The wave of dizziness hit Jack without warning. He paused in mid-air and glanced to get his bearings. Spying the playground of the Thaddeus Burgess Elementary School, Jack descended with a vague plan of sitting on one of the swings until his head stopped spinning, but before he reached the ground, the lightheadedness redoubled. Jack tried to stabilize his flight, but the wind refused to cooperate. More alarmingly, his movements grew stiff and sluggish, as though his own body were no longer entirely his to command. Could spirits have seizures?
The sense of vertigo persisted until Jack no longer knew which way was up or down. His limbs and his torso seemed to telescope inward. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the dizziness ceased, and Jack landed in an undignified heap on a bed of gravel. For a moment, he lay still. That hadn't hurt nearly as much as he thought it would. Especially considering the size of the stones he could see in the dim light cast by the streetlamps.
Wait—stones? The elementary school playground was solid asphalt bordered by chain-link fence and the science class' gardening plot. Since when was there any gravel nearby? Jack made to push himself upright to get a better look at his surroundings.
Nothing happened. He couldn't sit up. He couldn't tense a single muscle. His eyes remained fixed on the tan stones below his face. Jack tried to draw a breath to call out, but though he felt no sense of suffocation, even his breathing had ceased.
Not that there would be anyone to hear at this time of night, he thought, fighting down panic. School was out for the weekend. Jack had a horrible image of himself lying prone in the unshaded schoolyard for days, only to be discovered Monday morning by frightened children who wouldn't have a clue what to do for him.
No, no, that won't happen, he told himself. It's just some kind of seizure. It'll pass. And even if it doesn't, I'm supposed to meet with the other Guardians on Saturday. They'll come looking for me if I don't show, right?
He wished he felt more confident of that.
In any case, he needed to calm down. The last thing he needed right now was for his terror at his predicament to draw the attention of—
"Ah, there you are," a voice purred from the darkness. Footsteps sounded from somewhere to Jack's right. "I might have known I'd find you in the playground," the voice went on. The footsteps stopped close by. A shadow loomed over Jack. He felt a breeze stir his hair; then impossibly large fingers closed around his waist and lifted him effortlessly. If he could, Jack would have gasped as the gravel bed receded and resolved into a huge square of pale brown sand contained within wooden walls. A giant sandbox?
The hand holding Jack turned him to face a pair of metallic eyes the size of Jack's head, gleaming maliciously in an angular face the length of the prisoner's body. Uneven teeth flashed in a smile. Jack had heard stories from North and Bunny about Pitch growing to the size of a thundercloud in the old days, but no one had thought he still had the power to do something like that.
But he hadn't, had he? Or the sandbox had grown, too, which was ridiculous. No, Jack realized, it was Jack himself who had shrunk to the size of one of the dolls Pippa and Sophie liked to play with.
"You make an adorable doll," Pitch said, as though reading his mind. "Don't you, Jack?"
"Yes, Pitch," Jack found himself answering against his will. He tried to say more, to tell the boogeyman off, but after that single vocalization his body remained stubbornly mute and immobile as before.
"And I suppose a toy is meant to be played with, but I'm afraid you won't find many children here for a few days. I don't imagine you've arranged to meet any of your little friends so late at night, either. Well, perhaps I can make up the difference."
Pitch sat down on one of the swings and laid Jack in his lap. He rested his chin on one fist and grasped a suspension chain with the other, still grinning down at his captive. "Now, I know what you're thinking: what does the boogeyman know about playing with toys? But I see a great many things from under the bed, Jack. I know as much about how children play as you do. For example, when a little girl gets a new doll, what's the first thing she does with it?"
"She takes its clothes off," Jack answered against his will.
"Exactly right," Pitch praised. "She takes its clothes off. So, let's do that, shall we?"
Try as he might, Jack could do nothing to resist as Pitch manipulated his arms into more convenient positions to strip away his hoodie. His undershirt followed. Finally, working far more slowly than strictly necessary, Pitch untied the lacings around the legs of Jack's trousers and pulled them off.
"Anatomically correct, I see," Pitch commented, lifting Jack back up to eye level. "You know," Pitch went on, "I've used this Spell of Enslavement any number of times, but I've never gotten around to finding out exactly what it can do to someone. I know you can hear me, but can you see me, Jack? And do remember to call me 'Master.'"
"I can see you, Master." Inwardly, Jack fumed.
"I thought so. Can you feel, too?"
"Yes, Master."
"Excellent." Pitch's grin broadened.
One of the hands holding Jack aloft withdrew, moving down to push his legs apart. Something ridged and yielding pressed lightly against the small of Jack's back and stroked a slow trail down the crease of his buttocks to the base of his testicles. Jack couldn't even yelp.
"Can you feel that, Jack?"
"Yes, Master."
The teasing fingertip moved into Jack's line of vision. It hovered before his eyes for a long moment, then slowly lowered to brush back and forth against his nipples.
"Can you feel that, too, Jack?"
"Yes, Master."
Pitch chuckled. He traced Jack's tiny collarbones and ran his fingertip down Jack's chest. He paused long enough to pet the pale curls below Jack's belly, then slid down to the tip of Jack's member and back, again and again. "If you could, would you be getting hard, Jack?"
"Yes, Master." Even through the compulsion, Jack's voice sounded strained.
"You know, Jack, when we feel an intense sensation, we writhe to try to get away from it, or to put pressure on the nerves so they aren't so sensitive. But you can't do right now, can you? You'd like to squirm, wouldn't you, Jack?
"Y-yes, Master."
"You'd like to pull your hips away and cover yourself with your hands. Or maybe you'd like to push into my fingers as hard and fast as you can. But you can't. You can't come like this, either, can you?"
"No, Ma-master."
"You can't do anything but lie in my hands and feel. It must be torture. Is it torture, Jack?"
"Yes, Master!" The squeal burst out of Jack.
Pitch laughed darkly. Never stopping the light strokes to Jack's helpless penis, he said, "Tell me, Jack: if I were to restore you to yourself right this minute, would you be able to resist bringing yourself off?"
"No, Master!"
"Good, good. So, where do you think I should make you do it? I'll let you choose among three options. Shall we go to Punjam Hy Loo and let the tooth fairies watch their idol play with himself?"
"No, Master, please!"
"Where else, then? Perhaps at the Pole. Yes, I could set you at the top of North's globe, right in the middle of the Workshop, and let you give all the elves and the yetis a show. Would you like that?"
"No, Master!"
Pitch smirked. "Very well. There's only one other option, then. You can entertain me and my Nightmares instead." Soft snorting noises came from the shadows around the playground. Without ceasing his ministrations, Pitch turned Jack so he could see the hundreds of eyes watching all around. He then placed Jack on his back in the middle of the sandbox and withdrew.
The world spun once again. The stones under Jack's body seemed to shrink. He convulsed, gasping for breath. The sudden pressure between his legs was unbearable. Instinctively, his hands flew to his crotch and stroked desperately, heedless of the audience.
When it was over, Jack collapsed, panting. The sound of Pitch's laughter filled his ears, and he brought his semen-smeared hands up to cover his flushed face.
By the time Jack recovered enough to sit up, the boogeyman and his Nightmares had vanished. Sand clung to Jack's sweat-soaked back. He found his staff lying beside him. His clothes, on the other hand, proved more elusive; he finally found them hanging at the top of the elementary school's flagpole. He pulled them on in spite of the sand and fled to his lake to wash off, thanking his lucky stars that the meeting wasn't until tomorrow.
Afterward, he swore, Pitch would pay dearly.