by Tessa Wanton
Chapter Three
The look of terror and panic in her eyes was delectable. He could feel her inner struggle, the surprise at having her airway so calmly and deliberately taken from her. Confusion and what looked like pleading flickered in her eyes as her reflexive breathing instinct kicked in. Little hiccups formed in her throat as she struggled against his hand, desperation beginning to emerge through the pleading. Charles couldn’t stop a smile from forming on his lips as he admired how valiantly she endured; she didn’t move, she just silently screamed in her mind, facing down every fight or flight instinct that was clamoring for escape. Her trust in him made him so proud, there is no Dom luckier than me he thought as he held for just a few more seconds before allowing her to breathe again. She gasped loudly as he released her but still held position, and as he considered her predicament thoughtfully, he noted that her arms must surely be starting to ache by now. Another task for her to endure, he did like to pile task upon task; it was always interesting to see which task she prioritized during his testing. Judging by her recent reactions, her arms may have been aching indeed, but not significantly enough to take her thoughts away from impending suffocation. Good. He had certainly hit the level. She was definitely now in the zone of fear that would test her loyalty to him more than any pain could penetrate.
He watched his submissive quietly collecting herself and decided it was perhaps time to tease her with something more pleasurable for handling herself so well. Satisfied that she was safe, he turned and searched through his bag for the item he had in mind. Picking out a small, sable tipped artist’s paintbrush, he turned back to her and stood in her line of view. Running his thumb over the tip, he splayed the hairs and flicked them back and forth. Watching her reactions, the terror that had been displayed so evidently before had rematerialized quite clearly; the thought of what he could do with that brush was almost as horrific as suffocation. He chuckled as he wondered at the simple fact of which things struck horror in the hearts of people. The paintbrush was a logical choice for Charles, as he was an artist. Art was his first love and when he was younger, he had dreamed of becoming a painter, to document the beautiful and elegant things in life with the stroke of a brush. Such things were not to be for him however, Real men aren’t artists his parents had told him; get a real job or get used to living on the street. He had been cut to the core by their words, deeply ashamed and embarrassed by their constant rebuttals about his desired career, but he finally capitulated and followed the path that was considered acceptable and had ended up where he was now. He had no regrets in all honesty, and if he had followed his dreams, he had no doubt that he would not be standing in front of this lovely trembling creature now. With money and position came power; his parents were definitely right about that. Assessing her silently, he thought that she would be a beautiful subject to paint, and thumbing the brush once more, he decided that he would do a nude portrait of her one day. But today his brush would be used for more obviously sensual means.
Reaching out in front of him he lightly touched the brush to her right nipple, twisting it around with a small flick of his wrist. She squirmed involuntarily within her bondage, but held as still as she could despite the fact he knew that her skin would be crawling. Teasing both of her nipples, flicking between the two, brushing and sweeping and oh so lightly tickling her engorged buds, her struggles to remain still were dissolving quickly as impulse forcefully wrested any self control she might have had from her grasp. Looking off to the left in thought, the silver glint of the blunt ended safety scissors he had used to release her nipples earlier caught his eye. Observing her carefully, he nodded to himself as he decided and reached out to apply them to her body for more mischief. Raising them to her left armpit, he thought he heard her whimpering as he made a quick stabbing movement, more for effect than any intent as the rounded end of the scissors actually made any first cut difficult. But he knew none of that mattered, she would not be able to discern any such detail through film-shrouded eyes. He smiled again and ripped a hole in the film with his fingernail and inserted the paintbrush to make contact with her delicate underarm. Swirling it around in a clockwise fashion, her whimpering turned to suppressed giggles, a sound that was music to his ears. Her gleeful laughter aroused him considerably; though he enjoyed all of her reactions, he particularly relished the deep, resonant laughter that flowed richly from her, unfettered and natural.
The difference between the exposure and the confinement of her delicate skin must have been absolute torture for her, and no doubt it would be getting quite warm in the numerous layers wrapped around her, so Charles set aside his brush and ran his hands over the taut plastic wrap. This simple everyday kitchen accessory enhanced her curves wonderfully. The cinch of her waist was just that tiny bit smaller than the average womanly shape and it added such ripeness to her hips that he couldn’t help but squeeze the soft fullness there. Inspecting her, exploring her, his hands searching her as if trying to find the answer to the ultimate question. It seemed that his hands on her were making her unsteady, as with each sweep across her, she swayed; her knees perhaps becoming weak? It had been long enough for her standing there now. Her arms would definitely be aching, and it would be kind to lay her down. Circling behind her, he gave her a light push in the small of her back and she tumbled face first onto the bed.
