Trinkets Read online

  “I see you like to paint naked women,” she said as she strolled the room. It was lit with skylights, and a golden afternoon light streamed through them, casting shadows on the sensuous works of art.

  “I do, just as I’ll paint you.” He watched her—as beams of light hit her golden hair and she squinted because she couldn’t see. As she reached toward one painting, gingerly placing her hand on the oils, her small skirt rode up her thigh. How utterly innocent she was of her sensuous grace.

  “You’ll paint me, so I can be another picture on your wall?” she asked, head cutely cocked.

  “If that’s want I want.”

  She smiled at him flirtatiously and turned away.

  “Sit down on the bed,” he directed her toward the corner of the room, to the bed waiting for Tessa, resting like a throne on a foot high platform, covered in silky cream-colored sheets, now haphazardly strew over the top. The “just fucked” looked aroused her. Around the bed, a rose colored curtain draped it like a stage, the soft folds descending from the ceiling to the floor. Directly under skylights, the bed was bathed in the sumptuous sunshine that blinded her eyes. Giving up attempts trying to see his face, she sat on the edge of the bed, prim as a schoolgirl while Miles pulled out an easel, a sketch book and charcoal.

  “You’re going to sketch me while I sit?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered, “I’m going to sketch you while you masturbate.”

  Hearing the amazing order, she moved into the shadows so she could see his expression. Her own blue eyes widened gleefully. “You want me to play with myself?”

  “Yes.”

  It was so easy to leave her tongue-tied—though it was from excitement, not fear. How intriguing. The idea of posing as his model was intriguing enough, but this was even more titillating. Kicking off her shoes, she reclined back against the pillows that covered one side of the mattress, then coquettishly pulled up her skirt. “You want me to take it off?” she asked, referring to the skirt.

  “No, I like it better as it is now.”

  “And that’s what you want—a pornographic painting?” she wondered aloud.

  “That’s all I do,” he informed her. “But, no paint yet, these are just sketches. Now play with yourself.”

  Eyes fixed on the artist, a blush on reddening her pale cheeks, Tessa pulled aside her panties with her fingers.

  “Take them off,” Miles ordered brusquely.

  Giggling nervously, Tessa pulled the tiny garment down and tossed it to the floor, leaving her cunt bare and vulnerable to his eyes.

  “No more panties, Tessa,” he informed her.

  “Never?”

  “Never,” he confirmed, and he resumed his work, laying charcoal strokes vigorously across his sketchpad.

  The exposed triangle of Tessa’s pussy moistened as she began to play, a layer of soft dew coating the neatly-groomed golden hair. As she watched Miles’ hand move across the blank sheet of paper, her fingers slipped between her plump labia, finding the center of her sex engorged with blood and sensitive. Using both hands she spread her pussy wide, two fingers gliding into the hole, another pressed at her anus below. Closing her eyes, her head fell back against a pillow, as she pushed rapidly toward a climax. The warm sunshine, Miles’ eyes, exposure, the naughty exhibition had her at an edge in minutes.

  Miles could see her body agitation rise, “Don’t come yet,” his next command.

  She opened her eyes to flirt, her mouth drawing itself into a sensuous pout, her eyes dancing with sexual invitation. But he gave no indication that he found the tease pleasing. Miles’ work was sacred, silent, serious seconds of studious activity. Did he enjoy the seduction, or not? He wouldn’t say.

  Instants, strokes, a breath, release and she fell quite naturally over the edge…

  “I think we need a break,” he said, to interrupt the miraculous end.

  No! Her mind screamed otherwise, even as she jerked her playing hand away. “Sir, please,” she tried to counter him.

  “No,” he snapped. He turned away from her and washed his smudged hands in a sink by the wall.

  Rising from the bed, Tessa strolled to his side and pressed herself against him, one leg wrapping around him. “May I see the picture?” she asked.

  Shaking himself free of her, ignoring her attempts to woo him to bed, he turned back to the easel, showing her the remarkable likeness of the slut—hands in her cunt, mouth exuding desire.

  “This one’s finished,” he said, as he wiped his hand on a towel. “You are a nasty little tart,” he added.

