by Tara Rose
Portraits of Submission 3
Chelsea’s Chastisement
Graduate student Chelsea Barrows is alone in the world, but determined to finish her degree and have a career. When she finds an erotic painting in the basement of a building on campus, it draws her into a mysterious alternate universe where kingdoms are at war, and three charismatic princes choose her as a sex slave.
Roland, Archer, and Denver are three princes of an elite ruling class descended from one of Ashdown’s true kings. They use the magick of the erotic paintings discovered centuries ago to lure women into their world for their unique sexual perversions. But as they take what is their birthright from Chelsea, the men lose their hearts to her in the process.
When Chelsea is kidnapped after a plot to kill the women from her world is uncovered, the princes must rescue the woman they love before they lose her forever.
Genre: BDSM, Fantasy, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 40,419 words
CHELSEA'S CHASTISEMENT
Portraits of Submission 3
Tara Rose
SIREN SENSATIONS
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Siren Sensations
CHELSEA'S CHASTISEMENT
Copyright © 2015 by Tara Rose
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-399-3
First E-book Publication: May 2015
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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www.SirenPublishing.com
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DEDICATION
This one is for my readers. Thank you for continuing to love this series.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About the Author
CHELSEA'S CHASTISEMENT
Portraits of Submission 3
TARA ROSE
Copyright © 2015
Chapter One
Chelsea Barrows was very excited about this chance to forage through the dank, dark basement of Scanlon Hall. She’d done her undergraduate work here as a history major, and was one year into her master’s degree in medieval history, with a special concentration on politics of the times, but this was her first visit to the infamous Dungeon.
It wasn’t really a dungeon, although judging by the smell it could easily have been one. The basement had been given that nickname by countless students who came before her because it smelled like something had died down here and was still rotting. And because every professor, TA, and GA who had ever set foot in the history department dumped their unwanted props, paintings, and furniture down here for storage. Why, no one knew. It was one of those odd university traditions that everyone was aware of, but no one could tell you how or why it had originated.
“This place is a fire hazard. I can’t believe they haven’t been forced to clean it out.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes at Marie’s voice. She was one of those people who found a reason to be up in arms about everything, even if she had to invent a reason why.
“I think it’s charming,” said Erika, cracking her gum.
Erika thought everything was charming. And fun, and awesomesauce, and several other buzzwords that set Chelsea’s teeth on edge each time she said them. But this time, Chelsea smiled. “I happen to agree with Erika. This place has an aura that I like. It’s old and comfortable, like the chair your grandfather used to sit in.”
“My grandfather is dead,” said Marie.
Erika mumbled something under her breath that Chelsea didn’t quite catch, but her thoughts were distracted from those two when she spotted a burgundy drape over what looked like an easel in one corner, alone at the end of a long corridor. “I’m going this way for a moment.”
They ignored her and went in a different direction. She was glad, because for reasons she couldn’t understand, she didn’t want them to follow her. As she approached the draped easel, a shiver ran down her spine, but she shook away the trepidation. They were safe down here. The worst thing that could happen is they’d start sneezing from all the dust and mold.
Chelsea heard Erika’s high-pitched voice and Marie’s plaintive one around a corner, talking about something they’d found. She used the time alone to pull the drape off the easel, only to realize it wasn’t just an easel. It was a portrait displayed on one, but she had trouble imagining any of her professors or the other graduate assistants placing this particular painting down here, and then covering it with such an exquisite piece of silk, to boot.
She stood mesmerized by the portrait, her gaze taking in the old frame. Was that ash wood? She reached out to touch it, and pulled her hand back as she had the unmistakable sensation that the painting moved. That was crazy, wasn’t it?
Ch
elsea swallowed hard and glanced around, but Erika and Marie were off on their own somewhere else. She could barely hear their voices now. She studied the woman in the painting, her breathing quickening and her pulse racing.
She had copper-colored hair, just like her own, and a lush, curvy body that Chelsea thought was beautiful. She was on her knees, facing slightly sideways, her chin tilted toward the floor and her hands open, palms up, on her thighs. Kneeling in submission before who? For what reason?
