‘You don’t think it’s necessary?’
He shrugged and placed his hand on her shoulder.
‘I’m not sure if I believe Amelia needs to be a bitch. But Yale believes that and he’s the one who calls the shots.’
Bernice worked on him for a moment longer, stroking her hand up and down his stiff shaft. The silence between them was warm and comfortable. For the first time since she had started working with Yale and his models, Bernice realised she had made a genuine friend within the entourage.
The thought was warming.
She glanced at Christian’s face. When their eyes met Bernice looked hurriedly away. She needed to say something that did not relate to the intimate act they were sharing.
‘What was this other model like?’ she asked. ‘She and Amelia had a relationship, didn’t they? Was the woman really worse than Amelia?’
A bitter smile twisted his lips and she felt the cock in her hand soften slightly.
‘The word cunt doesn’t do her justice. She was a nasty, manipulative, maladjusted creature. Gorgeous to look at. But as twisted as they come.’
Bernice shivered, unsettled by the description. ‘Nobody mentions her name. What was she called?’
He opened his mouth. The name hovered on his lips. He closed his mouth and shook his head. ‘Yale insists that we don’t mention her name,’ he explained. ‘It’s one of his rules.’
Bernice frowned but accepted this explanation. She continued to work more calamine into his cock, coating the rigid length until it was smeared with globules of the creamy residue. When she felt sure she couldn’t apply any more, she poured another generous handful into her palm and reached for his balls.
‘Please be careful as you do that,’ he told her, shrinking from her touch. With a shy tilt of his head he added, ‘They’re really sensitive.’
She nodded reassuringly and cupped his sac with wet fingers. Working the calamine into the short scrub of his pubes, she began to massage his sac gently.
‘Why are you doing this, Bernice?’
Bernice frowned and glanced at the calamine-coated hand she was rubbing against his length. ‘You needed some of this. I was just …’
He shook his head. His smile was gentle and understanding.
‘Why are you here? Why are you working as one of Yale’s models?’
She laughed softly and moved her hand away from him. ‘If you ask most people why they do their work, they’ll tell you they’re doing it for the money. There’s few people lucky enough to enjoy a vocation. I’m one of the lucky ones.’
He studied her, a doubtful expression on his lips. ‘This is a vocation?’
She smiled at the uncertain note in his voice.
‘Tell me it’s not the same for you, and I won’t believe you. You’re besotted with Yale – just like I am – just like Amelia. The money is piss-poor, the hours are horrendous and the living conditions are a joke. Tell me it’s not a vocation for you and I’ll call you a liar.’
Grudgingly, he nodded. Bernice moved her hand back to his length and began to massage another cool fistful of calamine into his stiff shaft.
‘Do you enjoy the punishments?’ he asked.
‘I prefer the pleasure,’ she said honestly. ‘But sometimes I think that pain is the ultimate pleasure. If you’re really enjoying something, a little pain can make that even better.’
He smiled with eager agreement. ‘That’s how I feel too. I sometimes pity those two because they’ll never know the pleasure of servility. I don’t think they realise what they’re missing.’
Listening to the violent sounds of Yale and Amelia making love, it didn’t sound as though they were missing out on many of life’s pleasures. Bernice prudently kept the thought to herself as she rubbed her hand up and down Christian’s stiff cock. Another silence fell between them as they listened to the guttural explosions from their neighbours. Even though there was a wall between them they could hear the conversation as though Yale and Amelia were fucking on a bed in the same room.
‘Stop trying to be someone you’re not,’ Yale grunted.
Amelia made an outraged sound. ‘That’s unfair,’ she panted.
‘It might be unfair. But it’s true. Stop trying to be her. Beg me for forgiveness. And then perhaps we can be friends again.’
‘You arrogant cunt! I wouldn’t beg to you!’
Yale was laughing. The sound was cut off by the sound of a hand slapping flesh.
