Trinkets

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “See, there was no one to interrupt you,” Martine reminded Tessa. They exchanged places, Tessa sitting down on the stool; she was too weak to stand.

  “Why do you do these things to me?”

  “Because you love them, and so do I. You’d better plan on getting your ass fucked tonight. I bought a strap-on this morning.” She picked up her purse and rummaged around inside its wide girth, finally pulling out a pink dildo attached to straps, and a harness to fit around her waist.

  “Put that thing away!”

  “Oh, now you’re going to get proper again?” she giggled.

  “We may run out of luck.”

  “Well look at it for a minute, slut, just think of me ramming it down your tight, dark hole after you’ve sucked me off a few times. I figure you really owe me at least a dozen good comes—I’ve been treating you so well lately.”

  Tessa looked at her; had to smile seeing Martine’s serious expression. “You really have an interesting way of putting things,” she said. She was feeling the life return to her limbs.

  “You just have to accept it, Tessa, you’ll be a lot happier when you do.”

  “I don’t know. Somehow with you, it’s never easy.”

  “I know, but think about the sex. You love it.” In her own way, she was trying to be kind.

  Tessa didn’t know what to say.

  “So, where’s he taking you next?” Martine asked.

  “Miles?”

  “Of course Miles.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “To Damien’s soiree?”

  “He won’t tell me,” Tessa admitted.

  “Really?” Martine looked surprised, “humm, he’s taking me.” She stood with her bag, stuffing the pink dildo and harness inside before she strolled away.

  “The bitch,” Tessa thought, “she’s laying me away again.” She thought again, “Gotta get a hold of the jealousy. I can’t let Miles know.

  Chapter Fourteen

  How could Miles take Martine and not take her! Tessa fumed.

  The event of the season, the one whispered, gossiped and rumored about for weeks before and after the main event. Tessa’s sources, however, never really knew when the party took place, or where, or who was actually there and not just making up stories. Still, that didn’t matter, fantasies about decadent parties were Tessa’s specialty, even though she’d never donned leather, or worn chains, or had a studded collar around her neck. She regularly got off on the idea, imaging a perfect night of submissive bliss with Miles and his friends. As time passed, however, the graphic scenes in her imagination were not enough. She had to experience it for herself.

  Was she imagining it right? Did she really understand what happened at these affairs? As Miles’ submissive, did she look and feel and breathe the part of a submissive with the right sort of depth and attitude? Sometimes she felt terribly defiant for a submissive, though that was something Miles didn’t complain about.

  Miles would tell her that soirees aren’t important; what was between the two of them was all that mattered. That was the truth; all the pleasure she was getting from him should be enough to last forever, just the way it was. How could she ask for more?

  But then, there was her bottled up curiosity. She was having a devil of a time handling life without a good clear glimpse of a hundred men and women parading through a ballroom in latex and leather, preparing themselves for sex play in dreary dungeons, or on a public stage. She hoped there would be feathers, masks—she loved masks, even though Miles would find them both confining and dishonest. His strict values required ultimate honesty. He wouldn’t want to cloak her, even for the perceived mystery . . .

  Damien’s Ball was an obsession. Thoughts of it rambled through her head, even as she and Miles drove through downtown traffic on their way to dinner.

  They rode in silence; while Tessa was considering her unmet desires, Miles was still considering Tessa. Not just whether he would take her to the soiree; he was considering her from a more substantial point of view. He’d taken a dozen submissives to this annual soiree over the years, some on the drop of the hat, little pawing submissive twits whose affections hardly amounted to a decent orgasm when it was all over.

  Tessa had been different from the beginning, and nothing that transpired over the last few months had changed his initial impression of her. She was not a typical submissive. She was prone to talk too much, and question things that no decent sub would consider questioning. But then, she hadn’t been schooled in the proper decorum and that had been his job. If she wasn’t progressing, it was as much his fault as hers.

  The only problem was, he didn’t really want to train her the way she should be trained.

  As far as taking her the soiree, there was a selfish inclination to hold on to her for himself. He knew she wouldn’t change her mind about him, and suddenly fly off with another Dominant. It was pure and simple a selfish desire in him to keep her bound to him and him alone. The other side of his dilemma—he couldn’t risk bridling her so tightly that when he did release her, she’d bolt away. These were stupid musings and he knew it, but they troubled him nonetheless.

  Certainly he thought about her too much—her changeable nature, the half priss, half flagrant slut who craved attention and abandonment and everything else in-between—all at the same time. She was insatiable. Could he be enough for her?

  She made him laugh. She made him want to stare at her for hours—paint, draw, sculpt her face in its hundred expressions.

  Her hold on him was getting stronger—and probably why he was fucking Martine every time his loins got hot. It was a protection against loving Tessa too much, making her think too much of herself. The fact that she was always rattled by her rather predictable roommate worked in his favor.

  Their pair waited at an intersection for some time; the three-colored signal changed three times before they inched forward enough to make it through the left turn, away from the jumbled mass of humanity at this ungodly hour.

  Miles was lost in his thoughts of Tessa when she spoke, and her voice lifted him from a glowering reverie, jerking him out of a silence that was becoming uncomfortable for her.

