With the corset so restricting, Tessa could hardly bend over to put them on. But she had no choice with Miles and Hector standing off to the side, watching her in her awkward task, ready to pounce if she faltered. She managed to pull the first rose-colored stocking over her leg and attach it to the garters front and back. Taking the second, she put it on, too, and then turned back to the mirror to get another look at herself. The impression of those old Victorian novels hadn’t faded away; it only seemed to become more vivid in her mind.
Turning away from the mirror, she looked at the rest of the room, noticing that the choice of furnishings had transformed once again; this time, into the period that she recalled in her mind. Certainly Miles and Hector deliberately planned it that way. The dark drapery and the antique Oriental screens made perfect sense. A glowing stained glass lamp added just the right touch of period authenticity. Had she not been the center of attention, she might have been fascinated by the scene that the two artists were creating. Tessa had a flippant remark about that fact right on the tip of her tongue; but it fluttered away with the appearance of Martine, coming out from behind the screen.
Tessa stood stock still, marveling at what she saw. She’d never seen her roommate looking so ravishing! She was dressed in what looked liked a Victorian ball gown: a flowing garment, with a bodice so low that her pinched-up breasts were almost completely exposed. Indeed, Tessa could see the edges of her aureoles peeking out, though her full nipples were pressed tightly into place.
In turn, Martine looked at Tessa taking note of her attire. “This is quite a mood you’re setting Miles,” she observed. It was a noncommittal statement—no one knew if she was happy with his choice of clothes, or annoyed.
To Tessa, it seemed an unusual choice. Martine was the kind of woman she always envisioned in tight fitting leather. She looked so perfect in modern mistress garb, that this dress seemed too genteel and refined. But then, what a contrast it would be! Perhaps that was why the Victorian period was such an interesting background for such ruthless schemes. It appeared on the surface so elegant and civilized, while underneath, there was a simmering debauchery to shock even the most practiced modern day sadomasochistic devotees.
Martine viewed herself in the full-length mirror, side by side with Tessa, as a stunning picture of opposites—dominant and submissive reflected back to them.
On close inspection, Tessa could tell that Martine’s dress was a period “fake”. No doubt it was specifically designed for this occasion made of transparent lace from the bodice to the hem, with no concealing sheath underneath. As it flowed to Martine’s ankles, her bare skin peeked through, so that it hid, but did not completely conceal. It would tease the untrained eye, and be a pleasant revelation to the astute observer. On one side of the dress there was a deep slit, and when Martine walked, it opened so everything below her waist was dangerously close to being exposed.
To add to the drama, Martine wore long, black gloves and a pair of shiny, patent ankle boots. Her generous brunette hair was piled atop her head in a bun, completing the picture of some mistress from another place and time.
“The first day I met Martine in the lobby of your building,” Miles said, “I decided then, that she would look perfect in this dress. You remember? Her hair was fixed this way, like a genteel nineteenth century lady—I think a perfect clue to her true nature.”
Miles stepped behind the two women, towering ominously over them both, while Hector continued capturing the preparations on film—the banter, the preening, every nuance of this strange trio as they began the transition to the next dramatic scene.
“Her true nature?” Tessa whipped around to look both Miles and Martine in the eye. “You knew that day? Why you hardly talked.”
“I knew instantaneously she was right for the part,” he said. Tessa was speechless. “Shall we get on with things?”
Moving out of their way, Miles ushered the two women past him, pushing Tessa to the platform bed. Martine was given silent commands, and Tessa was powerless to change anything, captive to a woman she hated more than she loved.
“Lie on your back,” Martine ordered her in the same effusive, sultry tones she often used when making love. It was not what Tessa expected, but these welcome niceties soothed her. She wondered why Martine suddenly was so kind. Perhaps the dress and the surroundings had altered her disposition? Or perhaps she was just taking her time before she would pounce with cat claws.
