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Quill dragged his box of terrible wrong things from the other side of the gallery where he’d last used it, making sure to put it behind the furniture she was strapped down to, obstructing her view.
But that wasn’t enough for him. He took a strip of black silk from the box and blindfolded her.
She felt more vulnerable than she’d ever felt, exposed and open to him, unable to even know what to flinch from.
“I-I thought you said you weren’t going to punish me.”
“I’m not. But I still don’t want you to see what’s coming next. It kills the experience. Just trust me.”
She snorted at that, and he smacked her thigh in response.
“Don’t make me change my mind about punishment.”
They hadn’t started this from a place of trust, so how could he possibly think they could end there? Between her con and him taking her as property in retaliation, how could this ever end well? It was hardly a Meet Cute story.
In a warped way, she understood how losing his muse might make him avoid attachment or connection with women. And once he’d decided he wanted Saskia, it was also easy to see how he’d chosen this course to secure it.
He didn’t want a repeat of the mystery woman, and he seemed willing to do whatever it took—however extreme and immoral—to prevent that unsavory outcome a second time. Despite how he’d acquired her or how he kept her, when his hands were on her, she wanted them there.
Saskia tensed when something soft began stroking her skin, starting with her neck, then moving slowly downward over her body. She relaxed when she realized it was a dry paint brush. When she concentrated, she could see it in her mind. It was a very large, soft-bristled fan brush. It could be used in landscapes to cover an oversized canvas. She imagined giant, lush green bushes might be painted on an enormous mural with such a brush.
But Quill wasn’t a landscape guy. He’d obviously bought this brush only for the purpose he used it for now.
These brushstrokes didn’t feel like foreplay meant to arouse her, although it was beginning to. Instead, she felt what it must be like tobehis canvas. Each stroke was deliberate, focused. Some strokes long, some short, moving over her body the same way he moved over his paintings as he worked.
Saskia jerked in her bonds when he brushed over the top of her foot.
“Ticklish here?”
“Yes, Master.”
He didn’t comment further, but he didn’t stop his meticulous torment either. He avoided her face and the place between her legs. When he’d given her the sensation of being total painted—save for the small details—he put the brush away.
A much smaller fan brush—just as soft—fluttered over the contours of her face around the blindfold. It gently caressed her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her lips. Then that same brush moved southward, in one long stroke down the length of her throat, stopping to tease over each of her nipples.
Then the brush resumed its trail down over her belly and to her mons. She writhed as the brush carefully stroked over each line and curve, each fold of flesh blooming with arousal and need in response.
“Please,” she whimpered.
His mouth moved to her ear. “Shhhhh.” The smaller brush clattered inside the box.
There was the rumbling sound of things being jumbled around and a plastic bottle of something being squeezed of some of its contents.
When he returned, his finger circled her clit in a careful pattern. She was already wet, but the cold lube from his finger joined her natural moisture as he stroked her. She arched up toward him, and the moment she did, he slipped something hard and lubricated into her ass.
She cried out in shock, not expecting the penetration. She’d thought that entrance safe, but he’d drawn and lured her into raising her ass off the seat, angled toward him, her dripping cunt begging... allowing him to seat the butt plug inside her with little trouble.
“Breathe. You’ll adjust to it. It’s not very big.”
That was a matter of opinion.
“A-are you going to fuck me there, Master?” Why else would he seek to stretch her this way?
“No. Even I’m not that cruel. I am plenty aware of my girth.”
Any opportunity to brag.
“Just relax, I’m keeping it there until I’m done with you, so you may as well get used to it.”