Bernice and Christian exchanged sharp glances. Neither of them dared to break the silence for fear of missing something. Her wrist continued to work back and forth along the sticky length of his shaft. The muscles in his thighs were stiff with the exertion of staving off his climax.
Amelia made a shocked sound, making them both think that Yale had retaliated in some way. Her cry of anguish turned into a shriek of elation.
Bernice and Christian smiled at one another.
Whatever the argument had been between Yale and Amelia, it was now resolved.
‘If you won’t beg for forgiveness, you can at least do the other thing I asked,’ Yale declared. ‘You can stop trying to be her.’
Amelia’s response came in a soft and reasonable tone.
Christian and Bernice had to strain to hear what she was saying.
‘I don’t need to try and be her,’ Amelia assured him. ‘I have ways of hurting you far worse than she ever managed.’
Together, Yale and Amelia began to laugh. Their protesting bedsprings squealed as the tempo of their lovemaking increased.
Bernice and Christian continued listening as she rubbed more calamine into his shaft. They gave one another comfortable smiles, content to listen to the radio melodrama being played out for them. It was only when Christian began to make soft sounds of protest that Bernice spoke again.
‘Would it take your mind off the discomfort if you had something to do while I did this?’
He treated her to a wry smile and encouraged her to continue.
‘Your hand’s on my shoulder at the moment,’ she pointed out. Her cheeks were blushing hotly. ‘Perhaps you might not be thinking of your discomfort if you moved your hand a little lower?’
He grinned and drew his fingers slowly down her chest. His touch excited a warm line from her shoulder to the swell of her breast. He traced a circle around the tiny areola and began to caress her pierced nipple. Occasionally he pushed the edge of his fingernail into the small metal ring, gently teasing the tip of her breast.
Bernice worked her calamine-coated hand more vigorously against his scrotum.
Christian sighed. The sound came from somewhere between pain and pleasure. Despite the fact she was trying to be gentle, Bernice knew it was impossible to avoid hurting him altogether. Amelia had been cruel with the thistle and, while the scars she left behind were only shallow, they looked maddeningly sore.
Easing her breast away from his fingers, she slid down the bed so she could examine his cock. Her hands continued to rub calamine into his sac, coating the hairs with the thick fluid. ‘You look ravaged down here,’ she murmured. ‘What did that bitch do to you?’
He briefly explained some of the things Amelia had done. His words were broken by reluctant moans of pleasure as she massaged him. From the neighbouring wall the sounds of Yale and Amelia’s passionate abandon escalated towards a crescendo.
‘You’re red here, as well,’ Bernice told him. She traced the tip of a wet finger against his sphincter.
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You’ve done enough for me already. I can’t ask you to do that.’
She ignored him. Pouring more calamine into her hand she continued to rub his balls as she slid her finger into his anus. The fluid allowed her to slip easily inside him. The warmth of his rectum filled her with dark excitement as his muscle closed around her knuckle. Christian stifled gasps of pleasure as she caught the raised area of a thistle-sore.
‘Did you ever think first-aid could be so much fun?’ Bernice asked, pushing her
finger deeper and giggling.
His reply was a sullen groan. The noise was lost as Yale shrieked with delight in the adjoining room.
But, even though his response was not as loud as Yale’s, Bernice could tell she was pleasing the man. She felt warmed by the thought that Christian would undoubtedly let her sleep with him throughout the night. Wriggling her finger deep into his anus, she worked her wet hand faster and faster along the rigid length of his shaft.
Christian’s body stiffened. His length grew rigid in her hand. She was surprised when his sphincter pushed her finger from its exploratory path. She glanced at him in time to see the white spray of his climax as it spurted from the tip of his cock. He released his seed with a cry of pleasure that equalled the satisfaction they had just heard from Yale. She could feel the muscles inside his body clamping and clenching around her. His balls, resting on the back of her hand as she penetrated him, pulsed with each jerk of his orgasm. With a slow hand, Bernice squeezed the last droplet of come from the end of his cock. The tip still looked swollen and ravaged so she tactfully smeared more calamine on him.
