Trinkets

Chapter Four-1

Chapter Four

Miles invited Tessa to lunch three days later.

The symbols of his claim to her were becoming more comfortable and less painful each day. With the gold penetrating her n*****s, she felt as bound to him as she might feel after being with someone for many years. Even so, Miles Bryce remained a mystery to Tessa Cotille.

The twinges in her breasts, the occasional throbbing, and especially the passing thoughts of this enigmatic man kept her body at a steamy edge, in anticipation; so much so, that when he called, she was ready to meet him anywhere and to do anything he asked. It was her hope that they would have a first s****l interlude, even if it were only to satisfy his needs and hers were left abandoned, again. Miles, however, saw things differently. Being in control of Tessa was more important to him than hopping into bed for a hasty f**k. He would wait, let the anticipation build, bring their energies to a boiling point before they broke steamily into an act of s****l release.

They lunched together in an elegant restaurant where they were sequestered in a semi-private booth. She was instructed to scoot in next to another man, Arturo. With Miles at her other side, she was wedged closely between the two; their combined domineering attitudes swam over her like a ocean wave—she became drowned in the sensation of submission.

“He wants to see your jewelry,” Miles told her, “show him.”

Tessa stared into the sumptuous face of the dark Italian Arturo. He was cool on the surface, as though he inspected intimate body jewelry every day for lunch, but beneath his nonchalance, Tessa could see the anxiousness in his eye—as if he doubted Miles’ submissive would be so bold as to bare her breasts in a public place. His eyes widened as Tessa began to unbutton her blouse. And with the first buttons undone, he suddenly shoved her hand away and reached inside her blouse, plucking a tit from inside its black lace bra cup and bringing the gold studded n****e into view. He made no remark, as he then reached in the other side of her blouse, and pulled the second breast from its captivity.

An excited blush rose across the creamy white of Tessa’s neckline and traveled toward her face, while her eyes wandered beyond their table for other voyeuring eyes who might glimpse her naked display.

Arturo tugged at the gold studs. Tessa gasped soundlessly. Leaning down, her admirer planted his mouth around one n****e, letting his tongue caress the soft skin and the gold. Her body answered, cunt and ass squirming against her chair.

“A fine prize, Miles,” Arturo happily exclaimed as he sat up.

While their waitress served the gentlemen poached salmon and broccoli soufflé, Tessa self-consciously gazed at her chest, her blouse falling open down the center. Though she was still half-covered, the shine of the gold could hardly be ignored as it glimmered from beneath the thin material of her blouse. Tessa had never been so quite so blatant with her exhibition, especially in such a straight-laced place. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel a naughty pleasure offering herself for whoever cared to look.

With no food of her own, she ate bites of Miles’ lunch, lovingly presented to her on the end of his fork. Each was pure joy, relished, savored, longingly loved with tongue and mouth, as though she were savoring more than food, tasting a morsel of heaven.

Her lover gave her wine, small sips that burnished her mouth with a wondrous flavor. In Miles’ company, he’d manipulate her every act, dominate her every thought. With each small step of control, she was wooed to him, anticipation for him grinding at her loins. She longed for some release; but even more, she longed for each new measured step of compliance that brought her closer inside his circle of control.

Arturo was nothing more than eyes and lips to exhibit for—titillation, a test perhaps? He slipped out before dessert was served, leaving Tessa alone with Miles again.

How would she bear another awkward silence? Staring, waiting, wondering, nervously expectant.

“Enough to eat?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” she hesitated, eye fluttering, teasingly, “But I do have other appetites.” She looked down, staring deliberately at his crotch.

“That’s good to know, since I have my afternoon free.”

Miles city studio, a one room garret loft, was a startling contrast to his formal country home. Tessa was amazed to see that it had none of the formality she associated with Miles Bryce. She loved the look, the feel, the smell—she could taste the eroticism in the air. Decorated with dozens of brashly painted canvases hanging on the walls and leaning against each other on the floor, it was bright, and cheery, and erotic in its own unique way.

“I see you like to paint naked women,” she said as she strolled the room. It was lit with skylights, and a golden afternoon light streamed through them, casting shadows on the sensuous works of art.

“I do, just as I’ll paint you.” He watched her—as beams of light hit her golden hair and she squinted because she couldn’t see. As she reached toward one painting, gingerly placing her hand on the oils, her small skirt rode up her thigh. How utterly innocent she was of her sensuous grace.

“You’ll paint me, so I can be another picture on your wall?” she asked, head cutely c****d.

“If that’s want I want.”

She smiled at him flirtatiously and turned away.

“Sit down on the bed,” he directed her toward the corner of the room, to the bed waiting for Tessa, resting like a throne on a foot high platform, covered in silky cream-colored sheets, now haphazardly strew over the top. The “just f****d” looked aroused her. Around the bed, a rose colored curtain draped it like a stage, the soft folds descending from the ceiling to the floor. Directly under skylights, the bed was bathed in the sumptuous sunshine that blinded her eyes. Giving up attempts trying to see his face, she sat on the edge of the bed, prim as a schoolgirl while Miles pulled out an easel, a sketch book and charcoal.

“You’re going to sketch me while I sit?” she asked.

“No,” he answered, “I’m going to sketch you while you masturbate.”

Hearing the amazing order, she moved into the shadows so she could see his expression. Her own blue eyes widened gleefully. “You want me to play with myself?”

“Yes.”