  She had to agree that he’d captured the essence of a sexual tease. “You plan to do another today?” she asked.

  “Several,” he answered. “But I intend to punish you first.”

  Her body reacted to the word as if an electrical current had just run up her back. “Punishing me? You’re fulfilling your promise of the other day?”

  “I said I would.”

  Her body fluttered, excitement and fear pouring through her in equal volume. The desire to flee and the desire to be consumed equal companions in her nervous form.

  Yet, she didn’t have time to respond. Miles took her hand, leading her to a steamer trunk on the far side of the room. As he opened the lid, Tessa gazed in morbid fascination at an array of whips and paddles and leather thongs. There were chains and clamps and strange devices Tessa had never seen before. Miles removed the first tray of implements to reveal more beneath. Again there were whips and paddles of ruthless design. On top of them all was a collar with a leash attached, which she was sure was for her. Instead, Miles pulled a strange looking leather implement from the bottom of the trunk.

  “This one,” he said, gripping the handle. Two-dozen soft leather strips, nearly eighteen inches long were bundled together, braided into a heavy handle. “It’s more mild than you might think,” he told her.

  Tessa viewed the implement in silence.

  Turning back to the trunk, Miles pulled out a second implement. “And this one,” he said. Tessa stared at the nasty thing, at the long, lean shaft that ended with a flexible tasseled end, she guessed a buggy whip.

  “The thongs will warm your backside with a slow burning fire, but this will mark you.” Tessa shivered looking from the whip to Miles and back to the whip again. Lifelong fantasies surfaced in her imagination, thoughts of woodsheds, razor strops and bending over chairs to submit to punishment. Her anxiousness, desire and fear crescendoed.

  “I’ve always dreamed of this,” she whispered her confession.

  “I know,” he said, eyes seeming to rip deeply toward her soul.

  She smiled self-consciously. Such a foolish thing to say—that she’d dreamed of being whipped. It was a wholly witless admission; but it was so true. Any protest was squelched without a prayer. Besides, protesting would be foolish with Miles’ intention was clear. Being whipped was unavoidable.

  “To the podium,” he ordered her.

  Tessa scrambled quickly toward the bed, waiting as Miles sauntered forward, both implements hanging from his left hand.

  “Remove your blouse,” he ordered. On the surface he was calm; but his eyes gleamed with fire, a quickened passion fueling his purpose.

  The last button undone, Tessa’s blouse slipped from her shoulders to the floor.

  “And the bra,” he added.

  Tessa unhooked the lacy piece, letting it fall away.

  With her torso naked, Miles viewed her breasts—so perfectly formed, well rounded, jiggling erotically when she moved. Her nipples stood at attention, two hard knots of mauve pink flesh, gleaming with gold. He was reminded of how he wanted to sketch her next, this view a simple statement of lust. He wanted chains dangling from each nipple, tickling the skin below—though that was for another time. For now, he had something far different in mind.

  “Take off your skirt,” he said.

  The skirt unzipped and pushed to the floor, she was naked excerpt for her garter-belt and stockings.

  “Craw
l on the bed, on your hands and knees.” She did. “Now part your legs, and lower your head and chest to the bed.” Her head pounding, heart thumping loudly and methodical, hands sweating, thighs quivering, Tessa followed the order, giving this master of the moment a complete view of her naked, private regions.

  The effect was stunning. As Miles inspected her opened cunt, the puckering rear hole, and her two pert ass cheeks waving at him in the tepid air, he wondered just how long her fanny would be so brashly beckoning him, when it was crimson from a rash of punishing blows. He snickered to himself as his mind quickly drew the picture of her distress and his cock began to swell with excitement.

  “Legs wider,” Miles ordered gruffly.

  Catching a glimpse of his face from the corner of her eye, she trembling seeing how his eyes gleamed with a villainous fire. The two awesome implements—thong flogger and buggy whip—were lying on the chair behind him.

  Moving into her exposed backside, he reached out to massage her ass.

  “How often has this flesh been punished?” he asked.

  “Never,” Tessa replied meekly.

