“Go to the mirror,” he told her.
“Now?” She wondered why.
“You know the price of hesitation,” he warned.
Smiling sheepishly, Tessa pulled her limp body from his and stretched enough to get the feeling back into her limbs, then gazed again at her nakedness, at her tattered stockings and twisted garter belt, and the rat of tangles that had become her hair.
Miles was on his feet behind her, his sketchbook ready for more work. Apparently sex inspired his creativity.
For nearly two hours he sketched her in various poses, modeling for him with arms over her head, arms behind her, and then with her looking over her shoulder at the marks on her bottom. She bent down in a lewd reprisal of her submissive punishment posture, and forced her to gaze at her bottom for nearly a half hour, confronting the stripes on her ass with curious fascination. For all Miles’ fierce work, there were only four strikes that cut into her with enough force to leave distinguishable remnants, and then another on the side of her thigh that was particularly noticeable. (That was the one he’d laid on when she tried to get away, and had failed.) Each mark was red, the skin unbroken, and from beneath the surface of her flesh, a line of bruises appeared. Running her hands over her wounds produced a most pleasing sensation.
Though such marks are not a common sign of affection or devotion; to Tessa they were as stunning as the gold studs, and as loving as the orgasm that had given her physical pleasure. Unlike the studs, these were personal, unlike the orgasm, they were more lasting.
Late that night, after Miles was finished with the sketches, he called her close to him again. “Before I leave, a reminder,” he said. He picked up the buggy whip that had been lying on table with his charcoal and his paints, and flicked it against her thigh.
“You said you would, didn’t you?” she replied despondently, wincing with fear. The prospect of another punishment was not as exciting as before, now that she understood the depths of pain he required of her.
“You’ll get used to it. Soon, you’ll beg for it Tessa, trust me,” Miles assured her. “But this time, I’ll be kind, you can bend over the back of the chair.”
Motioning her to his overstuffed chair, he pushed her over the back where the cushion comforted her pussy. To her dismay, however, the strikes of the whip hurt even more this time. Not preceded by the warming thongs, she wasn’t primed for pain and the blazing cuts came out of the blue like arrows shot into her flesh.
The six strikes were sheer torture. Only the brief pause between them helped to settle the instantaneous agony that leapt to its feet in her unsuspecting body.
“Gaaaawd!” she shrieked after each one landed. And though she howled with pain, Miles didn’t silence her. When he was finished, tears were streaming down her cheeks. Pulling her to her feet, he surrounded her with one arm, and cupped the new marks so that he could feel the rising welts. He kissed her on the mouth, feeling her soft lips and the tears that threatened to move his dominant heart.
“There’s a bed to sleep in, and plenty of food, I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said.
“You won’t be here?”
“You wouldn’t want me to be,” he said shaking his head, a dark smile replacing the tenderness in his expression. He dressed while she silently watched.
When he left, Tessa was consumed with sadness, feeling empty, as if he’d taken something away she couldn’t have without him. And yet, he’d left something special in his wake: the wounds, the stripes, the bruises that marred the perfection of her lovely skin. Just before she lay down to sleep, she viewed them in the mirror again, touching them with her fingers, allowing the intensity contained inside the aching remnants to nurture her fantasies of submission.
Chapter Five
The next three mornings, Miles came to the garret with coffee and something from the bakery to eat. When they’d finished their breakfast, he laid another half-dozen cuts on her ass in ritual fashion; then for several hours she posed for him while he sketched. He kept her naked, except for a silk wrapper she wore when it was too chilly to wear nothing,
Each morning, Tessa waited expectantly for Miles to arrive. Her day didn’t begin until she saw his face and felt her body rush with its now familiar sensuous upheaval. Sequestered in his artist’s garret like a kept woman, she was as selfless as she’d ever been, in a state of bliss she’d only dreamed of when she was most sexually aroused.
