They cried together for a long time, Stefan on his knees beside the bed, clutching to Renee’s hand. His face was buried in the sheet, Renee’s free hand holding him against her breast. She cried too – deep racking sobs of sadness and guilt that seemed to tear within her body.
Finally she broke off and sniffed back tears, then wiped at her nose. It was such a fragile childlike gesture and Stefan felt his heart breaking all over again. He rose from his knees and kissed Renee gently on the forehead, and she cuddled herself against him, drawing comfort from the size and strength of his body.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Stefan asked gently.
For a long moment Renee stared blankly at the ceiling. Her lips trembled, and Stefan could feel the shudder all the way down to her fingers. She licked dry, cracked lips and said softly, “A deer…. or maybe a dog…. It was on the road. I swerved…”
Stefan squeezed her fingers a little tighter as if to will her to continue.
“The car went off the road… gravel… I lost control and…” her voice tailed off into a haunted wide-eyed silence.
Stefan smiled down at her, but the expression was all wrong. The smile quivered on his lips for just a moment and then slipped away. “I’ve just spoken to doctor Raynor. He says you’re going to be fine. There doesn’t appear to be any serious injuries. You might even be discharged tomorrow or the day after.”
She turned her head towards him, her face bloodless and white as alabaster, and she nodded slowly.
Renee looked very small and fragile in the bed with the crushing weight of sadness and despair upon her, and Stefan felt a great rush of tenderness wash over him. He wanted to hold her – shield her from the sadness, but he knew it was impossible. He searched for words, but he could not find them. Instead he said, “They have some more tests to run first, but once they come back clear, you will be discharged,” Stefan pressed on, trying to sound upbeat.
Renee nodded her head again. She was weak. Her hand within Stefan’s felt cool and listless. She looked carefully into Stefan’s face once more, this time her eyes searching.
Stefan looked different. Not dramatically so, but in subtle ways. The sharp lines of his features she thought once carved in stone were now suddenly blurred at the edges, as though eroded. And the dark pierce of his eyes had dulled, like a steel blade that had lost its edge. He looked older. He looked tired – not tired from lack of sleep – but the kind of weary tired that ached in the bones and robbed of vitality. And life.
He looked shattered.
The door swung open suddenly, and two hospital orderlies pushed a wheeled gurney into the room. They stood back respectfully for a moment, and then one of the men said with soft compassion, “I’m sorry, folks. We have some more x-rays to take and doctor Raynor want’s a scan re-done…”
Stefan nodded dully.
Renee reached up and tenderly traced the line of Stefan’s cheek with her finger. She shook her head slowly from side to side. Her eyes filled with fresh tears making them glisten, and a single drop spilled over the lid and clung to the long dark lashes.
“Stefan – I should never…. I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry…”
Stefan kissed Renee’s cheek softly, his expression tender and concerned. He lowered his hand and stroked the tangles of her hair. “My poor darling,” his lips formed the shape of the words soundlessly, but Renee’s face was cuddled to his chest so she did not see his mouth. Stefan drew a deep shuddering breath, and though his eyes were still hollow with anguish, he forced his tone to sound reassuring and comforting. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, his voice wavering until it broke. He swallowed hard, choking back more tears. “Don’t blame yourself. Don’t even think that way. It was fate, Renee,” he said, and suddenly the words in his mouth stung like broken shards of glass as he remembered bitterly what the doctor had said to him. “A cruel twist of fate.”
Ten.
There was a row of public telephones in the hospital foyer. Stefan’s feet felt leaden, his steps dragging. He went to the first phone and dialed Master Peter’s number.
The phone rang out, and then finally an answering machine clicked on. Stefan was relieved. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want sympathy.
He wanted to escape.
“Tink. Peter. This is Stefan. I have some dreadful news. Renee has been injured in a car accident. She is in Bishop’s Bridge hospital. Baby Storm is dead…” suddenly Stefan lost control for a moment so that there were just long seconds of muffled sobbing on the message before his voice came back again, rigid and stilted as he choked out the last few words. “Please come to the hospital as soon as you can. And Jeffrey is home alone. Can you attend to him?”
