Misplaced Devotion

[VampiricTouch]

The skies thundered in response to her question. Would it work? She asked herself as she stopped in front of John's door and fumbled with the spare key. Would he like it? Appreciate it? or... She shoved her doubts aside as she shouldered her duffel bag and checked her watch... she didn't have much time... She grimaced just as the lock clicked open and she rushed in. For the umpteenth time she ticked through the plans she was going to set into motion and quickly got to work.

Thankful that the items in her bag remained dry despite the downpour outside, she stripped out of her damp T and peeled off her drenched pants. In it's place, the sheer black stockings rolled up her toned legs, conforming to the line of defined muscle as the fabric hugged her thighs. She picked up the corset laid out on the bed and ran her fingers over the black satin. The tightening lace made her cringe as her breath was forced shallow. Pausing to allow her body to adjust, she turned towards the mirror. It was sultry... the way the corset enforced its hour glass figure as her breasts spilled over.

Satisfied, she upended her bag onto the bed and kicked it out of the way. Picking up the collar, she paused. Instead of putting it on, she set it on the bedside table. It would be for John to place if he chose to.

Continuing as planned, she took the ball gag and opened her lips wide to force the gag in. She pulled her pony tail out before cinching the leather strap tight. Taking a breath, she tested a scream and was pleased when all she could hear was a muffled mewl.

She tried to remain calm for what was to come, easing her breathing and taking slow breaths to the limit against the corset. Picking up the vibrator, she closed her eyes and slowly slid it in between her spread legs. Her breath quickened as it filled her, but still she clung to the thought of remaining calm. She picked up the length of rope and tied off her ankles, the action making her breath whistle sharply as her thighs closed and her sex squeezed the new intrusion.

She turned it on.

She fought down the sudden rush of pleasure, fighting to stay afloat enough to finish the last task... Her hands worked, going through the practiced knot she had done the night before, this time behind her back. The phone rang just as she finished the last turn.

Startled from her concentration, she pulled - forgetting that the rope cinched tight and now, unintentionally, she found herself captured in her own web. The vibrator made short work of her senses and far far away, she registered the click of the answering machine as John called in. "Hello Kaya? I guess you're not there yet... I'm going to be late. Something came up at work... probably won't be back for a few hours"

Kaya screamed her frustration, silenced to nothingness. Her body tremored as she arched against her bonds, too quickly reaching a climax and crashing. The lack of air drove her vision to darkness as she fell into oblivion.

She woke again, groaning as the vibrator continued its vicious heartless work, a groan that doesn't make it past her lips. Over and over... relentlessly the mechanical monster drove her, until her body cramped tight, painfully tight even as she screamed through another orgasm... how many... she's lost count...

The darkness faded from her as she cringed against the hum in her sex. Gritting her teeth down against the gag, her eyes blinked open. She heard the door knob turn and her head lifted, wearily, hopefully... that he had returned to release her...

The door swung open and she stared in a mixture of horror and pained pleasure - it was not him... and once more she fell under the impact of her own body's traitorous release.

 

[Light Ice]

He had never had the intention to confront her. She, a sleek-framed asian girl whose desperate attempts to please a man who could not be pleased, had become an object to which Marcus felt great pity. There'd never been a wife in his life and a few girlfriends, women whom had little idea what a relationship meant to him. That, of course, and he'd a preciously small pool from which to date. He was a hard-working man, a successful and educated man. He did not spy on his neighbors and he didn't have time to indulge himself in their affairs. But Marcus had seen her walk into the living room, a vision of feminine beauty to which her foolish man would appreciate only in the primitive way he was capable. And Marcus had seen her bind her hands with the cords of rope, her ankles as she ended up crouched upon the floor and out of his view.

That, of course, had been an hour ago.

It'd been the ropes that'd spurned him to motion, a spark of something familiar. It took tremendous courage for a woman to submit to a man whom she had no confidence in. It was foolish. Marcus knew that. But it was brave. A desperate effort to convey to a man whom Marcus knew full well was presently fucking a coworker the depth of devotion and need her small heart was capable of. He'd not allow it to be wasted on her current man.

