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Running her hand along the surface of the canvas, she wondered why Miles had not yet painted her in oils? Maybe he had sketched the redhead a couple of hundred times too, before he began this more permanent piece. And why, she wondered, was this painting buried here, the canvas lost amid some half-finished others and ones no doubt ready for the junk heap? Was the redhead as forgotten in Miles’ mind as the painting of her was? Had the two had made love? Was she a passing fancy? Or a submissive like herself who spent hours in captivity, prisoner in this garret? Was she nothing more than his “trinket of the month?” Was she, when the excitement of her faded and Miles’ inspiration gone, sent away, the beauty of her captured in this picture the only reminder that she was ever here? Did she matter so little that even this portrait of her was now abandoned, cast in a corner of the garret filled with other past and fading flings?
Tessa quit her explorations. The forsaken redhead made her feel too sad to go on. Perhaps she, too, would become little more than an image on canvas, or worse yet just a smudged sketch on wrinkled newsprint.
Tessa had planned to look through the sketches Miles had made of her, but she changed her mind. Instead, she wandered toward the kitchen, the dildos making her journey uncomfortable, but not impossible. With every step she took, both rods massaged her deep inside, as if Miles himself were manipulating them. She was reminded of Martine’s crude assault days before, reminded that she thrived on this horrendous kind of pleasure, knowing that her roommate was as wicked and deviant as Miles himself.
Finding the kitchen, Tessa plucked an apple from a basket of fruit and took an enormous bite. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was; she hadn’t eaten in hours. With no way to relieve herself, she didn’t want to fill up on food and drink. But the apple tasted so good that she polished it off quickly and returned to the bed.
Chapter Ten
The sunlight in the room was nearly gone by the time Hector arrived. Alone, Tessa had wrapped herself in pleasant thoughts, her imagination taking flight in twisted ways as she knew her fate with Miles was to go deeper into his web, performing more outrageous acts as she submitted to this confounding lover. Each act had driven her deeper into submission, making her feel all the more his, as if she were his property.
When Hector popped in the door, he interrupted her disquieting reverie. He had another camera bag flung over his shoulder. Would it be another night of videos?
She was glad for the company; seeing his face, hers lit up. Sometimes it was difficult being by herself with her thoughts; her
imagination turned dark and wild. Hector brought her back to reality.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t in his usual cheerful mood. At least to begin with, he refused to speak, grunting his way through the innocuous conversation, much like Miles might have done. He did let her have some time in the bathroom without the dildos. But when she finished, he dutifully replaced them as they had been, and left her to begin working on his video equipment.
Standing near him, watching his careful preparations, she finally asked, “Is Miles is coming soon?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Doesn’t he tell you these things?” she asked.
“He tells me what I need to know.”
“Hummmm. You seem as much at his beck and call as I am,” she observed, silently wondering if this was why he was so moody.
“Sometimes I feel that way, but then again I’m free to go, you… well?” Hector stared at her nakedness clothed in the garments of bondage, and said no more.
She blushed. “I suppose there is a difference.”
“Yes, there is. And he pays me, does he pay you?”
“Of course not! That would make me a whore.”
“Yes it would,” he said raising his eyebrows, his face still glowered darkly. “But tell mem Tessa, don’t you feel like one anyway, the way he violates you at will?”
“I don’t know how a whore feels,” she replied. “And I’ve never made the comparison.”
“Used, whores feel used, at least the ones I’ve met do,” Hector informed her, as he carefully attached the camera to the tripod. This time he also had a smaller video camera that looked more suited to the close-up shots he’d been doing the night before.
“No. I don’t feel used,” she replied.
“Really? That surprises me; usually women in your position thrive on feeling used. When they make a choice like you’ve made, they tell me that’s their greatest thrill.”
Tessa considered his assertion thoughtfully. He might well be right. “I think it’s more like being selfless,” Tessa finally replied. “At least for me. You see I do get a great deal back, if you’ll remember last night?”
“He was being easy on you. But then, maybe that’s because you were performing so well.” He shook his head in admiration. “You did make one hell of a video; not much editing required. It should bring a hefty price from a collector; Miles was even talking about selling it to a distributor.”
“You know he’ll sell it?”
“He has every other one I’ve made.”
“And you’ve made a lot of videos for Miles?”
“Six, maybe seven.”
