by Lila Dubois
Christoffer told her about his runs with William. She didn’t ask what had happened to make William angry at him. Maybe because she hadn’t been able to see she hadn’t understood the magnitude of what had been going on. He didn’t tell her.
It would be torture to tell her he’d attacked William, purposefully goading the horse to throw the lord, and yet he hadn’t been punished the way she was still being punished.
How could he have been jealous of her, he wondered as he watched her shave her other leg and then helped her do under her arms. He hated that William seemed smitten with the pretty falcon, and yet after speaking to her Christoffer realized that to William Mirela was just a pretty toy he wanted to play with. Christoffer might be jealous of William’s feelings for her, but he had no doubt that the trust and respect William had for him was far more valuable. After all, he wasn’t in bondage and locked away.
Though they’d reached a tentative peace among the three of them, Christoffer wondered what he’d feel—and do—if William ever started treating them as equals.
He helped her from the bath. After several disastrous attempts at wrapping her hair in a towel he let her take over.
“Time to shave you.”
“I did shave.”
“Uh, those aren’t the places he was talking about.”
Mirela’s hands crept tentatively to her upper lip and Christoffer barked out a laugh. “No, you’re fine, you haven’t grown a mustache. Lie down on this towel.”
Christoffer helped her to lie on a towel. He grabbed a hand towel, the razor and shaving cream. He found a small scissors in his nail kit and set that down too.
“Will you tell me what you’re doing?” she asked, voice tight. “I hate not knowing.”
“Sorry, I’m just trying to figure out what I need.” With tools in place he dropped to his knees. Taking her smooth ankles in his hands, he spread her knees.
“What are you doing?”
“Spread your legs,” he said.
She unlocked her legs, letting him spread them. Christoffer positioned her legs with knees bent, feet flat, and lay down on his belly, head near her sex. He placed his hand over the pelt of black hair. “This is what I’m shaving.”
Mirela’s mouth formed an O.
He picked up the scissors, selected a small tuft and snipped it off. She yelped and jumped the first few times. “I’m not hurting you,” he said exasperated.
“I know.”
“Don’t move or I’ll tie you down.”
Mirela shivered, and it wasn’t with cold. The lips of her sex were pale pink, and he could see hints of the darker pink interior. He could smell her arousal and see it in the faint sheen inside her sex.
His cock was sandwiched between his belly and the floor.
When he’d clipped off most of the hair, Christoffer squirted a bit of shaving cream on his fingers, working it into a fluffy white foam, which he spread over her short hairs.
“You have to stay still,” he warned her.
“Yess…” She lifted her hips against his hand as he spread the shaving cream.
“I mean it, I don’t want to cut you.”
“Oh.”
Her hips settled against the floor. Christoffer swiped the razor against the plump top of her mound. The hair and foam came away, revealing smooth white skin. When her mound was naked, Christoffer pushed her legs wider apart. Pulling on the left lip of her sex with his right hand, he applied cream and then carefully swiped the razor over flesh that was growing increasingly slippery.
When one side was done, he smoothed his thumb up and down it. The fingers holding the inside of the lip slid up, brushing her clit. Mirela moaned. Christoffer watched her, suddenly understanding William’s desire to keep her like this…bound and helpless.
Her helplessness alternately aroused a need to protect her and a desire to abuse her.
“Just a bit more,” Christoffer told her, voice hoarse.
He pulled out the lip of her pussy, rubbing it between his fingers, “accidentally” brushing her clit, bringing his face so close that he could blow on her. Mirela was thrashing by the time he was ready to shave.
“Hold still, I have the razor.”
He went deliberately slow, enjoying it. Centimeter by centimeter he revealed pale, naked flesh.
When he was done, he wiped away the excess foam and took his first good look at her naked pussy. Her skin was pale, which made the pink lips of her sex all the more startling.
“Are you going to beg now?”
“Oh yes. Oh please, Christoffer. I want to come. Please.”
He flicked a finger over her clit, forgetting that he should be kind to her, gentle on her. He wanted to make her beg, make her suffer.
“Where do you want me to touch you?”
“My clit.”
“Beg.”
“Touch my clit. Rub it, flick it, hurt it. Please make me come, I cannot stand it anymore. Make me feel something.”
Christoffer pressed open her pussy lips and licked her.
Mirela’s hips came up off the floor. “Yes, oh yes.”
Christoffer closed his eyes, nose pressed against her naked mound and his lips, teeth and tongue tormenting her clit. His cock throbbed against the floor.
His tongue circled her clit, then flattened over it for three hard strokes. Then his teeth raked up and over the bud, sending her into spasms.
He couldn’t stand it anymore. He pushed to his knees and scrambled into position on top of her.
“No! Don’t stop, please!”
“I’m not. Open your mouth and suck me.” Christoffer knelt on either side of her head, wiggling until his cock brushed her lips. Her head arched up and she sucked him into her mouth, her hand wrapped around the shaft.
Christoffer bent his head and went back to work on her pussy. She was rubbish at giving head, but he was so aroused he didn’t care.