It was so easy to leave her tongue-tied—though it was from excitement, not fear. How intriguing. The idea of posing as his model was intriguing enough, but this was even more titillating. Kicking off her shoes, she reclined back against the pillows that covered one side of the mattress, then coquettishly pulled up her skirt. “You want me to take it off?” she asked, referring to the skirt.

“No, I like it better as it is now.”

“And that’s what you want—a pornographic painting?” she wondered aloud.

“That’s all I do,” he informed her. “But, no paint yet, these are just sketches. Now play with yourself.”

Eyes fixed on the artist, a blush on reddening her pale cheeks, Tessa pulled aside her panties with her fingers.

“Take them off,” Miles ordered brusquely.

Giggling nervously, Tessa pulled the tiny garment down and tossed it to the floor, leaving her cunt bare and vulnerable to his eyes.

“No more panties, Tessa,” he informed her.

“Never?”

“Never,” he confirmed, and he resumed his work, laying charcoal strokes vigorously across his sketchpad.

The exposed triangle of Tessa’s p***y moistened as she began to play, a layer of soft dew coating the neatly-groomed golden hair. As she watched Miles’ hand move across the blank sheet of paper, her fingers slipped between her plump labia, finding the center of her s*x engorged with blood and sensitive. Using both hands she spread her p***y wide, two fingers gliding into the hole, another pressed at her anus below. Closing her eyes, her head fell back against a pillow, as she pushed rapidly toward a climax. The warm sunshine, Miles’ eyes, exposure, the naughty exhibition had her at an edge in minutes.

Miles could see her body agitation rise, “Don’t come yet,” his next command.

She opened her eyes to flirt, her mouth drawing itself into a sensuous pout, her eyes dancing with s****l invitation. But he gave no indication that he found the tease pleasing. Miles’ work was sacred, silent, serious seconds of studious activity. Did he enjoy the seduction, or not? He wouldn’t say.

Instants, strokes, a breath, release and she fell quite naturally over the edge…

“I think we need a break,” he said, to interrupt the miraculous end.

No! Her mind screamed otherwise, even as she jerked her playing hand away. “Sir, please,” she tried to counter him.

“No,” he snapped. He turned away from her and washed his smudged hands in a sink by the wall.

Rising from the bed, Tessa strolled to his side and pressed herself against him, one leg wrapping around him. “May I see the picture?” she asked.

Shaking himself free of her, ignoring her attempts to woo him to bed, he turned back to the easel, showing her the remarkable likeness of the slut—hands in her cunt, mouth exuding desire.

“This one’s finished,” he said, as he wiped his hand on a towel. “You are a nasty little tart,” he added.

She had to agree that he’d captured the essence of a s****l tease. “You plan to do another today?” she asked.

“Several,” he answered. “But I intend to punish you first.”

Her body reacted to the word as if an electrical current had just run up her back. “Punishing me? You’re fulfilling your promise of the other day?”

“I said I would.”

Her body fluttered, excitement and fear pouring through her in equal volume. The desire to flee and the desire to be consumed equal companions in her nervous form.

Yet, she didn’t have time to respond. Miles took her hand, leading her to a steamer trunk on the far side of the room. As he opened the lid, Tessa gazed in morbid fascination at an array of whips and paddles and leather thongs. There were chains and clamps and strange devices Tessa had never seen before. Miles removed the first tray of implements to reveal more beneath. Again there were whips and paddles of ruthless design. On top of them all was a collar with a leash attached, which she was sure was for her. Instead, Miles pulled a strange looking leather implement from the bottom of the trunk.

“This one,” he said, gripping the handle. Two-dozen soft leather strips, nearly eighteen inches long were bundled together, braided into a heavy handle. “It’s more mild than you might think,” he told her.

Tessa viewed the implement in silence.

Turning back to the trunk, Miles pulled out a second implement. “And this one,” he said. Tessa stared at the nasty thing, at the long, lean shaft that ended with a flexible tasseled end, she guessed a buggy whip.

“The thongs will warm your backside with a slow burning fire, but this will mark you.” Tessa shivered looking from the whip to Miles and back to the whip again. Lifelong fantasies surfaced in her imagination, thoughts of woodsheds, razor strops and bending over chairs to submit to punishment. Her anxiousness, desire and fear crescendoed.

“I’ve always dreamed of this,” she whispered her confession.

“I know,” he said, eyes seeming to rip deeply toward her soul.

She smiled self-consciously. Such a foolish thing to say—that she’d dreamed of being whipped. It was a wholly witless admission; but it was so true. Any protest was squelched without a prayer. Besides, protesting would be foolish with Miles’ intention was clear. Being whipped was unavoidable.

“To the podium,” he ordered her.

Tessa scrambled quickly toward the bed, waiting as Miles sauntered forward, both implements hanging from his left hand.

“Remove your blouse,” he ordered. On the surface he was calm; but his eyes gleamed with fire, a quickened passion fueling his purpose.

The last button undone, Tessa’s blouse slipped from her shoulders to the floor.

“And the bra,” he added.

Tessa unhooked the lacy piece, letting it fall away.

With her torso naked, Miles viewed her breasts—so perfectly formed, well rounded, jiggling erotically when she moved. Her n*****s stood at attention, two hard knots of mauve pink flesh, gleaming with gold. He was reminded of how he wanted to sketch her next, this view a simple statement of lust. He wanted chains dangling from each n****e, tickling the skin below—though that was for another time. For now, he had something far different in mind.