He dropped the phone back into its cradle and went towards the sliding doors.
Outside the night was cool. There was a breeze blowing; strong enough to ruffle his hair and blow a piece of litter along the gutter like a tumbleweed. Stefan stared up at the sky. The moon was rising over the distant mountains and the first bright stars twinkled.
“Why me, God?” he cried out. “Why?”
* * *
Peter had converted a huge empty room at the rear of the homestead into a ‘Pleasure Room’. He had left the floor as polished timber boards, painted the walls black, and fitted heavy dark curtains over the windows so that the only light came from burning candles.
Tink followed him into the room, her head bowed in subdued obedience, but her light excited steps almost gave her away. She forced herself to walk more slowly. If her Master guessed that she was looking forward to being punished, he might refuse her.
She stood inside the room, her hands clasped behind her back, her legs spread, and waited quietly until Master Peter had closed the door behind them, before she slowly raised her face and stared blankly into his eyes.
Peter was a tall, solid man, broad-shouldered and deeply tanned. The muscles of his chest were clearly defined as if carved from stone. There was a tattoo of a leaping panther that rose up the length of his right shoulder, the big cat’s mouth open in a ferocious roar, it’s claws bared.
Tink shuddered; a delicious little thrill of anticipation. She was wearing just brief black panties, the lace rucked high into the cleft of her tight buttocks from where his fingers had been teasing between her legs throughout the day. Now, she was trembling with an urgent need to orgasm that felt like a heavy knot in the pit of her body, desperate to be unraveled and bring the relief that had been building within her for hours.
Master Peter went to the far wall and retrieved a leather handled flogger from a hook. He came back to where Tink stood, the expression on his handsome rugged face dark with menace, but the glitter in his eyes almost mischievous.
The flogger was hand-crafted, the long tails of the whip made from deer leather. It was a soft, supple whip, the leather most suitable for genital and breast whipping. Master Peter flicked his wrist and the whip’s tails snapped between Tink’s spread legs.
There was no sting, no pain. The flogger Peter had chosen was the softest in his collection, and the touch of the lash against Tink’s panties made her hips buckle. The leather felt like a caress, not a cut. She moaned, and then bit down hard on her lip to stifle the sound.
“You are to be punished,” Master Peter’s voice was a harsh growl. Tink nodded respectfully.
He was wearing just blue jeans, and Tink’s eyes were drawn from the broad of Peter’s chest downwards, following the tight whorls of hair that ended abruptly at the denim waistband. Her eyes drifted lower to the thick press of his erection within the jeans.
Then suddenly the whip lashed out again, this time stroking across the upcurved shape of her small pointed breasts. She gasped – not in shock, but surprise.
“Eyes on my face, slave!” Master Peter hissed.
Tink’s eyes came back up reluctantly.
“Do you know why you are being punished?”
“Yes,” Tink said, and suddenly she pretend
ed to make her tone shameful. “Because I spilled some of your seed.”
Earlier in the day Peter had ordered her to her knees and thrust himself between her open lips until he had groaned and filled her mouth with the white-hot force of his release. Deliberately, Tink had allowed a little to spill from the corner of her mouth so that it trickled down her chin. She had made sure Peter noticed her error.
Now, as punishment, she was to receive the flogger – and secretly Tink was delighted. “I’m sorry, Master Peter,” she lied, and then had to look away quickly before he noticed the aroused glitter in her eyes. “It won’t happen again.”
Until the next time I am aching to be punished.
Master Peter led her to a sinister structure that stood in the middle of the floor. It was a flogging triangle; three ceiling-high timber beams bolted together. From where the beams joined hung silken ropes dangling from the top of the tripod.