He watched as she shifted uncomfortably; he surmised that for the relief she was now feeling in her arms, other aches and difficulties were mounting elsewhere. He tapped the paintbrush thoughtfully as he observed her trying to move so minutely that she thought he might not notice; such a charming girl. How long before she must turn her head lest the duvet close the hole in the wrap at her face? Watching and waiting, he smiled when she finally shifted to the right with an imperceptible whimper – good girl. She had taken a little while to figure it out, but the condensation from her breath on the inside of the plastic wrap belied the struggle that she had endured in those few moments of realization. His attention followed the enhanced contours of her body, bound so tightly – the clear plastic constricting here and there, and pushing flesh upwards and outwards so pleasingly, just as he had planned as he had sculpted her with his wrapping. The swell of her hips was so lusciously alluring; it increased his desire to feel himself inside her. It was becoming more and more difficult to resist this young woman, which troubled him greatly as he had always been the paragon of self-control. It was the trait that set him above so many others in his position. It always gave him the edge where his rivals became unduly passionate. He always kept his head; he always out-maneuvered them; logic and steady thinking always won over emotion. “Focus Charles,” he murmured in the recesses of his mind, “You lose yourself now and this all ends. You have no right doing this if you can’t separate your head from your cock.”
Setting his jaw, he steeled his mind to the temptation lying prone in front of him; unbuckling his belt with frustration, he quashed the urge to rip the film and just take her then and there. Doubling it over, he gripped both ends and then pulled them sharply outwards, the two strips of leather snapping loudly together as they made contact. He enjoyed how she jumped and then froze silently, obviously wondering what the hell he was doing; it almost looked like she was holding her breath. Perhaps she was – perhaps just as well to prepare for the more difficult test he had in mind for later. Resting the doubled belt on her ass, he slid it across her, leaving her no doubt what was coming next. Raising it, he could see her clench her muscles in anticipation for the strike. “Relax,” he ordered calmly, and just as she did, he brought the belt down with an almighty crack. He had doubled the belt simply because the sound of it was infinitely more terrifying than the actual pain of the act. Also, the film would act as a significant barrier to soften the blow. It was a test of trust, as all things were in his use of her.
He felt the rush of triumph as she lay there limply allowing him to thrash her, each time harder, but of course no marks would be left despite the slight reddening that had
appeared. Further elation sped the beat of his heart as he noted with a painful aching that condensation had formed on the film around the top of her legs. She was dripping wet, extremely so, and he groaned as he struggled with himself yet again. For godsake man – she’s just a woman! he thought. But what a woman! She made him feel things he had never thought possible, and for the second time that day, he felt like he was losing control. Losing himself in the sensations of her.
The last time he had felt that pervading loss of control was many years before when his wife had bewitched him. They had started out as young lovers, his high sex drive matched by her voracious appetites. They had had a whirlwind romance and married when she was twenty-two and he was twenty-three. They had three lovely children before they were thirty, and had had a blissful life until the children left home, and then she had become depressed. Clinical depression ensued, and the medication the psychologists supplied stripped her of her sex drive. She tried many different types in the hope that one would give her back what she had lost, but instead she became almost catatonic to him. Nothing he did roused or moved her in any way, and when he had been propositioned by the young girl in the hotel so many years ago, he finally allowed himself release from the celibate torture and he strayed.
He was not in an open relationship like he had told Tessa, but he was having an affair with her. Not that it was an affair in the traditional sense. He still loved his wife very much; he made sure that he kept his real identity very safe, and only allowed knowledge to those whom he could trust. And in the Dominant/submissive lifestyle, his submissives very rarely knew who he was. They were never allowed into his world, never knew what his company was, never knew his real name in some cases. Which was why he was now struggling with the feelings that this girl elicited within him, and she was a girl to him – only a few years older than his children. He was falling for her, in fact, he already had, and today the realization of his feelings shook the foundations of his life like an earthquake.
Looking to the belt in his right hand, he was disturbed to see he was trembling. What the hell was happening to him? He was acting like a love struck teenager, not a full-grown man merely ten years from retirement. He threw the offending belt angrily to the side and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Enough he concluded, and clenched his self-control within his will of iron. Placing the chair at the foot of the bed, he dropped to one knee and lifted her bound legs onto it to support her lower back; it must have been sore by now, having her legs hanging awkwardly from the edge of the bed. Bending them at the knees, her nylon-clad soles pointed straight up. Reading his mind, she curled and scrunched her toes in anticipation of the next sweet torture; he would sate his frustration making her squirm and whimper by painting the designs of his heart on her sensitive soles.
Chapter Four
Using the rounded handle he dragged down the arch of her wrinkled soles; her thrashing and struggling seemed fitting for the pain she was now causing him. Concentrating on sliding it in between her toes, her moans and squeals were like music to his ears. He wanted to make her suffer – she had made him fall for her; she had done this to him. She – had been the one to make Charles Black lose control. Not some high flying, top class lawyer or business adversary, but a young, naive, insecure PA. Ridiculous. The frustrated rage building within him irritated him even more, but it was too late to stem now, the throbbing of his engorged member demanded release. Perhaps it would even clear his head from the dark cloud that enshrouded his logical thoughts. Rolling her over onto her back so that she was fully on the bed now, there was no way he was going to wait to free her legs, he sat on her chest and unzipped himself. Pulling his cock through the fly of his boxers, the glistening of his turgid purple head shone with urgent need. Rising slightly onto his knees, he lined himself up with the hole in the thin plastic covering, and looked down at her serene face. So peaceful: deep, oh so deep in subspace, oblivious to the swirling loss of control that he was experiencing, her eyes closed, submitting to his will. Gritting his teeth he plunged fully into her mouth.