‘That was …’ He broke off and shook his head. There was an eager smile on his lips as he studied her naked body. When he spoke he was staring into her eyes. ‘That was really enjoyable,’ he said. ‘You keep nursing me like that and I could look forward to having Amelia punish me again.’
Bernice laughed, leant across the bed and prepared to kiss him. If there was going to be a best time for asking to share his bed tonight, it had to be now. Moving her lips to his ear, she began to shape the question in her mind.
‘Inspiration!’
The word came from the next room and they glanced at the wall.
They both recognised Yale’s triumphant cry. Bernice sighed with dismay. Christian cursed under his breath. When they glanced at one another, they were both frowning.
‘You don’t think …?’ Bernice began.
A clatter of footsteps, and Amelia’s cry of protest, confirmed their shared fears. The door to their bedroom burst open and Yale stood there, wrapping a robe around his naked frame. He seemed to take in the scene with a glance, barely acknowledging either of them.
‘I need you now,’ he said. He was panting with excitement. ‘I’ve got an image in my mind and I need to paint it. Bernice?’
She glanced up at him, suddenly fearful that she had committed some punishable offence. Over Yale’s shoulder she saw Amelia appear, fastening the buttons on the over-large shirt she wore. It was one of Yale’s.
‘You’ll be the principal model for this painting,’ Yale told Bernice. ‘Go into my bedroom and lie on the bed. Amelia will prepare you. Christian, go to the motor home and get my stuff.’
When neither of them moved he clapped his hands impatiently.
‘Come on, people. Hurry. Hurry. We have a picture to paint and no time to waste with calamine-coated wrist-jobs.’
Bernice and Christian moved off the bed in unison, both determined to do as they had been told.
* * *
Exhausted from the games of fisting and finger play that she had been enjoying, Robyn listened to the commotion outside her bedroom. After Yale’s cry there had been a clamour of activity. She had heard footsteps racing up and down the steps and the painter’s distinctive Scots accent as he barked a string of furious instructions that she couldn’t quite hear.
Curiosity had her out of the bed and halfway to the door before she realised she was naked. Cursing her own impatience, Robyn grabbed a pyjama top and made her way out of the room and onto the landing. She listened in the still darkness, suddenly unnerved by the heavy silence that filled Holbert Manor. With her ears straining, she could hear the soft sighs of someone gently moaning in Yale’s room.
With tentative steps, barely aware that she was walking on tiptoe, Robyn moved towards the door. It wasn’t fully closed, and a thin sliver of light pierced the narrow opening. She pushed the door open with a hesitant finger and glanced into the brightly lit room.
It was difficult to suppress the startled cry that rose in the back of her throat. She had witnessed scenes of torrid perversion before – she had participated in more than a handful – but nothing had prepared her for this.
Yale stood in front of a canvas, carelessly swiping a beige wash over the stiff white base. His hands moved with the deft skill of a professional.
The sight could have transfixed Robyn. She was a professional critic and would have loved to watch a talented artist working. Yale daubed paint onto the picture with an almost casual ease. He created detailed and lifelike images with such insouciant arrogance it was breathtaking.
But it was Bernice who caught Robyn’s eye.
Robyn swallowed as she looked at the woman lying spread-eagled on the bed. There was a single white pillow beneath her head, and a stiff white sheet under her back. Aside from that, the woman was uncovered, save for the length of pink ribbon.
It took a moment for Robyn to grasp exactly what she was seeing. Christian and Amelia stood on either side of the bed, each putting the finishing touches to the bows they were fastening. It was only when Robyn saw the piercings in the woman’s nipples and labia that she realised what the image was.
Bernice was secured to the bed by a length of ribbon. It travelled through the small ball closure rings on her breasts, lifting both orbs slightly upwards. From there, it had been looped around each wrist then tied securely to the head of the wrought-iron bed. A second length had been threaded through the piercings on her labia. Again, the ribbon pulled her flesh a little more than seemed comfortable. The strip of pink was looped around her ankles and secured at the foot of the bed in a huge bow.