Her ass became so tender from the buggy whip that she couldn’t touch her bottom without feeling pain shoot through her. She’d peer at her cheeks in the mirror for long periods of time, sometimes just to view the recent additions as the stripes increased in number. At other times, she wondered where he would mark her next—her thighs, her hips, perhaps her breasts—a thought that made her squeamish and afraid.
Miles liked her inspecting the stripes as if they were trophies. He enjoyed it even more when he was watching her in this little ritual. Becoming aroused, Tessa would play with her pussy, running her fingers teasingly over her labia and between her legs. Several times, he watched her as she brought herself to an orgasmic edge and looked up wondering, asking permission to come. Sometimes he allowed a climax with her body bucking frantically against her hands, her eyes half-shut, ecstasy written in the finished expression. But more than once he went to her when she was at the edge, and stopped her. With a small crop, or diminutive leather paddle from his trunk of tricks, he tortured her anxious, needy body. It wasn’t torture of a painful sort, meant to leave the cutting punishment of the buggy whip; but torment, as he pushed her skillful fingers from her cunt just as her orgasm was about to descend, and replaced them with a half dozen sharp whacks on her puss. The torment stung, and she struggled to get away, though she would be bound by his surrounding arms and forced to stay.
“Ooo, I hate this! Miles,” she pleaded every time.
But he didn’t stop.
Almost at the edge again, he forced her fingers aside, and beat her with his hand or strap, until she was dancing wildly to get away. He tortured her for as long as it pleased him, usually until she was so raw with energy pouring from her raging cunt that she was beside herself in blissful agony.
Allowed to finish, she would spasm for several minutes, an excruciating, pained expression across her brow, her eyes gleaming with carnal passion, and her body gyrating with the surging release. She would collapse against his body when she was through, showering him with grateful kisses. Afterwards, she satisfied him with her cunt or mouth. Sometimes he didn’t come at all, content to let the lust remain for another, better moment.
“I love you, Tessa,” he would tell her.
She would smile, letting the simple words make love to her soul, just as his body had made love to her flesh.
On the fourth day of her confinement in Miles’ garret, he surprised her with Gabrielle.
“Ah! So here’s the little tramp,” the woman gushed, rushing to take Tessa’s hands in hers. She had been naked, standing before the mirror when the pair entered the loft; and still naked, she was instantly embarrassed to be caught posing for herself in the nude. Even more disturbing was her response to the unexpected visitor.
Gabrielle was a statuesque red head with a tender smile and fierce eyes. Effusive and completely unrestrained, she took Tessa in her arms as if she were a pet, and stroked her breasts. Instead of pulling at the gold studs, she flicked them lightly with her fingers.
“Cute!”
“Cute?” Miles looked amused by the comical sight of the two women together—the passive submissive and the aggressive Gabrielle.
“She’ll do for a fine party; is that what you had in mind?”
“Not exactly,” Miles said.
“Why not? Such a delicate, pliant one.” Gabrielle turned Tessa around so she could see the marks on her buttocks. “Oh, my!” she ogled the stripes! “You’ve been whipping her hard to leave such wounds. They must hurt.” Pressing her fingers against them, as if to confirm that fact, she noted with glee the lovely
wince that crossed Tessa’s troubled brow. While Tessa looked at Miles for support, he stared back expressionless.
“You going to keep her here forever as your slave?”
“She’s not a slave. She’s free to go.”
“I like being here,” Tessa chimed in, unasked.
“I wasn’t speaking to you, little one,” Gabrielle admonished her nastily, slapping her face enough that is stung.
Would Miles not come to her defense? Tessa wondered. Apparently not, given his lackadaisical response. He simply let the scene unfold; Tessa was on her own.
“I would think she’d be a fine gift,” Gabrielle went on. “I know a few of your friends who’d be delighted with a trinket so charming and refined.”
“She’s not for giving away,” Miles said.
“Really? That’s changing your whoring tune all of a sudden.”
Miles ignored the comment, disappearing into the kitchenette where the women could hear him rummaging through the refrigerator.
