to take. He had, oh, he had! He had taken her in more ways than she thought possible, and mostly with her own willing participation, if not instigation. He had taken her again in here, forcing her, tormenting her with her own physical needs and reactions. Still, she had found pleasure, despite the pain. Shuddering, she knew she wanted this form of pain from him as much as she had wanted the pleasure. She knew her desires now, why she had played the games of restraint and command with him in those weeks of pleasure. Somewhere deep inside, she wanted to feel his anger, and she had wanted it in conjunction with the pleasure he could give to her. He had taken her in ways she didn't understand yet, and she had screamed in pain. But she had also screamed in pleasure. As long as he wanted to take her, she would crawl to him, if he wanted her to, and revel in his touch. Twisted, perhaps, but it was all part of her desire.
She was his to pleasure. Even in pain, he had given her pleasure. Tears slipped from her eyes again as she remembered the sweet days in bed with him, the way he had led her to admitting her desires and acting upon them. She was willing and able to take pleasure from him in bed. Would doing the same with another man be so different? She didn't think so, since he had explained to her more than once that the man would be focused entirely upon her pleasure. He would feel different under her hands and inside her, but he was still a man, wasn't he? Formed in the same manner, pleasured by the same basic things. Jareth had been so brutal with her sometimes, that the pleasure hadn't come. But then he would turn around and be so careful with her, especially when she was bruised and torn inside, that she wouldn't stop the bliss he gave her, even if she could.
She was his to give. He didn't say it was forever, that he had tired of her. He was simply giving her to another man for one ceremony, perhaps a few hours. Sarah was familiar with Jareth's control and stamina, she had no other referents to consider. Was a few hours of enjoying herself that bad? And he would be there, she knew he would. Watching. A thrill shot up her aching body. Jareth watching her take pleasure with another man, as he had watched and forced her to watch as he took her. She had entertained the thought before in a flash of what she had then considered perversion, but given the opportunity to do just that, had scorned and scoffed. Desires were just that-there was no good or bad to them, only the ability to live with the aftermath of chasing them. She desired another man, any other, so long as Jareth was there to watch. And she was his to give. He was giving her to another. It was easy to accept, when she admitted her own desires.
The audience was…also a thrilling thought. With Jareth, with another man or woman or more than one, the thought of an audience focusing on her as she found pleasure…Sarah wanted to rub her thighs together at the thought, but her stretched-out position did not allow for such movements.
She was his to punish. She had fought this, but now she was so hurt and tired. When he had hurt her that first time, the shock and confusion had clouded her mind and judgement. Now, though, hanging here after days upon days of tormen, she accepted this. It had taken her much pain before she was willing to admit it, but she…she was happy that he was the one beating her. No one else had touched her so intimately, in pleasure or in pain, as Jareth. She craved his touch. When he left her, like now, she ached for his presence. Tears fell freely onto her bloody breasts as she gave in to her own nature. She was a creature of deep, sometimes dark, desires, and Jareth was the one to teach her something of all of them. She was his to command, through her own will, and now, finally, she could accept that she wanted it that way. Queen-candidate or not, she would be his to command from now until forever.
Perhaps she was sick, twisted, perverted, and marginally insane, but she was glad that he hadn't handed her over to someone or something else to torture. Everything had come from his hands.
From the King's hands.
Sarah groaned as she finally recognized the lesson here: From the King's hand came her pleasure and her pain; she had accepted his authority over her when she agreed to run the labyrinth to win the place by his side as his Queen. She herself had confirmed that authority when she gave herself to him in five ways. She had no right to refuse his command. Conversely, she was not required to obey any other, especially if it countered a command he had already given her. The King had claimed her, and she had handed him the right to her body and her obedience. Granted, she had withheld her mind, but he had told her he didn't want to take her ability to think from her. It was what made her uniquely Sarah. This punishment and submission cost her nothing except her illusions of her self. Since she was being honest with herself, she admitted that Jareth had long had her love-had it even now, after the brutality he had shown her. She had surrendered her heart to him two years ago, and even when he hurt her, she could not bend that love and remove it.
