He made her sit primly on a high stool with her feet dangling, not touching the floor. The dildos pressed into her as tightly as they could go, and there was no relief from the intense sensations.
He sketched her again, creating another perfect rendering of her body, adding to the several dozen sketches that he’d already done in his collection of artistic pornography.
“What are you going to do with these?” she asked, as he helped her from the stool to a blanket lying on the floor.
“I’ve done several books of such sketches, though never just one subject. This will be a first for me—one of you alone.”
That pleased her. “And someone will actually buy it?”
“Connoisseurs of smut. Just think, your picture might end up on the private walls of some great decadent palace. You, my Tessa, my little slave.” His eyes twinkled. “Now lay down on your back.”
Following his instructions, Tessa waited for him as he gathered leather straps from the closet. Returning to her, he lifted her feet to her hands and tied them together, then attached the ropes to a hook hanging from a pulley above. He certainly could have strung her like so much raw meat, but being kind, he allowed her back to rest against the floor while her limbs remained tautly stretched. Standing back, he inspected his work. Satisfied, he took out his sketchpad and began to work.
In this position, the dildos shifted uncomfortably inside Tessa’s body; and when she squirmed, it only made the discomfort worse. Miles, unconcerned with her plight, remained completely fascinated by the beautiful line of her extended legs, and the curious rods that opened wide her holes and stretched the skin to its maximum degree.
When he finally completed the drawing, he undid the bonds and Tessa collapsed into an unattractive heap, wincing from the soreness in her legs and aching arms.
When Miles showed her the sketch she gasped with surprise. It looked as if she’d been suspended in the air—her head flung back, her mouth filled full with a gag, the look of her supreme submission in her passive expression.
“Your imagination? Why didn’t you just bind me this way?”
“Some things in our imaginations are more possible than others,” he mused. “I did consider the dildo in your mouth, except that you were so good at being quiet, I decided that I could easily imagine one there. What do you think?”
“It’s amazing, a little surreal. But it is me.”
“So, how are you feeling now?” he asked.
“Better, much better.”
“Good, then you can remain this way until I get back. Just remember, these are my cocks.” He pressed his hand between her legs, and shoved the double rods deeper.
Once Miles left, Tessa fell on the bed and slept a long while, unaware of how tired she’d become. Every muscle in her body ached, and yet, her submission had become a cocoon of joy that colored her life with satisfaction straight from her finest dreams. If only there were something to satisfy the aching deep in her cunt, she would have been content and rested well.
When Tessa woke from her nap, she was still alone. There was no clock in the garret, no radio, or TV, so she had to assume from the angle of the sunlight coming in through the skylights, that it was afternoon. The sexual ache inside her had become a vibrant pulsing, and the dildo in her cunt was now coated with sex juices. Unfortunately, there was no way to finger herself with the tight leather straps covering her cunt.
It was no use trying to push the straps aside; her fingers had no room to play, and her pussy little way to respond. She rubbed against the leather, but it was drawn too tightly into her crotch to move with any kind of pleasing sensation. Perhaps this was exactly as Miles wanted her—aroused but unable to find the satisfaction she sought.
Rather than torture herself more, Tessa rose from the bed and wandered the garret. Her curiosity piqued, she inspected several groups of paintings stacked against the walls, careful not to disturb their order. Each painting was erotic in some way; even those that looked like flowers or fruit mimicked the female sexual anatomy, or male genitalia. Miles was a clever even amusing painter, Tessa surmised.
Apparently, he was successful, too—his buyers being some of the most well known people in the city. Miles Bryce was known to be a raunchy bohemian with tastes so obscure and out of the ordinary as to shock people; though he’d developed such a reputation that his offbeat proclivities were considered eccentric, to the point he’d become a celebrity to be courted, not shunned.
To be his most recent trinket was a distinction not to be taken lightly.
Tessa could see from his work, and the numerous sketchpads filled with his visions of naked women, that no one had been sketched by him in quite the ways that she was being rendered. One particular painting of a bound woman did catch her eye. If the painting told the truth, the woman depicted was a voluptuous redhead with magnificent breasts, a bold hairy red cunt, and a willingness to have her portrait painted while her arms were bound above her. Her plump flesh was further tied with ropes about her thighs. Tessa wondered if the ropes were just Miles imagination, the way the gag in her mouth had been. She hoped otherwise; at least the redhead would have been a sister in bondage, curiously beautiful, graceful and content.
Tessa wondered if she looked so content when she was bound. Recalling the sketches that Miles had made of her, she remembered raw lust, not serenity. Did this make the redhead a better subject than she? Or was Tessa’s erotic chaos as worthy as the redhead’s peace?