As Tessa approached the platform, she saw that instead of the bed, which had been pushed into another corner of the room, there was a antique lounging settee in its place. The ancient piece of furniture was covered in a paisley brocade to match the period of their reenactment. Sitting on the edge of the couch, she then lay back against the cool, smooth surface shivering with a chill so deep she wondered if any warmth would return to her at all. She was deathly afraid of what was to follow, of a Martine who scared her, and the lash the woman was about to wield in a more harrowing form than she’d ever experienced.
“Bind her hands,” Martine ordered. Miles responded—as if he were a dutiful servant—drawing Tessa’s hands above her head and pulling them tight, binding them with ropes that he then fastened to some unseen device behind her. Tessa’s rear was at the edge of the couch, her legs dangling down to touch the floor.
Martine stood over her with cold eyes flashing. The terms of endearment that she’d uttered before did not appear in her next speech. For that she became the heartless bitch that Tessa expected. “I’m going to whip your pussy, slut. Count yourself lucky to have my attention at all. Every submissive like yourself should revel in this bliss at least once. You deserve this kind of satisfaction; you deserve the bite and sting and the abuse. It will show Miles that you’re willing to do anything for him, to suffer any kind of correction, no matter how severe.”
Martine walked around the bound Tessa, inspecting her, a severe scowl on the hard womans’ face as if she despised her gentle roommate. Tessa stared back with eyes wide and frightened, then watched as Martine dropped to one knee at her side. Taking her chin in her hand, Martine’s eyes bore into the slave with a scorching heat.
“I’m going to whip you Tessa,” she whispered, “because sometimes it’s all that I can think about. With your lithe little figure traipsing about the apartment, flirting with me, sometimes I want to brutalize this fragrant thing of yours.” She grabbed Tessa’s cunt with her free hand. “You’re a shameless tramp, a brazen, shameless tramp.”
Tessa breathed deeply, trying to hold back a host of vile things she was thinking. How could Martine talk this way? What had she possibly done to deserve so much malice? Had they not made love a dozen times? Had she not given herself to Martine, almost without question? Had they not called each other friend?
“And you know my little tramp?” Martine continued, “I believe you want me to take you this way, but you’re too cowardly to ask. Isn’t that true?”
“No. It’s not true!” she snarled her reply.
Martine laughed. “I knew you’d say that, you little floozy. But guess what?” Tessa tried to pull from her grasp, but the bitch held her tight. “You will admit it to me before I’m finished with you.”
Tessa wanted to shout, “NEVER!” But it was a dangerous assertion that she was smart enough to keep to herself.
Martine let go of her chin and stood up, glaring contemptuously at her slave.
“A pillow under her ass,” she said as she turned away.
Miles was enthralled by the performance, his crotch aching, tortured with desire—though the scene had only begun. Following the orders of the mistress in charge, he took a pillow from the head of the bed and shoved it under Tessa’s hips, lifting her cunt to the precise height that suited her Domme.
“Perfect,” the bitch cooed.
Tessa’s exposed cunt dangled over the edge of the settee so that nothing was bared from view, and nothing would be protected from the whip.
“Tie her legs open,” Martine orde
red, “I don’t want her squirming away.”
“Please no,” Tessa pleaded.
Miles ignored her protestation. Taking several lengths of rope, he tied her feet to the legs of the couch, and then tied her knees open wide. Finished, he leaned over her bound body and kissed her cheek gently. “You’re doing this for me and for yourself, ” he whispered quietly, then backed away.
Tessa’s attention was quickly diverted to Martine. The bitch stood to one side of her with a witch-like face and a triumphant grin. Behind the mockery in her eye, there was a hypnotic beauty about her haughty appearance—something Tessa had seen before, something that attracted to her the woman, at the same mystifying her. Seeing her beauty now made her less afraid, as if she was acknowledging a bond between them that she hadn’t wanted to accept before. Accepting it now, her surrender to Martine seemed fated.
Martine held the buggy whip in her hand—the same one Miles used to mark her ass. She whispered softly, “Remember what I said—you will confess your desire before I’m through.” Stepping off the platform, she took her place in front and began.
