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“Why’s that?”
“I want you totally devoted to me,” she said innocently.
“And I am. Completely.” He was totally sincere. “Remember, Martine is not you.”
“I know that.” She tried to smile.
“Then trust what we have together, little captive.” He patted her on her bare, bruised rear.
“I wish I had,” she confessed.
“I would think so. And it’s too bad. Now, you’ll just have to wait for another time.”
“Another time?”
“For sex,” he explained. He looked down at her exposed womanhood.
With her skirt still around her waist Tessa gazed down at her cunt, at the curly hair, and the soft swell where it made a mound full enough for Miles to grab with his hand. He looked as if he wanted to change his mind, and for an instant, she was sure he’d screw her. But instead, he simply ran his hands through her pubic hair. “I think I’ll have you shave this soon,” he informed her. “The hair will become an obstruction to other things. As soft as it is to touch, what’s underneath is even softer.” He pulled at her hair as he made his point.
“You want me shave it for next time?” Tessa asked.
“No, not yet. When I tell you. Give you something to think about. Before I’m finished with you, love, your body will tell all the world what you are.”
The very idea boggled her mind. She couldn’t even guess his thoughts, though she was particularly curious about one comment, “You’re planning to “finish” with me, as if I’m some project?”
He smiled. “No, my darling, there’s no real finishing, you can be certain of that. If nothing else, whipping your delicious body will keep me satisfied for a very long time. And on that account, we’ve only begun to discover your limits.”
His implications were threatening. But he was also reassuring. She couldn’t imagine losing him to Martine, or anyone else for that matter. She couldn’t imagine losing the wildness, and the fine freedom he gave her each time they were together.
“Think!” he said again. He pulled at her pubic hair with a fierce tug, as if he were going to pull it off. “Imagine how it might feel to have your naked cunt take the whip.”
She cringed. Yet her eyes were fixed on him, and his adoring gaze kept her from letting the horror of his designs unnerve her. Wrapped in his embrace, she could only feel protected and cared for.
He yanked at the thong panties, still drawn up inside her, the material burning into her the way the cuts had burned. He pulled a pocket knife from his pants and cut them free, then pocketed the useless piece of cloth, as if she didn’t trust her with them.
“Three days,” he said, making quick work of the knots that still held her hands bound behind her. “The car will come by for you after work”
Then, he was gone.
Her bottom ached. The were apt reminders of his dominance over her. Her skirt rubbed against them and with every step she wanted to wince. What could he possibly do more except wield his passions across her more tender places?
Chapter Eight
Tessa was dropped at the door of Mile’s garret on Friday night. His limousine and driver had been in front of the museum waiting for her when she left that afternoon. No Miles, just his aide, ready to whisk her away into another unknown.
She wondered how long this interlude from the real world would last, if she wouldn’t rather this be her entire world, reveling in bondage, surrendering to Miles’ capricious schemes. His odd carnival feast of lust made her tremble so, but she’d never been so satisfied with sex or her life.
For three days after his surprise visit to the museum, dizzying expectations wracked her brain. Her body was constantly hot, though there was little place to put her raging urges, since Miles still seemed more enamored with Martine than he was with her—at least when it came to having his own sexual needs satisfied. Martine went out with him two more times, leaving the apartment each night dressed whorishly, clothes barely covering
significant sexual body parts. Her ass had a splendid swish inside her tight skirts, while her breasts bobbed softly against the fabric of her stretchy tops.
“Do you think he’ll like it?” she asked Tessa, her wicked make-up and tousled hair were straight from the pages of a pornographic magazine.
“I’m sure he will,” she answered evenly.
“He likes my ass. Squeezes it hard.”
“That should suit you, you’re a closet submissive, we both know that,” Tessa observed.
