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“And he knew I would be?” I ask.
“It was mentioned.”
“Mentioned how?”
“I don’t think Heinrich has stopped enjoying the way you look bound, or how you respond to the lash, or the look of you in ecstasy. He especially enjoys seeing you suffer.”
“He’s thrown it in my face—and you as well—with his new beauty at his feet, fisting me.”
“Looked to me as though you were having the time of your life,” Bernard quips.
“But I did not plan on this.”
“I told you I’d tell him about us.”
“But you didn’t warn me!” I snarl. “You didn’t give me any clue that he’d be the master running the show.”
“Oh, there were many masters taking care of your body.”
“But he was one with the cane, the one whose cuts I remember the most.”
“Isn’t that interesting?”
“How could you betray me like this?”
“You’re the one, Anna, that asked to blend my world with yours. Heinrich is part of my life. It was only a matter of time. And let’s remember, my defiant one, when you beg a master to take you, it’s not yours to decide how that will happen. Or have you forgotten the very basics of masters and slaves?”
“I can’t live with this.”
“No? Then maybe our meetings should end.”
“Maybe they should,” I agree. I should be sad, though I’m not now. I’m still burned from the inside out, my outsides still smarting from the strike of my husband’s cane. And that hurts the most.
Chapter Nine
I am proud of Delia, so beautifully passing this necessary test. There was not a hint of jealously, just the exquisite nurturing lust to give Anna what she needed. Was it revenge to assume this role? I suppose. But look what satisfaction the lusty bitch enjoyed? I know her lines so well, the curvature of her spine as she twists in bondage, the elemental expression on her face. I see her without having to see her eyes, the expression inside when she cums from pain—or the hunger she feels as a woman’s fist slips inside her wanting hole. I even knew what fire-breathing harangue she’d unleash on Bernard. She’s not said a word to me. Her eyes were filled with fire from the inside, though she seemed empty from without, like something was missing.
Delia slaves for us this morning, serving breakfast in Bernard’s conservatory. She was well-used last night after Anna was put to sleep. The party descended into a free-for-all. There was a good deal of interest in my new slave and she took care of at least four men—but I didn’t bother staying to see it all after she brought me off first.
It took some prying to get her from bed this morning, though most of the house was awakened by the sound of Anna slamming doors. With my shrewish ex-wife handled, the settling quiet is welcome. Delia serves our morning meal with an elegant grace—one that grows each day I have her in my command. She carries herself proudly, but never haughty. Those men, like me, who stare at her, rec
eive a lovingness she shares with all.
“It’s a shame we need to punish her,” Bernard tells me. We sit side by side eating; three other friends also spent the night. Delia starts, hearing the word punish used concerning her. She wears a small black skirt and high heels, and a sweater that wraps her full bodice tightly, coming to a “V” to show the depth of her cleavage. The lace of her stockings peeks out from underneath the skirt as she moves—and especially as she bends over. When she does in our direction, we see her cunt, naked and glistening as if she were just fucked—though it’s been at least six hours now. I would reach out and grab it, but we have other business to conduct here before we get back to sex.
“Have I not pleased you?” she turns around to ask me with a whimpering look on her face, her dark eyes sad, but not anxious. She’s pleading.
“Come here, darling.” She obeys. I take her hand while she stands in front of me. “You did superbly last night—which was a spontaneous surprise. But my real reason for bringing you here was to punish a few sins of your last week.”
“I was cross with you, wasn’t I?” she remembers.
“Very.”
She winces. “And reluctant for you to…” she stops, “breach my ass.”
I raise my eyebrows. She’s dead on.
“Bend over Bernard’s stool.”