He licked and sucked her clit, sliding one finger into her pussy. She was sopping wet.
Suddenly, she went rigid against him. Christoffer lapped her clit with quick, hard strokes, feeling her clench around his finger. When she was coming down from the orgasm he lifted his head from her sex and pumped his hips, fucking her mouth. Looking down between their bodies, Christoffer could see his cock sliding between her lips.
He pulled out just before he came. The girl probably didn’t have the experience to know what to do if he came in her mouth and he knew she could choke on cum in that position.
Christoffer, muscles shaking, climbed off her to lie beside her. Her hand crept to his and he took it. “It’s okay, I’m here,” he whispered.
“Don’t leave me.”
“Not right now.”
They curled around each other, each lost in their own way, but momentarily safe in each other’s arms.
Chapter Eleven
The next week passed in relative peace.
The relationship developing among the three of them was complicated in the extreme, but as long as everyone remembered their place it worked.
William’s place was that of dictatorial leader. Christoffer’s was as William’s Beta and Mirela’s caretaker. Mirela’s was as beautiful and engaging sex toy.
William spent the mornings with Mirela, training her. She now moved effortlessly around her room. She responded immediately and with grace to William’s every command. Each meal was taken from his hand while she knelt at his feet. He brought the whistle he’d purchased, which was supposed to be loud enough to be heard by birds, and blew it for her.
Most days he had sex with her, and if he didn’t have time for sex she would drop to her knees at his command and suck his cock. Once, when he’d left without pleasuring her, William returned, having forgotten his riding gloves on the chair, to find her pleasuring herself.
Mirela was lost in a fantasy of making love to Christoffer in the grass, her muscles lazy from the effort of flying. She didn’t hear the door open and she screamed when William spoke from right beside her.
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“What is this?”
“M-Master?”
She jerked her hand from her sex. He’d never told her not to touch herself, and she’d only figured out she could give herself the same pleasure he could two days ago—though she felt dumb for not having figured it out earlier.
“Didn’t expect me to return, did you?”
“No.”
“And now I’ve caught you.”
Mirela felt sick with fear. She couldn’t tell from his voice how angry he was. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She wanted to scream at him that it wasn’t fair, he hadn’t told her not to, and that it was his fault for touching her only to leave her.
“I guess I’ll have to go back to tying you up whenever I’m not here.”
Mirela went numb with horror. William drew her hands above her head, latching the rings of her jesses into the chains attached to the bed. He did the same to her feet.
The door closed.
Mirela pressed her face into the pillow and screamed.
William, still chuckling, passed Christoffer on his way downstairs. Christoffer, who was sulking because William wasn’t taking him with him, asked, “What’s made you happy?”
“I walked in on Mirela masturbating. Gorgeous. I told her she was naughty and chained her up until I get back.”
William continued down the stairs. He didn’t see Christoffer’s expression before the wolf took off toward the falcon’s room.
At the door William stopped and cursed. He’d forgotten his gloves again. He retraced his steps to Mirela’s room. He smiled in savage anticipation. She’d probably be wiggling around on the bed trying to get herself off.
The door was open. William frowned until he heard Christoffer’s murmured voice. He’d put Christoffer in charge of seeing to the girl—bathing her, taking her to the toilet, and if he wasn’t here, feeding her.
A sob startled William. He stopped just outside the door so they couldn’t see him and listened.
“I didn’t know!”
“Calm down, Mirela.”
“I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to do that.”
“I think he wants to be the one to make you come.”
“But he left. He touched me and made me want him but then he just left. What was I supposed to do?”
“Take deep breaths, it won’t help if you panic.”
Mirela tried to do what Christoffer said, but a sob rattled her chest. “Why does he hate me?”
“Shhh, shhh, he doesn’t hate you.”
“Look, look.” She rattled the chains, the hated bells sounding. “I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to touch myself, but still he punishes me. What must I do to make him like me?”
“Mirela, he does like you.”
“No.”
“He does. He really likes you.”
“He likes keeping a caged animal for a pet.” Another sob welled up in her chest. “I’d rather be dead. Dead.”
Christoffer’s hands were on her cheeks. “Don’t cry.”
Mirela hated crying, the hood kept the tears tight against her eyes until it felt as though she were drowning.
“If I cry enough and you get annoyed, would you kill me?”
“Mirela, knock it off, don’t say that.”
Mirela’s breath was choppy and uneven. She tried to relax under Christoffer’s hands but panic beat inside her like wings.
“He bought a whistle and showed it to me,” she said, head thrashing side to side. “I thought that meant he would take me flying, but it’s been days. I was so happy, thinking finally I was obedient enough, but now this.” She rattled her chains. “I’m trying to be obedient, but I would rather be dead.”
“Don’t say that. It’s going to be okay. Now you know he doesn’t want you masturbating so you won’t do it again.”
“He still hates me.”
“He doesn’t.”
She didn’t believe Christoffer. Nothing but hate or contempt could allow William to treat her as he did.