Sarah felt a deep peace wash over her as she took this harshly-learned lesson to heart. When she relaxed in the chains, letting her weight rest entirely on her wrists, she felt gloved hands gently lift her weight. She had not sensed his return while she was thinking through her lessons.
"Sire," she whispered, her voice filled with reverence. "Forgive me. I will thee obey. I am yours to command. Yours to give, to take, to pleasure, and to punish." Jareth released the restraints from her, but she did not move other than to lower her heels to the ground and let her hands drop to her sides. The tingling pain of circulation returning to her hands couldn't penetrate her current peacefulness.
"Then you have accepted your place in the dream I have granted?" he asked, wondering if she was going to suddenly change her mind, like Kate in the play she reminded him of so much.
"I have, Sire, and I go with a willing heart." She opened her eyes and looked up into that face that had so tormented her with pleasure and pain. She lifted one hand to the cheek she had slashed with his own riding crop, caressing his perfectly healed cheek. No trace of the cut remained. "I understand now."
"What do you understand," he demanded, urgency filling him. Let it be true, he thought. Let her understand!
"That you are my King, that I am your subject, and that even as your Queen, I will never be other than yours." The peacefulness in her eyes as she spoke made him close his.
"Sarah," he breathed, crushing her to him. He took her mouth in a kiss, the first since she had refused him in Mab's castle, and drank in her whimpers. As he kissed her, held her, his hands gentled. He healed her, breathed in her scent. She had accepted him, his dominion. Stubborn, demanding, and now submissive, perhaps she would survive the labyrinth unbroken.
Sarah accepted his kiss, not willing to do anything other than accept what he gave to her. He was her lover by his own choice, not by hers. A stray thought made her smile. Her book had been nothing like this. It was more like the labyrinth she had run to rescue Toby, only more intense and dangerous. She had not realized it when she was writing, but the most dangerous creature in this realm was the man holding her like she was made of glass.
When Jareth released her, she was back in the room where they had started, a richly appointed bedroom. She was still naked, but now he was as well. Sarah wrapped her arms around her king and opened herself to his pleasure.
Jareth felt the change in her. She was not the bold little vixen he had taught so much. She was not the defiant woman-child who tested his authority over her. She was not Sarah-of-Before. She was his. Utterly and completely his. When he laid her back on the bed, she smiled up at him, everything about her broadcasting his power over her. He took what she gave him, gently and carefully.
Sarah basked in his power over her. Why had she been so foolish? In this moment, she could not remember why. It seemed like the dream of a girl to want an equal as her lover. There was no such thing as equals, not in relationships. Not in this one. She didn't care about equality now, just this moment, when her King was pleased with her and pleasured her in return.
Hours later, Jareth brought them out of the broken moments. Perhaps two human minutes had passed. They were still lying in the bed together, Sarah curled into him as he wanted her to be, when a knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," Jareth called, relaxed.
Mab walked in, her eyes taking in the scene before her. The girl was lying in his arms, utterly submissive to him. She raised an eyebrow at her King and saw his cat-in-cream smile in return.
"Couric, the young merchant-apprentice, is here to see you, Jareth. Shall I send him up?"
Jareth read her wicked tone correctly. She wanted to do just that, shocking the young man to his ever-so-proper toes.
"Behave, Mab," Jareth drawled, eyes dancing with appreciation. "Serve him tea. I'll be down to see him by the time it's poured." Sarah had moved a bit, distracting him.
Mab saw the way he looked at the girl next to him and snorted. "Will you be dressed?"
Jareth gave her a smile that promised nothing.
Mab, having long ago learned when to leave well enough alone, curtsied briefly and let herself out. A faint ripple in magic, one she had felt many times before, told her he had taken his prize out of time. She smiled to herself. My, but he was determined to be thorough.
=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+
A/N: Sorry about the double-post of ch. 10. Fixed it! :-)
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Shattered