Thwack! The whip cut quickly through the air, landing on high on Tessa’s inner thigh. The wounded submissive shrieked, just as the next cut sizzled exactly as the first, though this one landed on her plump pink labia.
“Gaaaawwwd noooooo!” Tessa tried to buck her hips away from the next strike, but the bonds held her fast.
Thwack! Thwack! Martine picked up speed. There was no time between cuts for Tessa to relax. She howled in pain, as each cut added such a horrid sensation, she feared she would pass out from pain. Seeing Tessa’s agony, Martine abruptly stopped the beating for a moment.
“Calm yourself, little one, I’ve only begun.” Martine waltzed about Tessa’s recuperating body. “You’ll take much more of this before you’re through.”
She began again, peeling off a steady stream of cuts, aimed at the centerpiece of Tessa’s life, her cunt—not particularly planning any specific assault, but letting each blow land at will on the tender inner thighs, on the reddening labia, and even on the tip of a clitoris that peeked out between the protective flaps of flesh.
“Oh gawwwd, nooooooo, pleassssse, noooooooo, auuuuugg!” she tried to twist away, with no success—squirming, she barely moved an inch. The pain continued to mount, even though Martine paused now and again to allow her submissive a moment to get used to the next level of intensity.
“Let it take you away, tramp, that’s what you want,” she asserted with a snarling scowl.
Thwack!
“Oh gawwwwwwd nooooooo,” the bound beauty wailed frantically.
Pain began to swim over her, a hellish aphrodisiac. As much as each cut hurt her to the core, she became resigned to its ruthless result—resigned to the horrendous arousal. Her body rose to each new burning bite, as if she wanted to feel the cruel cut of the buggy whip imprint her with the message that she craved the pain it would bring.
Her cries became moans, gasps of willingness. The “oh pleeeese,” in her voice urging Martine to continue.
Martine, whose dominance had suddenly burst forth in such overt fashion, was possessed. The power she wielded charged her with such passion, she thought she would cum simply from the act. And yet, to her surprise there was an unexpected feeling running in tandem with her lust. By some bizarre twist of fate, she discovered herself respecting Tessa and her submissiveness at the mercy of her whip. She was in awe of her inner strength.
She struck her swollen cunt, not to hurt her lover as she thought she would, but to pleasure them both. Each lashing cut descended on the vulnerable cunt to entice her. Some cuts were soft, some more harsh; but behind them all was the clear understanding, that at some point she would have to stop. She, Martine, would have to judge the moment when Tessa had reached her limit; and she, Martine, would have to demonstrate the grace required to end painful ordeal.
The Domme’s cunt burned hot with need—each cut inspired her zealous loins with passion, until she could take no more. She could not endure another scream, or the sight of Tessa’s muscles clenched taut, or the way her own cunt responded so joyously to Tessa’s torture—even if the submissive woman was in ecstasy.
Dropping the buggy whip, Martine flew to the bound maiden, flinging her legs over the settee, so that her own bare cunt was at Tessa’s face. “Lick me now, love,” she demanded.
Tessa responded quickly, her tongue reaching out to fondle the moistened cunt, sucking the dear bud of the clitoris she knew so well, with a tenderness Martine had never shown her. It was a pleasure to hear Martine sob with joy, as an orgasm claimed her, and her juices spilled out over Tessa’s face. When she was finished, the bitch looked down on the exhausted submissive.
“Was I right? You wanted me to do this, didn’t you?” There was no haughtiness in her delivery.
Feeling the throbbing in her loins like a cannon going off, Tessa murmured, “Yes,” admitting the truth so that everyone heard. All she needed now was a moment of her own. Her body clamored for release; and so to accommodate her need, Martine dropped between her legs, licking the aching flesh of Tessa’s cunt until she began to shudder. The bonds, though still holding her fast, could not hold back the thunderous quake of climax.
Chapter Eleven
It was so quiet in the morning that Tessa could hear the birds singing outside Miles’ loft. She hadn’t expected their song ringing in her ears, not in the middle of the city.