Running her hand along the surface of the canvas, she wondered why Miles had not yet painted her in oils? Maybe he had sketched the redhead a couple of hundred times too, before he began this more permanent piece. And why, she wondered, was this painting buried here, the canvas lost amid some half-finished others and ones no doubt ready for the junk heap? Was the redhead as forgotten in Miles’ mind as the painting of her was? Had the two had made love? Was she a passing fancy? Or a submissive like herself who spent hours in captivity, prisoner in this garret? Was she nothing more than his “trinket of the month?” Was she, when the excitement of her faded and Miles’ inspiration gone, sent away, the beauty of her captured in this picture the only reminder that she was ever here? Did she matter so little that even this portrait of her was now abandoned, cast in a corner of the garret filled with other past and fading flings?
Tessa quit her explorations. The forsaken redhead made her feel too sad to go on. Perhaps she, too, would become little more than an image on canvas, or worse yet just a smudged sketch on wrinkled newsprint.
Tessa had planned to look through the sketches Miles had made of her, but she changed her mind. Instead, she wandered toward the kitchen, the dildos making her journey uncomfortable, but not impossible. With every step she took, both rods massaged her deep inside, as if Miles himself were manipulating them. She was reminded of Martine’s crude assault days before, reminded that she thrived on this horrendous kind of pleasure, knowing that her roommate was as wicked and deviant as Miles himself.
Finding the kitchen, Tessa plucked an apple from a basket of fruit and took an enormous bite. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was; she hadn’t eaten in hours. With no way to relieve herself, she didn’t want to fill up on food and drink. But the apple tasted so good that she polished it off quickly and returned to the bed.
Chapter Ten
The sunlight in the room was nearly gone by the time Hector arrived. Alone, Tessa had wrapped herself in pleasant thoughts, her imagination taking flight in twisted ways as she knew her fate with Miles was to go deeper into his web, performing more outrageous acts as she submitted to this confounding lover. Each act had driven her deeper into submission, making her feel all the more his, as if she were his property.
When Hector popped in the door, he interrupted her disquieting reverie. He had another camera bag flung over his shoulder. Would it be another night of videos?
She was glad for the company; seeing his face, hers lit up. Sometimes it was difficult being by herself with her thoughts; her
imagination turned dark and wild. Hector brought her back to reality.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t in his usual cheerful mood. At least to begin with, he refused to speak, grunting his way through the innocuous conversation, much like Miles might have done. He did let her have some time in the bathroom without the dildos. But when she finished, he dutifully replaced them as they had been, and left her to begin working on his video equipment.
Standing near him, watching his careful preparations, she finally asked, “Is Miles is coming soon?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Doesn’t he tell you these things?” she asked.
“He tells me what I need to know.”
“Hummmm. You seem as much at his beck and call as I am,” she observed, silently wondering if this was why he was so moody.
“Sometimes I feel that way, but then again I’m free to go, you… well?” Hector stared at her nakedness clothed in the garments of bondage, and said no more.
She blushed. “I suppose there is a difference.”
“Yes, there is. And he pays me, does he pay you?”
“Of course not! That would make me a whore.”
“Yes it would,” he said raising his eyebrows, his face still glowered darkly. “But tell mem Tessa, don’t you feel like one anyway, the way he violates you at will?”
“I don’t know how a whore feels,” she replied. “And I’ve never made the comparison.”
“Used, whores feel used, at least the ones I’ve met do,” Hector informed her, as he carefully attached the camera to the tripod. This time he also had a smaller video camera that looked more suited to the close-up shots he’d been doing the night before.
“No. I don’t feel used,” she replied.
“Really? That surprises me; usually women in your position thrive on feeling used. When they make a choice like you’ve made, they tell me that’s their greatest thrill.”
Tessa considered his assertion thoughtfully. He might well be right. “I think it’s more like being selfless,” Tessa finally replied. “At least for me. You see I do get a great deal back, if you’ll remember last night?”
“He was being easy on you. But then, maybe that’s because you were performing so well.” He shook his head in admiration. “You did make one hell of a video; not much editing required. It should bring a hefty price from a collector; Miles was even talking about selling it to a distributor.”
“You know he’ll sell it?”
“He has every other one I’ve made.”
“And you’ve made a lot of videos for Miles?”
“Six, maybe seven.”
“And were they like mine?”
“No, not exactly, each one’s different.”
“So was I the best?” Tessa wondered, a question as innocent as the rest.
Hector laughed. “You know, you sluts are all alike.” His grin was genuine. “I suppose it depends on what you want. For pure S M, yours was pretty good—though it’s not as hard-core as some of the private collectors want. If he gets inspired to do something really extreme, I’d be careful—it might take you weeks to get over the pain.”
Tessa knew what he meant, but replied, “I don’t think he’d be that cruel to me.”
Hector eyed her pensively for a moment. “No, you’re probably right about that.”
“So, may I see the video you made last night?”
“That’s up to Miles.”
Tessa was disappointed and turned away.
After a time, she gazed at Hector again, watching him complete his preparations. So fussy about camera angles and the light in the room—he took a half dozen test shots of the bed without Tessa there, and then checked them on the viewer. She wasn’t allow to see.
“Do you think he’ll sell my movies to a private collector?”
“He could,” Hector answered.
“Do you know these people?”
“Yes, they’re friends of Miles.”