“I used to look forward to him coming, because when he touches me he does not seem so detached and cold, but now it is just another command. It used to be sexy, but now I have to close my eyes and pretend to be far away”—pretend it’s you touching me—“and he comes in my mouth and I hate it, but he orders me to swallow it.”
“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here.” Christoffer climbed on the bed and curled beside her.
Mirela burrowed into his warmth. “Tell me how to make him like me.”
“I don’t know, Mirela. I thought he might have taken you flying before now.”
“Will you ask him? Ask him to let me fly?”
“Mirela, I told you before, I can’t do that.”
“Please!”
“No.” His voice was cold and Mirela regretted saying anything. She didn’t want to make Christoffer angry. Sometimes when he bathed her they lay on the bathroom floor like they had that first time and he licked her until she came while she sucked his cock. Christoffer never came in her mouth.
“Don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not, but I can’t interfere. I don’t know what would happen if I did, and it won’t do either of us any good if I’m locked in here with you.”
They were quiet, Christoffer stroking her side and back, the touch not arousing but comforting. He grabbed a jar of lotion and slipped his finger under the edges of the mask, soothing skin that was raw from the constant contact.
“I’m obedient, aren’t I?” Mirela asked when he was done.
“Yes, you are now. You’re very obedient. You just need to keep being obedient and soon he’ll take you out.”
“What if this is all I have, for the rest of my life? I would rather die than live like this for years, always hoping to fly again.”
“I’m sure it won’t be like that.” Christoffer’s words were hollow, as if he wasn’t sure they were true.
“I have not even seen the sky since coming here. Is it still blue?”
It was a ridiculous question but he didn’t say that. Instead he painted a picture with words of a blue sky and tall green trees.
Outside the room, William leaned against the wall, sick from what he’d just heard. Hate her? He loved her. Punishment? He’d meant the chains to keep her aroused until he returned.
William left, running down the stairs but not out to the stables. He went to his study, sitting in his chair with his head in his hands. My God, what had he done?
He was torturing that poor girl. His need to master her, his own attraction to her in bondage had blinded him to the real hurt he was causing. Jesus, had she really not seen the sun since the day she came? That seemed lifetimes ago.
He’d been so wrapped up in the pageantry of training her he’d lost sight of why he was doing it. He placed his hand on his cheek. The bandage was off, the stitches dissolved and, thanks to faithful application of scar reduction cream every night he had an ever fading red line down his cheek.
Much as he disliked having his face—one he’d become very accustomed to over the past thirty-eight years—changed, the scar made him look rather tough. She’d paid a very steep price for her actions. For him it had long ago stopped being about punishment, it had been about pleasure—their pleasure. But for her it was torture punctuated by intimacy that only made the isolation the rest of the time more pronounced.
He’d tasked Christoffer with caring for her, assuming that the wolf was simply seeing to her physical needs, but it seemed that Christoffer was doing his best to control the emotional damage William was inflicting.
He likes keeping a caged animal as a pet.
What had he done?
*
Exhausted from sobbing, Mirela fell asleep in Christoffer’s arms. When she awoke she was alone. She was still chained, but now she was numb to it. She didn’t care anymore.
The door opened—the key in the lock must have been what woke her. The footsteps were William’s.
Be obedient, make him happy. He will let
you fly.
He’ll never let me fly. I will die in this room, my eyes dead like those of a bat.
When his hand touched hers she chirped out, “Hello, Master,” on reflex.
“Hello, Mirela.”
He hadn’t used her name in a long time.
When she was loose Mirela slid off the bed and stood, legs wobbly. She waited for his command. Silence.
It was then she remembered she was in trouble. Fresh tears filled her eyes and tightened her throat. Hoping to forestall whatever it was, she dropped to her knees and started crawling toward his chair.
“Mirela, stand.”
His voice didn’t come from his chair and her belly clenched in fear. Where was Christoffer? She didn’t want to be alone with William.
His hands were on her shoulders, rubbing her upper arms. “I have something very important to say.”
“Yes, Master.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mirela cocked her head to the side. “Master?”
His hands moved to her neck, tracing the collar. “You may not believe this, but I care for you, very deeply.” There was a tug at the chains running down from the hood. “I was so wrapped up in how much I liked having you here, like this,” his fingers brushed the hood, tracing the straps back through her hair to the buckle, “I forgot everything else. I didn’t realize, didn’t want to realize, how much you were suffering.”
His fingers worked the straps—stiff from water exposure—free of the buckle.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated as the mask slipped from her face.
Mirela stumbled back, trembling hands pressing to eyes that felt glued closed. She sank to her knees. What if her eyesight was gone, dead from lack of use? She would kill herself—a blind falcon had no reason to live.
She rubbed her eyes, breaking off the dried tears that held her lashes together. Cupping her hands over her eyes, she slowly opened them.
One finger at a time, she peeled her hands away.
And nearly wept with joy when she could see the carpet she knelt on.
“Blue, green, pink,” she whispered, touching the colors as she spoke them. The light came from a single lamp, but it was painfully bright. Squinting, she looked up.