  “You know, Miles, I’ve always wanted to be the belle of the ball,” she ventured carefully.

  He glanced at her suspiciously. “You’re asking about the soiree again, aren’t you?

  “Yes, I suppose,” she admitted.

  “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  “Leather, whips, my rings. They should do. The marks, the bondage, aren’t they enough to prove my readiness? I can’t go on forever imagining this wild, horrid orgy of self-indulgence and not have it.”

  “Of course you can, if that’s what pleases me.”

  “Miles,” she was exasperated, sighing heavily. “You’ve whipped me silly, shown me off, given me to Damien and Martine….”

  “Quit whining, slut.” He cut her off. “It’s more than those things.” He was exasperated too, mostly exasperated with not having made a decision since he was not an indecisive man.

  “I just thought that this was what you were training me for?

  “I’m training you for me, no one else.” He emphasized the me.

  “But isn’t the big scene the place to be in S M society?”

  “Sometimes. But I’m not committed to anything.”

  “How about those pictures you have hidden the closet?” she ventured warily.

  “You’ve been through my closets?”

  “I’m very snoopy.”

  “I guess you are,” he scowled, “I should paddle your butt for that.” Though he didn’t sound all that upset.

  “Okay,” she agreed smiling. “But what about the pictures—those dark, black and whites, the costumes, they make me soak my underwear.”

  “Underwear?” he asked.

  “If I wore them,” she corrected herself.

  “Those pictures were from another time.”

  “A time that’s past?”


  “I don’t do those anymore, art evolves; and you are the evolvement of my art.”

  She smiled, liking what he said, but she couldn’t drop the matter of the soiree. “So, you’re not taking me, then.”

  “I didn’t say that.” He clammed up. With his mouth shut tight, she wouldn’t get another word from him about it for days.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A week later, Miles and Tessa arrived in front of an old brick home, just as the sun was setting. Tessa gazed in awe at the spooky sight that greeted her; the strange yellow/orange glow in the sky was an ominous sign of the dark things to come. The night was made even more portentous by Miles’ attitude. He was cold and brooding, as he’d been for nearly two weeks. As many times as his coldness had made her shudder, she was still unaccustomed to the effect, and it scared her.

  The limo pulled into the circular drive in front of the mansion. This was not as expansive a place as Tessa imagined it might be; yet it was large and imposing, wedged between other antiquated houses in a neighborhood of the wealthy. Quite oddly, the lights inside the house glowed with the same ochre hue as the setting sun.

  “Damien will be with you shortly,” they were told by a curt, efficient maid as she let them into the house.

  “Is this the soiree?” Tessa whispered to Miles.

  “No,” he answered.

  “Then what?” she asked.

  “Quit asking questions,” he replied as he held her hand tightly on his arm.

  Tessa wished they would sit down—the high heels Miles insisted on hurt her feet even if they gave her legs the shape Miles loved. At the moment, though, her feet were aching and she thought it was a little too much to ask that she negotiate her way in shoes so high.

  When the door opened, they were greeted by a cloud of cigar smoke billowing from the room beyond. The smell was pungent, but sweet.

  “Please come in,” another maid said. She held the massive oak door open for them.

  Miles dropped Tessa’s hand and let her walk behind him into Damien’s study. It was a pleasantly gracious room for the kind of man that liked to drink and smoke and read, and do whatever men do long into the night. With a half dozen overstuffed chairs, and a worn leather couch appropriately arranged, it could easily accommodate quite a gathering of men. Gazing about the room, Tessa noticed five men, including Damien, not one woman other than herself.

  Tessa was bewildered by the group, as their purpose for being there was not obvious to her. Her presence on Miles arm caused little more than a ripple through the other guests. Damien himself was sitting behind his desk at one end of the room, smoking a cigar. Tessa thought he looked different than he had weeks before when she met him. That didn’t surprise her, considering the rapid transformations he’d made during their inglorious session together. On this occasion, he was cruder than he appeared before. His hair was mussed and he wore his tan sweater with the sleeves pushed to the elbows. Perhaps his earlier refinement was for the women at the luncheon; now among men, he took on a typically masculine attitude, with little polish or gleam. Frankly, he was more appealing to Tessa this way.

  “You wanted to see her,” Miles addressed Damien. He looked up from some papers, as Miles walked Tessa through the middle of a heated conversation.

  “Good evening Miles,” one gentleman said, interrupting his harangue long enough to greet his friend.

  “G’d evening Miles.”

  “G’d evening.”

  The one salutation triggered another, which triggered another, but the idle small talk was brief. Once Tessa and Miles were standing in front of Damien’ desk, the other men returned to their chatter about stock prices.

  There was something odd in Miles manner; but Tessa had little time to consider it, since she was quickly the focus of both men’s attention.

  “I was unimpressed with your little trinket,” Damien began, “I was surprised you were still keeping her around. When you mentioned the soiree, I thought we should talk.”

  “You weren’t unimpressed with the movies,” Miles reminded him. “But frankly Damien, I don’t really care about your considerations. Take it or leave it, she doesn’t have to be at the party.”