Wandering to the bed, she sat down; elbows on knees, leaning over, head in hands, eyes drifting toward the floor. Looking back at her photographer, she realized that the camera was aimed at her, and she gave the lens a coquettish smile, then a flirtatious grin, then sitting up, a kittenish pose—sexy and sweet. Hector did his test shots; though these were of her.
“What are his friends like?”
Hector smirked; his dour mood seemed to be fading. “They aren’t monsters with horns and tails, if that’s what you think. Some of them are names you’d know, others you wouldn’t. They’re just people who share the same passion for whips, and chains, and nasty dungeons.”
“But you don’t seem to be one of them.”
“Only in a passing. S M is fascinating, but then, I find filming any sex act fascinating. What I like about Miles is that he pays me well, and he gives me a piece of the action.”
“A very pleasant piece,” Tessa suggested, saucily, flipping her blonde hair back with her hand. She moved then to her hands and knees, wiggling her ass in the air, dildos and all. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled at him seductively.
“You must have had quite a time after I left last night,” Hector ventured. He left the camera running while he adjusted Tessa’s body in the position he wanted. She liked the warm feel of his hands on her flesh. For good measure, the man pressed his hand against the dildos and pushed them just as Miles had done earlier in the day.
“Ouch! That’s dreadfully deep!”
“But you like it,” he replied, giving them a forceful shove. He was becoming aroused.
She wished that Hector would act on his urges—just the touch of his hand on her ass reminded her how horny she was. The past hours of subdued tranquility hadn’t squelched the flames, they’d only masked them enough to survive. Now, she was wiggling her hips in the air, in an amorous dance for Hector’s greedy eyes. Would that he’d just take her, unlock the straps and dildos, and ram his steely erection into her cunt.
To her dismay, the seduction and the fantasy were cut short when Miles, with Martine clinging to his arm, moved through the door. Seeing the two, Tessa fell to her side on the bed—unsure if Miles would approve of the impromptu performance. To her relief, the pair took no notice of her, or Hector. They were all over each other, in the throes of a sexual moment.
“Ooooo, yes,” Martine purred, as Miles’ hands traveled over the bitch’s body, her blouse practically off her naked torso. His one hand was under Martine’s short skirt, squeezing her ass with a firm grasp, grabbing at her flesh like it was bread dough to be kneaded. In turn, Martine was cooing, purring, ooing and aaahing in the man’s ear.
The sound of her almost cumming was familiar. As Miles pushed her to the wall, he tore away her clothes, leaving her naked except stockings and garters. He pressed his mouth to hers, his hands roving her responsive body, finally settling in on her juicing cunt.
“Oh, god yes, you bastard, rub me harder.”
He grunted, lowered his pants and pulled out his throbbing organ. Then lifting her by the hips, he held her to the wall as his shaft speared her open cunt. Martine, leaned in to him, wrapping her legs around Miles’ waist as he thrust his dick into her sloshy cunt.
While the two fucked, Hector and Tessa looked on, keeping their silence. The scene was so mesmerizing that neither one could say a word as they watched the two beat on each other like two animals in heat.
They practically creamed in tandem; their fucking language could hardly be told apart as it came from the same deep source.
“Damnnn asshole, fuck me!” Martine’s voice rose on its own.
“Damn, damn, fuuuucck,” Miles bellowed his reply.
Somewhere in he middle of their screams, the two came. Only then did Hector and Tessa sigh with relief; as if they’d held their breath the entire time.
Martine remained pressed against the wall, as Miles’ body held her there. Neither moved for several minutes, until Martine finally found her voice again. “Damn, my back, put me down!” Backing off, Miles
set her on her feet, and they fell into each other’s arms, worn out.
When they finally broke apart, Miles and Martine were suddenly laughing uproariously, as if the whole scene had been a fine joke. Turning to her audience, Martine sported a cunning smile, looking collected—so abruptly cold and stern, like her conniving self again, she gazed triumphantly at her roommate—noting the double dildo with curious fascination.
Finally, Martine approached her, as Miles excused himself to the bathroom.
“So, what have we here?” she purred noxiously. Pulling one of the straps attached to the dildo below, she let go and let it snap back against her skin.
“Good evening Martine,” Tessa said. She was trying to be polite for Miles’ benefit, certainly not her roommate’s. She couldn’t think of anyone she least wanted to see in this garret, let alone fucking her Dom.
“He wears me out, you know?” Martine said tiredly, though she didn’t look exhausted at all.
“I guess so, too bad Hector didn’t record your show.”
“Oh that’s right!” she exclaimed, “you’re making a porno film!” Martine turned to Hector, “And my old friend, how are you?” She stared at the photographer with a broad grin.
“I don’t change much Martine,” Hector replied evenly.
“But, you’re charming as ever.”
“Is that a compliment?” he asked.
“Of course, dahling.”
“I never know with you,” Hector replied. “So what keeps you busy, beside screwing the boss? Any more movies?”
“Not for a couple of years, not since the little tramp and I have been together.” She turned to Tessa. “You did know that I did some porn of my own a few years ago?”
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