A thin gold chain was around her neck, and it had two strands that trailed down from the necklace between the woman’s full breasts and into the red curls between her legs. Chelsea blinked a few times, and then she noticed thin gold cuffs around the women’s wrists. Were those there before? She could have sworn they weren’t, but they must have been.
Her classmates’ voices reached her ears and she turned, but they weren’t coming this way yet. Chelsea licked her lips, and when she faced the portrait again she yelped slightly. The unmistakable shadows of two men, one on each side of the woman, were now visible.
What the fuck?
No way would she have missed them before. No way. What the hell was going on down here? Was it the lighting? Had she truly lost her mind? The stress and lack of sleep these past several years should have landed her in a hospital. Was she that off balance and simply hadn’t noticed? She had barely stopped moving in all that time.
You’re not crazy. They weren’t there. Neither were the cuffs.
Erika’s and Marie’s voices were closer now. Chelsea draped the silk over the painting and stepped away. She didn’t want them to see it, but she couldn’t say why. Reluctantly, she turned to go find them. Once she did, they asked if she’d found anything interesting, but she merely shook her head.
“We’re done, too,” said Marie. “This was a waste of time. Want to head back?”
Chelsea nodded, her thoughts squarely on the portrait. She’d come back later after ditching these two. As they made their way back upstairs, Chelsea mulled over her life. She certainly had come a long way from the silly girl who’d married Steve Harmon, star quarterback in high school, a week after they’d graduated. She mentally shook her head for the millionth time as she recalled believing he’d stop his cheating ways once the ring was on his finger. She’d been an idiot.
If it had only been the cheating, her life might have gone down a different path after their divorce. But the truly young and in love teen knows no boundaries. She’d also lent him money, and co-signed on his car loan, plus several credit cards, so both their names had been on those debts. It had made her feel so grownup to be married and able to legally do such a thing. Double idiot.
Steve gave her the divorce without so much as an “I’m sorry for hurting you,” then took off and left her stuck with the credit card and auto loan debts. By the time she caught up to him, she no longer had any money to pay an attorney to help her sort out the mess he’d left her. She’d been twenty years old, flat broke, and working in a greasy diner just to survive. All because she’d been star-struck and in love, and had latched onto someone she thought could replace her parents and siblings.
Now, at twenty-seven years old, she still didn’t have much money, but she had earned her undergraduate degree and was almost halfway done with a graduate degree. Not too shabby for an eighteen-year-old kid who had followed her hormones, and her terror at being left alone, to marry a boy who had already cheated on her more than once. And, she’d taken back her maiden name once the debt was cleared up. She wanted nothing to remind her of Steve.
“Want to grab some lunch?” asked Erika, cracking her gum again.
“No. I’m going to study.”
“Okay. Later.” She and Marie walked away, and Chelsea sat on a bench in the hallway outside the main lecture hall. It was Saturday, and no one was around. How was she going to get that painting out of the basement? It was taller than she was with the easel included, and she didn’t want anyone seeing her doing it.
Everything down there was fair game. That was also one of the unspoken rules. People put things down there all the time, and others took them if something caught their eye. She wondered how long that portrait had been down there and who had placed it there?
It didn’t matter. She wanted it.
Chelsea walked over to the dorm where she lived, not too far from Scanlon Hall. It housed graduate students so was a bit less chaotic and noisy than the halls she’d lived in during her undergraduate years. At her age, she was so over living like this it wasn’t even funny anymore, but she had little choice. Chelsea was alone in the world, and had no place else to go.
She shook away the memories of her family’s death during her senior year of high school. If she let them overpower her now, she wouldn’t be able to do this. And for reasons Chelsea didn’t understand, this had to be done tonight. It was a compulsion as strong as any she’d ever had, and since those came upon her few and far between, she acted on them when they did happen.