She gagged immediately as he hit the back of her throat, something he would usually punish her for, but now, he was punishing her for being alive, for being the one to make him lose control. She did not open her eyes as he held himself inside her, feeling her throat convulsing around him, struggling, choking, gagging. Pulling out momentarily while she gasped for air, he kept his attention locked on her rose tinted cheeks, long black eyelashes, blood red lips – seeing her like that, veiled in crystal plastic gave him a fleeting image of Snow White, choked on a poisoned apple, lying in her casket. But his Tess wasn’t going to be choked on an apple. She would choke on him until she swallowed every last drop. Pounding into her throat, his angle allowed him to enter her deeply every time, and she was powerless to stop him. Not that she tried; she simply remained still, with the odd gurgling sound as her saliva ran down her cheeks and neck into her hair with each full withdrawal and thrust from him. The pressure building within him was soon ready for liberation, and with one last, forceful and deep invasion, he released six strong pulses of his seed into her.
Panting with exertion, the look of pure delight on her face disturbed him. He had just completely lost control, and yet she had enjoyed it – oblivious to the danger that could have been done from his rage. Still trembling, he shakily climbed from on top of her, tucking himself away without bothering to wipe himself clean. Shame pricked his conscience at the thought of what he had done, but now was not the time for regrets and criticism, he had the girl he loved deep in subspace, bound and waiting for his pleasure. And her pleasure was his pleasure. This scene had to be played out. Moving down her legs, he grasped the bottom of the saran wrap at her ankles and ripped it apart, tearing it full to her knees with one tug. Flexing his hands again, he tore it further up to her waist, closing his eyes momentarily to fully enjoy the aroma of her excitement that greeted his nostrils. Stroking her freed thighs tenderly, he gently parted them, indicating for her to open them wide for him. Holding herself open to his intentions, he left her momentarily and quickly retrieved a mini finger vibrator, flicking it on and off to check it was working. Kneeling between her inviting thighs, he switched the vibrator on and teased it to her protruding clitoris. As she jerked involuntarily, he held it fast to her. Feeling her eyes enquiring of him, he met her silent question with a half smile and continued his torture of her. “Do not come girl.” He said simply and looked back down to his task.
He heard her whimper in the sweet agony of it, picturing her biting her lip in that excruciatingly delicious fashion of hers. Her labored breathing belied her vain control of her tortured body. He was going to force an orgasm from her however hard she tried to keep her composure. She had forced him to lose control; it was only fair he gain recompense for that. It would be an interesting battle however, as he had trained her from the very beginning to “edge” for him, asking her to masturbate right to the very verge of climax and then stop. Sometimes he would have her edge over and over within a day, never allowing that climax until the evening. He would always allow it though, as he relished the thought of her orgasm – so eagerly awaited; the thought of her juices gushing for him, her mind focused on him through her orders of the day. He knew it was his face she saw when she toppled over the edge into the oblivion of forbidden pleasure. Holding the viciously buzzing implement gently to her swollen nub, the keening sound emitted from her writhing body announced her difficulties in holding off the imminent onslaught of delight. Panting heavily, she looked at him again, and he raised his eyebrows shaking his head slowly in response, pursing his lips to demonstrate his disapproval.
Her beautiful features contorted into an expression of pain, and Charles felt the bitter taste of guilt. He was punishing her for his own shortcomings. All she had done was submit to him, fulfill his every desire to the letter – yes, sometimes she failed, but only in small, insignificant ways, and she always took her punishment with elegance and grace. He never set her up to fail
; her failure always brought her so much personal flagellation, and this was not right to have her fail this time for his own personal gratification. That wasn’t how he did things. He had committed himself to this line of action however, and he reminded himself that his duty of care was to her. He had committed to protect and nurture her, as she had committed her entire self to him. Sighing with regret for shame of his lost self-control, he looked back to Tessa and opened his mouth to speak. His throat dry with disappointment in himself, his voice cracked as he growled in a low voice, “Come for me girl, come for your Master.”
Chapter Five
Climaxing hard, Tessa let out a feral moan. She was dazed, aching, uncomfortable and confused by His actions. The afternoon had started so tenderly, so gently, and then He had seemed to change: becoming cruel, torturing her, and the way He had taken her throat had been rough to the point of punishment. Every time she had taken a peek at Him, His face had been His usual expressionless visage, but there was more. His lips had been tightly pressed together into a line and if she hadn’t known Him better, she would have thought that He was contemplating many painful horrors to inflict on her. Thankfully He hadn’t. Well, at times, she thought that He had been about to, but then, He always did seem to enjoy toying with her mind. Suddenly her attention was brought back to Him, and doubts nagged at the edge of her consciousness again. Trying to see what He was doing between her legs, she strained her neck to improve her view. In His right hand he was holding a smaller version of the suction syringes He had used on her nipples previously. Watching as He applied it underneath her clitoral hood, He pressed momentarily and started to suck her clitoris into the infernal device.