Tink masked her excitement with an expression of nervousness. Peter gazed at her impassively. He tied her hands together high above her head with the silken ropes, and then used the handle of the flogger to part her legs until they were spread wide, her feet flat on the cold floor. She peered over her shoulder at him, with her curly blonde hair tumbling down across the smooth pale skin of her shoulders. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, secretly delighted with the way she was able to make her voice sound tremulous. “Please don’t punish me. I’ll be good from now on. I promise!”
Master Peter smiled; a slow menacing expression as he paced around the triangle, studying her slim body in the candlelight. She was the most perfect woman he had ever seen. Not only was she remarkably beautiful, but she had the slim body of an athlete, finely toned legs and thighs, and sweetly shaped breasts that were firm and elastic to his touch. He circled her leisurely, stopping to rub his hand over the rounded swell of her bottom until she thrust her hips back to meet his fingers.
She was nineteen years old, and the perfect blend of angelic innocence and wickedly sensual sexiness.
“You have been sentenced to six lashes of the flogger for failing to please your Master,” Peter said. His voice was suddenly stern and harsh. With theatrical slowness he flicked the tails of the flogger loose so that they splayed out from the butt of the whip. Tink whimpered with suitable alarm, and then made a half-hearted effort to break free of her bonds.
But not too great an effort.
She knew the restraints were not tied tightly, and she didn’t actually want to escape. She just wanted it to look like she was struggling enough to appear convincing.
Then suddenly she didn’t need to act any more. Peter swished the flogger, and the tails of leather slapped hard enough against her thigh to get her attention.
“This is your punishment for being disobedient,” Peter reminded her. “You are my sexy whore, and I expect you to serve me with dedication and devotion.”
“Yes, Master,” Tink nodded.
He slashed the whip through the air. It made a soft cracking sound as it hissed against one of the sturdy timber legs of the tripod.
“Count!” Peter ordered.
The first stroke fell against her breasts, leaving a dull red flush on her chest. The soft leather was like a nip on the silky skin of her breast, hardening her nipples instantly. Tink moaned softly and then breathed, “One.”
Master Peter circled behind her. Tink felt her body tense in delicious anticipation. Then the whip’s long strands were flailing against the firm cheek of her bottom, sending tingling jolts straight between her parted legs. Tink felt a warm rush of molten arousal dampen the bunched fabric between her panties. Her legs trembled, and she felt the pull of the silken ropes against her wrists as her legs threatened to fold beneath her. She was so aroused! The need at the core of her was a maddening ache, desperate to be touched. She clenched the muscles within her body, but it only seemed to heighten her frustration further.
“Two,” Tink said softly.
The rest of the lashes went between her parted thighs, each one flicked across her throbbing nub so that the cloth of her panties muffled the sensations, deepening Tink’s exasperation. Now there was pain, but it was the cramping ache of desire that had been teased and not released. She didn’t think she could take much more. She wanted to scream out at the top of her voice, “Please! Take me!” but she knew better than to risk it. If Master Peter knew how badly she wanted him, he could deprive her completely and leave her frustrated for days as further punishment. So she bit down hard on her lip and groaned aloud until at last Peter threw the whip down on the floor and stepped close behind her suspended body.
Tink heard the sound of his zipper being slowly lowered. Her legs were weak and shaking. There was a fine sheen of sweat across her back, making the flawlessly smooth skin glisten. Then she felt her Master ripping at the thin lace of her panties. The cloth fell away, and cool night air soothed the burning heat of her sex.
Tink closed her eyes and prayed relief would come soon.
She felt Master Peter’s hands on her bottom, easing her legs further apart, and then two of his fingers thrust suddenly inside her. She was so wet that they filled her easily, slipping deep inside so that her body clamped with instinctive desperation around them.
The sensation lasted just a few moments, and then his fingers slid from within her. She groaned again, this time louder. Master Peter reached around her body and held his glistening fingers up to her open mouth. Tink sucked hungrily, and at that very moment of her distraction, Master Peter thrust his erect hardness between the flaring wet folds of her aching sex.