“He’s a quite the devil, you know.” Her eyes surveyed his paintings. “You see these canvases? How many women there are?” She waltzed around the garret. “Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? You suppose he’s had them all in bed?” the brazen hussy quipped with a wicked snicker.
“Why are you telling me this?” Tessa asked.
“Has he told you about his conquests?”
“He doesn’t have to. They don’t matter to me.”
“Really,” the women droned, “how new age, how generous. I just hope you don’t think you’re the only place he’s getting his cock off.”
“It would please me anywhere he’s pleasured,” Tessa answered with some defiance in her voice.
“Ah! She is priceless Miles,” Gabrielle exclaimed, as the man in question returned with a cold beer in his hand, and she turned back Tessa with her next retort, “I suppose if you’re so opened minded, you won’t mind watching me make love to him?”
“If that’s what he wants, then it would likely arouse me,” Tessa said. She had mettle of her own, cloaked in sensuousness; an inner fire more subtle, but more substantial and steady than Gabrielle’s would ever be. Whether Miles was deliberately tormenting her with this woman as a test of loyalty and submission, or this was just a fluke, Gabrielle’s taunts weren’t about to turn her into a jealous nag. Besides, her pussy quivered shamefully thinking of Miles in bed with any woman.
“Shall we make love and let her watch?” Gabrielle asked, sashaying to Miles side, as he sat peacefully in his chair. Dropping to her knees, she ran her hands along his thighs.
“Been awhile, Gabby, sure you can keep up?” he asked.
“Keep up with you! You brute!” She turned cloyingly feline, “Just save the hard stuff for your painsluts.”
I don’t know,” he pulled her flaming hair, “you’ve never complained when I laid a strap across your butt.” He took the woman’s face in his hands, pulling her upwards, forcing his mouth on hers as she opened wide for a wet kiss. Dropping his hand inside the woman’s blouse, he fondled her at will, then tore it away, buttons popping free, so that he could have her naked flesh.
Gabrielle gasped in reply to the furious massage. “God! You are the devil,” she exclaimed.
What followed was fitful and raucous, as Miles took what he wanted of Gabrielle’s generous breasts, kneading them like dough and slapping them with harsh pelting slaps so that her flesh reddened quickly. She purred, and wailed, then hummed tunefully.
From the other side of the room, Tessa watched in wonder, never having witnessed the sight of a man and woman making love like this—much like the way Miles made love to her, though it seemed the care she felt from him was missing in this sexual display.
“Stop it!” the woman finally pleaded, when the pain became too much. But her protests were meaningless; Miles refused to alter his style.
After some time, he pushed her from his lap and toward the bed. Then he leveled his eyes at Tessa, where she was sitting before the mirror, no longer looking at herself, but intently staring at the dueling pair. He flashed her a steely cold glare that seemed to say, “obey me with question, or you’ll pay the price.”
“Don’t move little slut,” he said aloud, “perhaps you can learn something.” Returning his attention to Gabrielle, who was already reclining legs open on his bed like a whore in heat, he entered her snatch quickly, while the slut’s legs wrapped around his body, and he humped her hard.
“Ah, ah, ah yes, you bastard, fuck me!” she roared.
He pounded her vigorously, while she ground her cunt into his groin.
“Fuck me, yes!”
Miles threw the woman’s legs up over his shoulders, so he could penetrate her deeper still.
“Ah Yes! You ass! Fuck me, yes, fuck fuck fuck it in.” She groaned as deeply as Miles groaned, and roared as he roared, the two climaxing almost simultaneously with deafening cries that tore through the sweltering room.
Watching, Tessa wiggled her pussy against her legs, wishing that her cunt could be filled the way Gabrielle’s was.
When Miles pulled himself from the woman’s sloppy cunt, he collapsed on the bed beside her, letting the last of his spasms jolt his body with pleasant sensations.
“Goddam, I hate you, Miles Bryce, look what you’ve done scratching my tits,” the bested redhead declared, as she cupped her in her hands.