It was a bizarre scene but, as she watched, she saw Yale had no trouble recreating the details in oils. He sketched a quick outline of the woman’s body, suggesting the shape of her divine figure with a few careless brushstrokes. He daubed the ribbon on to the painting with a casual flick of his wrist.
Robyn drew a shivering breath as she watched. Her pussy lips still ached for a satisfaction that her fingers hadn’t been able to supply. Seeing Bernice sprawled on the bed, the subject of so much subtle sexual punishment, she felt an envious pang. The idea of being treated in such a way filled her with an anticipation that had her dizzy with need. Trying to steady herself, she placed her hand on the door.
With growing horror, she saw it fall open.
Amelia and Christian glared at her as Robyn almost stumbled into the room. Yale turned an uninterested eye on her then went back to studying his model as he worked on his picture.
‘Greetings, host,’ he began cheerfully. ‘I hope you don’t mind my doing a spot of painting but inspiration struck me. And, when inspiration hits, I just have to act.’
Robyn tried to think of something appropriate to say but found she couldn’t speak. Even as she was looking at him she could only see Bernice tied to the bed and secured by the intimate piercings of her body jewellery. The image had been burnt into the retina of her mind’s eye. And she knew it would be an image to which she happily returned again and again.
‘It’s not like me,’ Yale went on. He spoke over his shoulder as he threw paint on the canvas. ‘Normally I can’t break out of the mould when I’m working on a series, but it came to me a short while ago and I had to get the beginnings of the painting down.’
‘I heard something coming a while back,’ Robyn muttered drily. ‘I didn’t realise it was inspiration.’
Yale blushed but continued painting. ‘It’s hard to believe they made these walls so thin, isn’t it? Normally you’d have to go on one of these modern housing estates to find walls like this. I’ve owned lace curtains with more substance.’
‘Isn’t she uncomfortable?’ Robyn asked, nodding at Bernice.
By way of response, Amelia fixed Robyn with a smile and shrugged.
Oblivious to Amelia, Yale asked, ‘Who cares if she’s uncomfortable? If someone has to suffer for my art I vote for Bernice.’
&nb
sp; On the bed, Bernice released a soft sigh of pleasure when she heard the words. Her reaction made a thrill tickle down Robyn’s spine.
‘Besides,’ Yale explained, ‘she’s only a model. She’s not employed to be comfortable. I want this portrait to show a woman being uncomfortable.’
A mischievous glint sparkled in his eye.
‘If she does get comfortable then maybe I’ll get someone to lie down as a stand-in for her.’ He slammed his brush down into the lip of his easel and took a menacing step towards Robyn. His grin was a lecherous leer. He stared intently at the thrust of her unrestrained breasts in the pyjama top.
Robyn drew a shuddering breath, wishing she had stopped to pick something a little more substantial before she came into this room. The buttons on the pyjama top were annoyingly low cut. The hem was infuriatingly high. The long expanse of her muscular legs was displayed for him. She placed one hand protectively over her breasts and took a step back.
‘Perhaps I could use you as Bernie’s replacement when she grows weary?’ Yale suggested. ‘It wouldn’t take a lot out of you. I can get Christian to do the body piercing. We have the equipment in the motor home. By the time you’ve stopped bleeding you could be ready to take Bernie’s place on the bed.’
Robyn snatched a startled breath and stared at him uncertainly. She couldn’t decide if he was joking or making a serious offer. Even if it was just a joke, she considered it to be in pretty poor taste. If her mouth ever started to work properly, she was determined to tell him that.
‘Do you think you’d like to be immortalised in my work?’ Yale asked arrogantly.
His fingers reached for her face and he held her beneath the chin. Twisting her head from one side to the other, he studied her profile with a critical eye. The solid line of his jaw didn’t tell her if he approved or disapproved of her appearance.
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