Tink cried out around his fingers, a shout of sheer joy and relief as she felt the long thick length of him slide all the way up inside her. She tried to keep her balance, but his hips were thrusting, so that she hung suspended, unable to do anything other than accept each heavy plunge and pray that he would give her the release she craved. She screwed her eyes tightly shut, and in the darkness her mind filled suddenly with an explosion of erotic fantasies, priming her excitement, and drawing her closer to the edge of an orgasm.
Master Peter reached down to her breasts, squeezing the nipples between his strong fingers as he continued to take her from behind. He felt each impaling push of his hips send ripples and shudders through her body like quaking tremors. He grunted. His skin was on fire. He could feel sweat running down his back. He felt the hardness of himself swelling in size.
Peter felt Tink’s body begin to undulate, and he grabbed at her hips, clamping his fingers into the firm flesh to restrain her. She was standing on tiptoes, beginning to writhe in orgasm, and he felt the muscles deep within her body seize tight around his shaft. The grip was fierce and firm, seeming to draw him deeper into her, until suddenly he too was hurled over the edge of release.
They orgasmed together, a riot of strangled cries of pleasure and desperate gasps for breath. Tink’s release crushed every ounce of energy from her body, leaving her hanging weak and ragged against the silken bonds. Peter restrained her, holding himself rigid inside her until the last shudders of his own explosion had finally subsided. They were like survivors of some shocking disaster, wrung out and exhausted, swept away to the dark places of their minds with only each other to cling to until the joy finally faded and slowly their senses returned.
It was a long time before Peter and Tink emerged from the Pleasure Room. Tink’s eyes sparkled and there was a contented, weary grin on her face. She was naked, and Peter sent her to shower.
On the way to the bathroom she noticed a red light on the answering machine. She thumbed the button and listened.
The blood began to drain away from her face.
Tink felt a black veil flicker across her eyes. She swayed on her feet for a moment and then her vision cleared as the recorded words echoed in her ears. She felt an ice-cold hand clutch at her heart. She screamed out to Peter, and then threw her hands up to her mouth and began to cry.
Eleven.
Stefan paused in the hospital driv
eway, revving the engine of the car, staring at the road before him. To the left was an empty home and desolate loneliness. To the right was….
…was escape.
He felt the rage come back upon him, mingled with a sense of his own reckless loathing – and guilt. He was angry, but there was no one to hate – and Stefan didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to deal with the emotions. Without some way to react, someone to fight against or something to do, he was drowning in emotional depths he had never learned to master.
He couldn’t face an empty house. He couldn’t deal with the loss and the grief.
He crunched the car into gear, spun the wheel hard and stomped heavily on the accelerator.
The car leaped forward in a billowing cloud of blue smoke and raced away into the night.
Twelve.
It was over an hour’s drive from their farm outside Drakesburg to the hospital, and Peter drove with grim determination. Tink sat silent and pale in the passenger seat. She saw the turnoff to Stefan and Renee’s estate flash by, and then Peter was wrestling with the car as he set the vehicle into the tight twisting bends that wound down towards Bishop’s Bridge.
They arrived at the hospital late; visiting hours for the evening were ending. Peter drew doctor Raynor aside and spoke to the man earnestly and quietly for several minutes and then came back, reaching for Tink’s tiny hand.
“We’ve got thirty minutes before they kick us out,” he said. “I told the doctor you were Renee’s sister.”
Renee was sitting up in the bed when Peter and Tink entered room 103.
Tink felt her breath jam in her throat. Renee’s face was darkly bruised and swollen. Her skin was pale, her hair a tangle against the crisp white hospital pillow. Her eyes looked empty and vacant. Tink’s smile trembled on her lips. She dashed to the bed and threw herself across the mattress, taking Renee in a careful, emotional embrace.
Her Master's Kiss 4 (Erotic Romance) Page 4