  “Never, never spanked at all.” He was astounded.

  “Just slapped a few times, but never punished,” she answered.

  “No whip, or belt, or paddle?”

  “A riding crop—once during sex. But that was very brief.”

  “Too bad you’ve been denied such pleasures; your psyche and your ass are made for punishment.”

  Her cunt was damp and pungent; it couldn’t have been more ready for sex. But there was a greater need now than simple sex. The feel of his flogger, the sting of his buggy whip, the desire for punishment demanded attention.

  “You’re faltering at Maya’s salon is costing you today, but be assured, my little submissive, I will punish you whenever I like, simply because it pleases me.” He chuckled darkly. “You have no idea how much this pleases me—but I think it’s fair to say that you have no idea how much this will please you, too.”

  His hand drew back, but she saw no more. In a split second, a biting sting suddenly ripped through her rear flesh, and she collapsed forward in surprise.

  “Get up, Tessa, and don’t fall again,” he advised her sternly.

  She struggled to rise, knowing another blast would soon descend. Yet the pain was bizarrely pleasurable and she wanted more.

  He whipped her again, the second blow landing squarely in the center of her ass. Then in a steady rain of blows, the thongs from the flogger covered her entire ass end, extending themselves around her hips, above to her lower back, and down the to sensitive center of her sex, where the bite stung most.

  “Oh my god!” she gasped in a breathy voice, while she wiggled her rear as he she were asking for more.

  More strokes descended, each one with mounting force. No pausing, no breaks, a measured rhythm of increasing fire. A warm, dull, pleasing ache gradually rose in substance on the surface of her bottom, until she felt her backside afire with heat. As the beating continued, the impact of the two-dozen thongs whipping against her rear became more acute, and soon Tessa’s cries were less sensuous and more crazed.

  “You’ll get used to this pain,” he told her. “You’ll want it, ask for it, beg for it,” he assured her in his even mellow voice. To look at her wriggling derriere was a breath-taking picture, a picture so obscene that his body quaked with lust. He wanted fuck her then—forget his scheme and explode into her cunt; but he wasn’t the kind of man to deviate from his plans. He continued on, until she was in tears and sobbing.

  But finally pausing to let her catch her breath, the moment only increased her desire, warmth flooded through her being and she found herself hoping he’d start again. She began to wiggle her behind for him, a taunting tease he would not ignore.

  “You want more, little bitch?” he asked.

  “Oh no, no please,” she objected, sounding truly distressed.

  But he knew better. His mind was inside hers, understanding her nature, her desire for punishment the way he understood other submissive women. Letting loose with another barrage of blows, he had her howling and miserable.

  “Oh god no, no more please,” she wailed. This time, the cuts from the whip burned fiercely, especially when one thong would catch on her cunt and she would shriek. But no matter how woefully she cried, Miles was not persuaded her pitiful wails.

  When he finally put down the flogger, Tessa tried to rise, but he pushed back against the bed again; his hand in rapid fire motion slapping her where the whip had just made its excursion.

  “I didn’t tell you to get up,” he snapped.

  “But, please….”

  “Oh, we’re far from over, we’ve hardly scratched the surface of your tolerance for pain.”

  She gasped in agonized dismay, and watched as Miles picked up the buggy whip and struck her ass. Almost like an ancient English cane, it gleamed, the patent finish handle and shaft looking as ominous as Miles’ eyes. A sizzle replaced the “swoosh” of the thongs, and the buggy whip cracked against her skin.

  “Noooooooooo!” she bellowed, as the pain hit like knives.

  Striking her ass with impassive cool, his frigid eyes fixed on the impressive mark that burned into her skin as a thin red line. He cracked it again.

  “No, gawd! Aauuugh!” Her cry resonated in the steamy air.

  “Silence!” Miles roared. The buggy whip sliced the air again twice more, leaving his submissive rent with searing pain. During the next cuts, her cries quieted into soft sobs, which didn’t seem to irritate him the way her screams did—though it was difficult to bear this pain in any way, silent or screaming.