Rising, she found herself alone. Calling for Miles, he didn’t respond. He must have left in the night. She remembered being exhausted after the ordeal with Martine. She remembered being freed from the bonds, and carried in Miles’ arms from the settee to the bed. She remembered drifting off to dreams on the gentleness of his touch, and his soft words spoken in her ear. Apparently, she had given him everything he wanted, because he asked no more of her, not the use of her mouth, her ass or her cunt. Even Hector didn’t have her—poor Hector, he likely had to satisfy himself with Martine, or nothing at all. Now, the garret was bright with sunlight. Tessa could see the blue sky beyond the windows. Grabbing a robe that had been thrown at the bottom of the bed, she tossed it over her shoulders and walked along an unexplored corridor, finding a door she’d not seen before. Opening it, she discovered a rooftop patio bathed in sunshine. And there, as if it had been waiting for her, was a lounge—the perfect place to sit for her morning coffee. She scooted back inside and made herself a quick cup, then grabbed a plum in her other hand and returned to the patio.
Making quick work of her plans, she ignored the freestanding mirror, avoided even touching the sore place between her legs, and though she walked, wincing, she wasn’t yet ready to face the damage, or the feelings that had arisen the night before. In the clear bright morning it was easy to forget darker things.
Lying back on the chaise lounge, she let the robe fall off her body, the sun’s rays hitting her with its generous, cheerful warmth. She was refreshed and smiling to herself, even though she was frequently reminded of the scars and wounds between her legs.
Her mind traveled back and forth on an easy path between the night before and the present. She felt herself juice, though the sticky dampness evaporated with the sun’s heat. Finding her cunt deliciously aroused, she pulled her labia apart so that the hard bud between them was as heated as the rest of her. She moved against her hands forgetting any pain. Indeed, the little pains from the wounds made her flinch, but only for an instant as the sharp sensations blended with every other vibrant feeling of sexual heat taking over her body.
Her cunt roared quickly, climaxing, with female nectar pouring out over her hands.
When she relaxed, the sun did its bidding again, almost instantaneously, a rush of tingling sensations surfaced in her again. She hadn’t time to come down from the first climax before a second was on its way. She bucked against her hands—her thighs burned; Her groin reached toward the heavens as if getting closer would bring her to a heavenly end.
She gaspe
d—tiny, petal soft gasps rose into the wisp of a breeze that teased her body.
Tessa might have continued for a third time, but when her eyes fluttered open, she saw Miles standing over her. She jerked up in surprise.
“Having your morning’s pleasure without me?” he asked.
“Oh, with you Miles. You’re in my thoughts constantly,” she flirted, hoping he wasn’t displeased.
“How long have you been here?” he asked, sitting down on a small sliver of the lounge beside her naked thigh.
“A half hour, perhaps. How long have you been looking at me?”
“I saw you climax.”
“Just the second one, or the first as well?”
“Two?” he queried, impressed.
“I’m often like this after a night like last night.”
“Ah, I see. You mean that was a commonplace adventure for you?”
“Oh no! But when I’ve been so filled with sexual energy like last night, sometimes it doesn’t get completely spent in a single orgasm.”
“Then perhaps you should continue,” he suggested. His hand traced its way along her thighs, bringing back the same feelings that had claimed her twice before. She pushed herself towards his wandering fingers, seeking more. He teased her, running fingers along her thighs between her legs, about the entrance to her love hole and lower toward her taut anus.
“Ah, yes,” she hissed under her breath as his palm rolled over her throbbing clit.
“Yes, yes, bring me off!” she coax him more.
Miles laughed. “Bring yourself off, slut, you do it so well.”
She bucked wildly—even the slightest sensation, the slightest breeze tickled her sensitive flesh.
“Ah, yes please.”
“Reach for it, Tessa.”
She jerked, mad with need, as if she hadn’t come in weeks. Miles’ presence was like a booster rocket attached to the burning in her abdomen.
“Ah! Ah! Yes.” She panted in oblivious staccato gasps, until she screamed, letting her voice rise with its lascivious gibberish.
Trinkets Page 11