Later, she’d let the memories of that horrible night back inside for a while. But for right now, she concentrated on her mission at hand. Making her way to the maintenance office in the basement of the dorm, she knocked on the door and smiled at Bob, the handyman who fixed things in their rooms. “Hi there. I need a favor. Do you happen to have a dolly I could borrow? It’s to move something too heavy for me to carry.”
“Sure thing. Want a hand with it?”
“No. It’s more bulky than anything, and I thought moving it on a dolly would be easier.”
“Okey dokey.” After Bob rolled out the dolly for her and showed her how to use the straps attached to it, she returned to Scanlon Hall with it and made her way to the basement. No one was down here now, and she easily found the painting again.
This time, she didn’t remove the drape first. She merely took the portrait off the easel and strapped it onto the dolly, with the drape covering it, and then made her way back to the dorm. She waved to people she knew, but thankfully no one stopped her or asked her what she had. By the time she rolled it down the hallway to her room, she was covered in sweat, mostly from the effort of trying to look casual so no one would stop her.
Before she uncovered the portrait again, she returned the dolly to Bob, then ate a sandwich while she stared at the burgundy silk. She had no idea why she was reluctant to glance at the painting again. After all, she’d already seen it once. It was not like it would shock her or frighten her.
The thing seemed alive in her room, and much larger than it had in the basement of Scanlon Hall. Was that because it was now in a smaller space, or was she still imagining things? Had it been a mistake to bring it up here? She really did have studying to do, but nothing that couldn’t wait a few more minutes.
Finally, Chelsea took a couple of deep breaths, put her dishes in the tiny sink, and then readjusted the painting up against the wall. She pulled off the drape and stepped back, gasping at the detail now visible on the canvas.
No fucking way…
Not only were the men still visible, but they were no longer in shadow. Tall, dark, handsome, and now there were three of them, dressed in old-fashioned breeches, leather boots, and billowy shirts. Her mind immediately went to the seventeenth or eighteenth century.
The clothing at first glance had the coarse texture of servants’ or peasants’ clothing, but the longer she looked, the more she realized the shirts were made of fine linen and the breeches looked like they might be made out of cotton, or at least soft wool. She also noticed gold trim on the edges of the shirt sleeves and the bottom of the breeches, which would be something nobility or even royalty might wear.
But what made her pussy wet was what the men were about to do to the woman. She was still kneeling, and each man held a sex toy in his hand. The one on the far right held a flogger, the middle one wielded a long wooden paddle, and the one on the far left held a leather strap.
Chelsea had zero experience with kinky sex. She had far too little experience with sex, p
eriod, although that hadn’t been for lack of trying. But her fantasy life was filled with bondage, spanking, paddling, and anything else her mind could conjure up. Is that why she’d been drawn to this strange painting? What was the magick inside it that made it move and change this way? And how was such a thing even possible?
Or was she truly losing her mind?
Chelsea tossed the drape back over the picture and sat at her desk. Opening her laptop, she began to concentrate on the day’s studying. She hadn’t come this far, and under such extreme circumstances, only to blow her GPA because of a silly painting. Tomorrow, she’d ask to borrow the dolly again and return this thing to the basement of Scanlon Hall where it belonged. Let someone else deal with it.
Her cell phone rang, distracting her from her work, and when she glanced at the clock on her laptop screen, she was shocked to find she’d been reading for three hours. The call was from the restaurant where she worked two nights a week waitressing. It was enough money to make up for what she needed to live, over and above what her graduate assistantship and her financial aid paid.
They wanted to know if she could pick up a shift tonight, but she told them no. She was tired and hungry, and for reasons that weren’t clear to her, she didn’t want to leave the portrait in her room alone. She should have taken it straight back to the basement earlier. Now, there would be no one in the maintenance office, so she couldn’t get the dolly until morning.
After enduring the pissed-off shift supervisor’s sigh over the phone when Chelsea told her she couldn’t work tonight, she left her phone in her dorm room and walked across the courtyard to the cafeteria. There was hardly anyone in it, so she ate her dinner there, and then returned to her room and tried once more to concentrate on her work. But her mind kept wandering to the painting. It was as if she could feel the eyes of the people in it, watching her through the drape.