“They look better that way,” Miles said, slapping at one of them again.
“Stop that!”
There was no soft meandering quiet after their fuck, which seemed curious to Tessa, especially when it was those moments of tranquility after sex that she treasured most.
“I wish I could slap that smile from your cocky face,” the redhead seethed, as she pulled herself from the bed and looked down at a chipper Miles.
“Didn’t you have a good time?” he asked. “Didn’t you do exactly what you wanted to do?”
“Well of course, I showed the little trollop what a nasty ass you are.”
“I think she already knew,” Miles wryly replied.
“Of course she knows you’re a brute, but perhaps she didn’t know that you’re also the world’s most accomplished Lothario,” she said with a heavy degree of scorn.
“Well now she knows for sure, thanks to you.” Standing, he sauntered toward his submissive and pulled her to her feet. “So, am I a worthless Lothario?” he asked Tessa.
“Probably,” Tessa replied with a smile.
The redhead shook her head, “I don’t understand you two,” she said as she ran her hand inside her stocking. “Oh damn, I’ve ruined these. You’ve ruined these,” she charged, eyes flashing.
“Then I’ll buy you another pair,” he gallantly replied, “it’s the least I can do for such a fine fuck.”
“Don’t bother, dear, just take care of this little plaything, and if you want to share her around, I’d love to know.”
“In good time, but don’t hold your breath.”
“Maybe you’ll have her ready for Damien’s Ball.”
“Oh, my, why that’s a thought,” he quipped sarcastically.
“Don’t use that mocking tone on me.”
“I’d never you mock you, Gabrielle, I think too much of you.”
“Humph.” She gathered her purse and headed for the door, tossing her wide cape around her shoulders with a flourish. Except for one brief sidelong glance, she ignored Miles’ newest conquest
“Good-bye, darling,” she purred at the master, and kissed him softly on his lips.
Turning away from the closed door, Miles leaned against it, smiling playing at his amused submissive.
“So, what did you think?” he asked.
“Of Gabrielle?”
“Of course, of Gabrielle.”
“I think she’s deluding herself,” Tessa said.
“Oh? How so?”
“I think she’d love to be submissive to you—bound, whipped and loved.”
“Well, you did learn something then,” M
iles retorted.
“What about this ball, she talked about?” Tessa asked. She’d heard of Damien’s Ball, and just the thought of it sent a sinister shiver though her.
“What about it?” he asked.
“Would you take me?” she wondered.
“Would you want to go?”
“It sounds fascinating.”
“It is,” Miles said, dropping the comment as he moved toward the kitchen and returned with a glass of juice for each of them.
“So, you’ll take me?”
“I might. But only if you’re ready to go on my terms.”
Tessa had no idea what kind of terms he meant. “Would I wear a mask of feathers?” she asked, remembering the infamous costumes she heard so much about.
“That’s possible. But you’re not going as Cinderella until you’ve paid your dues to the wicked step-mother and her sisters.” She looked at him puzzled, to which he flashed her another beguiling grin. “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you? Now go on and get cleaned up. Now!”
She was about to follow his order, when she turned back to him with another question, “Just one thing?”
“Yes?”
“She orgasms with you fucking her, doesn’t she?”
“So?”
“I don’t, not like that.”
“I like the way you come, I’m in control,” Miles said.
“But perhaps we could climax together, sometime?”
“We will Tessa. Just remember, our arrangement isn’t about romance and fine artistry, it’s about sex.”
Chapter Six
Miles threw Tessa an old sweatshirt. “Here put this on,” he told her.
Tossing the faded gray over her soft curls, the sweatshirt fell lewdly off one shoulder.
Miles enjoyed the look “And these should do,” he added as he handed her a pair of biker shorts that fit skintight around her ass. The Lycra rubbed against her sore stripes, and with each move she made, the discomfort reminded her they were there. She was certain Miles had planned it that way.
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