  Tessa was surprised to hear Miles talk so sharply to his “major patron.”

  “I’m sure something can be worked out,” Damien assured him a little more kindly.

  He leaned back in his chair and stared her. Despite his more consistent attitude this time, he was still unsettling. His eyes bore into her with a ghastly intensity that made her want to turn and run from the room. Anticipating her trepidation, Miles grabbed her arm and held her fast, just for good measure.

  “Actually Miles, I wanted to see how I’d use her,” he said. “Unfortunately, I didn’t get a good look at her at the luncheon. Not good enough anyway. She is the kind that requires a good bit of thought. Is she trained on a leash?” he asked.

  “No, and I don’t plan to, at least not before the soiree.”

  “Really?” Damien replied in wonder. “You’ll have to tell me your reasoning on that.”

  “Anytime,” Miles said, “anytime but now.”

  Damien nodded at him, respecting his wishes. “So, if I collar her, what will that mean?” Damien asked. “Will I have a petulant little bitch on my hands all night, or will I be able to use her as I wish.”

  “I can’t say Damien, but Tessa learns quickly, I imagine she’ll handle the collar well, after all she’s wanted one around her neck for some time.”

  “And you’ve denied her, how interesting.”

  “I don’t tell you how to train your servants or your sluts, you don’t tell me how to train mine.”

  The tension between the two men frightened Tessa. This sparring had a darker side she didn’t like; there was obviously much they weren’t telling her. Though she knew her position was to surrender unconditionally, she still had a healthy dose of curiosity that wanted to jump right in with a dozen questions for them both. Wisely, she kept her mouth shut.

  “Miss Cotille, or shall I call you Trinket? I rather like that name for you.”

  Tessa didn’t reply, rather nodding to him as he addressed her.

  “Remove your clothes, all but your stockings and your shoes.

  Taken off guard by his demand, she didn’t respond immediately.

  “Tessa,” Miles said sharply, when she didn’t reply.

  Jerked awake by the command, Tessa reached behind her to the zipper on her skirt. It came down quickly, the slip of material dropping easily to the floor. She briskly unbuttoned the sheer black fabric of her blouse and tossed it to her side on a chair.

  It was just that simple. She was sure Miles was pleased with her quick disrobing. Standing in nothing but black gartered stockings and twinkling gold, she was stunning, stunning enough to quiet the men behind them, who now turned to gaze at her nakedness.

  “Great ass,” one man exclaimed. “Can I have her Damien?” he called out in a drunken bellow.

  “Not tonight friend.” Damien calmed him with his definitive voice.

  The men stared at the scene in silence, letting Damien hold court in his own way. Everyone could see by his kingly bearing, the pomposity in this voice, and the arrogance on his face, that he called all the shots. He expected the others, including Miles, to shut up. Why these men bowed to Damien wasn’t clear, it was simply a given. Tessa couldn’t see why he would have that kind of power. It must have been money that he held over their heads.

  While the others behind her might have been lusting for her body, Damien was incredibly cold and matter of fact. He could easily win points from Vincent. For that matter, maybe he’d taught the doctor his detached style.

  “I want another piercing,” Damien finally announced, after what seemed an interminable time. Tessa, for all her nakedness, was sweating, little beads forming between her breasts. Her hands were cold and clammy, and if she was honest with herself, she would have recognized that she was growing wet between her legs.

  “
Another?” Miles questioned.

  “Something high on her pubic mound. I want her labia pulled wide.”

  “A spreader would handle it,” Miles said.

  “I want this more permanent. She’s too damned sassy for her own good. A bar, some kind of gold rod to hold apart her labia, fixed with studs on the end through that plump flesh of hers. It will remind her of her place. She’s not nearly humble enough to suit me.”

  Miles met eye to eye with his mentor/patron. The stark contrast between the two was impressive. Damien icy, Miles passionately cold. Damien a man of power and financial worth, Miles a man of infinite soul and artistic inspiration. But in this place, Damien had cards in his hand that were not Miles’ to play. The two were not comfortable with poker faces. Their “eye to eye” was tortuous to watch. So much was going on beneath the surface of their confrontation. Tessa could feel it, like another burning fire in her belly; though she didn’t wholly understand what was separating the two.

  “I’m sure Vincent can fashion something suitable,” Damien broke the silence.

  “I’m sure,” Miles replied.

  “Just be sure she’s trained with a collar when she comes, or she’ll have a much rougher time than any of us will enjoy.”

  “I have great faith in his one. She’ll not disappoint you,” Miles said.

  “Humph.” It was all the reply Damien would utter. He waved them off, and rose from his chair to join his watchful companions.

  “A game of poker?” he suggested to them.

  The group moved to an elegant felt covered card table at the other end of the room.

  “Will you join us Miles?” Damien surprisingly suggested.

  “I think I will,” Miles promptly replied.

  Tessa was surprised that Miles agreed to stay, the natural rhythm of the night would have dictated a brusque retreat. Instead, he pulled up a chair with the others, leaving Tessa standing alone, with no clothes and no instructions. When he finally motioned for her, it was to point to a chair in the corner, opposite him.