  After one biting cut, her body heaved to one side to escape the next, except that this one caught the side of her thigh, splitting her body with its sharp snap.

  “AAAAUUUGGGG NO!” her anguished wail rose.

  Miles replied with another vicious sizzle and crack. “That’s what you get for trying to avoid them, now quiet yourself!” he ordered. He cracked the buggy whip again and laid the next on.

  Tessa remained silent, though her tears were bathing the sheets below her eyes. When Miles was finished, eight distinct stripes rose from the flaming surface of her buttocks. She continued weeping long after he was done, as the pain died away, and even as she realized there was some strange satisfaction at the end of her ordeal. It made no sense at all.

  “To the mirror,” he ordered. Lying in the comforting cocoon of the silky sheets, she rolled over and stared at his peaceful expression. She expected him to be enraged, with a florid face, and flashing eyes; but he was calm. He gestured with his hand toward the mirror, beckoning her to follow, then turned away. Sitting quietly in his overstuffed easy chair, he opened a bottle of dark German beer to quench his thirst, and wait for her response.

  “To the mirror,” he finally prompted. “You’d better hurry before the marks fade and I have to redo my work.”

  At that comment, she bolted from bed—worried that he’d begin again with the buggy whip—and stared at her mussed reflection in a full-length, free-standing antique mirror. Capturing her recent anguish in its resplendent glory, the mirror revealed the glaring red lines on her ass cheeks and thighs, a perfect chronicle of her ordeal. She winced touching the roughed-up surface of her skin, and gawked speechless.

  “Feeling duly admonished, are we?” he asked. His voice, indeed his total bearing, seemed lighter than it had been all day.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “It will happen again, whenever I desire it, Tessa. Seeing you this way pleases me.”

  She nodded absently, still mesmerized by the stripes.

  “It pleases you too, doesn’t it?” He waited for a reply. “Be honest.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was faint.

  “I’ll be marking you again before you sleep tonight.”

  “I’ll be sleeping here?” she inquired.

  “For several days. You need to practice. Submissive though you are, the training will teach
you more clearly what you already know about yourself. Now, come here.”

  Quickly at his side, Tessa dropped to her knees between his legs, taking his erection in hands. Her mouth easily descended over the enormous head, and fondled it with her lips and tongue. He pressed his hands on either side of her head, and pushed her down, forcing her to swallow his shaft. She gagged and choked, then tried again, for a moment allowing nearly seven inches of the hefty muscle to slide down her throat.

  As she fondled his sagging mass of balls, her lips and tongue discovered the sensitive places that made him gasp and his hips squirm. Leaning back in his chair, he let her be slave to his rising demands until he was ready for her cunt. Then, he pulled her into his lap, where she squatted over the tumescent organ, and let it slide into her wet home. Her tongue made a sensuous journey around his lips, winding their way in and out of his mouth, almost as if she was pleasing a woman’s cunt.

  Grasping her rear cheeks, he hung on tightly, squeezing the bruised flesh with such deliberate force that the pain, once subsided, rose again. She groaned without protesting. Rocking on Miles’ cock quelled her discomfort, bouncing, half with the strength of her muscled thighs, and half on the strength of his arms moving her up and down. Her clit rubbed against his pants, igniting the fire at her strategic center.

  Miles jerked faster as he came, while Tessa squeezed his spewing prick as tightly as her muscles would allow.

  “Auuuuugh! Tessss,” he groaned from his inner depths, sensation tearing through his body, his voice reverberating in her ears.

  She ceased her grinding motions so that Miles could catch his breath, and to her delight, discovered that he hadn’t grown soft at all. Moving against him, she exploded into orgasm, squirming, writhing, grinding her pussy on his cock. “Yes, yes, oh yes, Oooo!” She spasmed. “Ooooh ahummm, yes.” Again and again. “Yes yes,” she murmured fitfully. She rocked joyously against him, burrowing down into his crotch until every spasm died away.

  Tessa fell against Miles’ chest, pressing her bare breast to his flesh for a first taste of his skin, his aroma, and the softness of his cheek. They remained locked in an exhausted embrace until Tessa’s aching legs became uncomfortable.