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“Y-yes, sir.”
“Good girl. Will you cry for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll only strike you as hard as I have to for you to cry. Give me what I want easily, and we don’t have to make dark marks. We don’t want to mar this pretty skin, do we?”
“N-no, sir.”
It wasn’t hard to cry for him. Maybe it was the cello playing in the background. Maybe it was the fact that she still longed to be invited into Quill’s bed as well as not knowing what it said about her that she wasn’t horrified by any of what was happening now with Phillip, a stranger who bought time with her from the man who owned her. Maybe it was the whole situation.
“That’s it,” Phillip said. “Let it all out.” He put down the riding crop and stroked her back as she cried harder than she’d intended to. He wiped her tears, then stepped away again.
When he returned, he nudged her thighs apart. “Wider,” he coaxed. When her legs were spread to his liking, he began running his hands over her hips and ass, his fingers playing in slow circles and figure eights over the skin between her legs.
Then his fingers traced the length of her spine, much as Quill’s had at the museum, only he didn’t stop at the hollow space her master had. Instead, his finger edged further down, sliding between her cheeks, pressing inside her ass.
She tensed.
“Relax, and take it. If you’ll relax, it can feel very pleasurable. I’ve yet to have any complaints.”
Saskia breathed deep as his finger slid in and out of her. He finally pulled it away, only to replace it with a lubed toy. Gently, he fucked her ass with it while she whimpered and writhed in the chains. After a while, her hips began to move as she pressed her ass harder against his hand as if trying to get him to go deeper.
Phillip chuckled but withdrew the toy and said, “That’s enough of that for tonight. I like to leave my girls aching and wanting more.”
Saskia strained to hear what he was doing next, but it was impossible to interpret the meaning of the light creaks and clicks until she felt slack in the chains holding her arms and almost pitched forward.
“Kneel down on the ground with your ass raised in the air. You can rest on your forearms.”
The chains gave way just enough for her to do as he asked. She still felt the slightest tension on them as she moved into position. She spread her legs wide without him asking.
She heard a zipper and then pants hit the floor, and then he was behind her, fucking her.
“I love how wet you are for me,” he said.
Saskia pressed back against him. He didn’t fill her in the same absolute way that Quill did. She might have been satisfied by Phillip’s cock if she’d been with him first, but Quill had ruined her for any other man. Perhaps it was best her master had told Marcus no fucking. It would only be a point of contention when he couldn’t satisfy her in the same way Quill had.
She didn’t come again, but Phillip didn’t seem to mind. He’d paid for his pleasure, not hers. When he was finished with her, he pulled out and zipped up. He didn’t linger or make small talk, something for which she was grateful. Nothing would be more awkward than post-coital small talk with a practical stranger.
Phillip stroked the side of her face. “Goodbye, petal. You were worth every penny.”
He left her chained and sprawled on the floor, the door closing softly behind him while the cello music still played.
She lay on the floor in a sort of floaty space. With the blindfold still over her eyes and her hands bound, it was hard to tell which way was up and which was down. The door clicked open.
“Are you okay, love?” Marcus asked.
“Yes, sir,” Saskia said, barely recognizing her own voice.
It didn’t surprise her that Quill could make her feel this way. And in a way, it wasn’t that shocking that Marcus could do it either. The shock was that a stranger could play her body and mind with the same success. It was just another slide deeper down the rabbit hole.
Marcus unchained her wrists and removed the blindfold. He looked her over for anything he might need to bandage. When he found nothing, he helped her back into her gown, picked her up, and carried her out to the gallery.
She didn’t see Quill again that night.
14
Tears streamed down Saskia’s face as Quill berated her. She gasped when he ripped the painting off the easel and threw it across the room. The sad little canvas buckled when it hit the wall with a force that startled her. This was becoming a habit with him.