But he'd talked himself out of it, aware that the chance that her man returned home to find them there like that was far greater than not. Marcus wasn't interested in drama, not in the slightest. He'd have abandoned the idea entirely had he not watched for her to stand up and her man's car to arrive for an hour. Aware, then, she was trapped upon the floor.

He'd gathered his coat and went over, finding the door unlocked.

-----------------------------------

She was shaking. The trembles rolled through her small form, trembling her corset-bound breasts and displacing the raven-black tresses that obscured her face. She was looking to him with wide eyes, dusky with the haze of her last climax. He could hear the vibrator buzzing wetly inside her, watch as she doubled on herself against the sensations.

Marcus lowered himself at her side, the corded muscles of his legs flexing as they took his weight in a feral crouch. Reaching, he let his hands follow the soft curve of her backside to the wet heat of her sex, gently switching the plastic invader off and pulling it from her. The slick muscles of her pussy clenched against it, fought to keep it in her body, before splaying a pretty pink pout as it fell free. Marcus was aware how badly his body was betraying him, the great length of his prick tight in the confines of his basketball shorts. The scent of her sex, the image of her there on the floor, triggering in him the great many things he kept concealed from the quiet neighborhood that considered him a member in good standing.

"You're a damned fool, girl." He said then, aware that she was still gagged. He stroked his fingers through her hair, pushing it off her features. She'd an elegant, softly-featured face that was far prettier than he'd imagined it to be. He'd only ever seen her at a distance.

She whimpered against the gag, and he shook his head.

No, there were some things he just wouldn't tolerate. A girl so wantonly submissive yielding to that man was one he couldn't. And so, against his better sense, he began to gather her slight frame up in the rugged stretch of his arms. She didn't fight, perhaps exhaustion denied her the strength. He wasn't sure. It didn't matter yet. He was aware only that she was terribly light in his arms, a willowy and petite Asian beauty who'd probably never known a man that could be so large and so gentle all at once.

He dwarfed her, but she didn't seem frightened just yet. That was good. He draped his coat over her, and turned, leaving John's house and crossing the lawn to his own.

It was a damned fool idea, Marcus knew. Downright criminal. But he'd risk it, have to. There were some things a man had to stand for, principles he'd have to hold. She'd laid her small head on his shoulder. He was aware she was crying, but didn't show it. Instead he took her into the bedroom that was his, to the great four-post bed that waited back beyond. To the heavy oak-framed columns that framed where he slept and the large, brass rings at their tops.

He laid her atop the sheets and stood from her, looking down as her eyes rolled up toward him. His fingers flicked the gag, letting the small red-ball free from her jaw. She worked it a few times, as if to relieve the tension it'd left there.

She didn't say anything.

"He's fucking that girl from the office." He said to her.

She started crying then. He'd expected it. There was no pleasure in the sight, not at all.

"I'm not letting you go back there to give this to him." He continued.

She looked to him, he searched her eyes. The spark was there, the hurt. He saw it. Vulnerability was something he'd learned to see a long time ago, and she screamed it. Marcus sat at the bed's edge and gave her the comfort of his large hand, smoothing the rough palm over her cheek while his thumbs stroked the tears away.

"You stay here, learn what I teach you, and you'll never want a man like John again." He offered. The deal finally put on the table. "But you stay as I want you to stay, do what I tell you to do. Elsewise I cut you from these ropes, give you a pair of my sweats and let you go back on your way."

"What'll it be?" He asked.

He knew the answer before she spoke it.

 

[VampiricTouch]

She hated it. Hated the fact that she had to be found in such a predicament. Making it a complete stranger merely made her heart sink even lower into the pits of her stomach. At least he turned it off... good god. She never thought she could detest a toy as much as she now hated the damned machine that had tormented her for what seemed an eternity.

His words stung, adding insult to injury as the full brunt of what he said slowly registered in her weary mind. Too weary to even ask herself the questions of who he was, where he was taking her, what he was doing, how did he know...... let alone struggle against the arms that lifted her with ease. Her head rested on his shoulder, pressing the loose strands of damp hair against her cheek. Originally damp because of the rain, but now probably because of her own sweat.

The lull in the storm was a small blessing as his coat saved her modesty. Still it did nothing to assuage her shame of being found so lewdly. Tears stung her eyes as his cloak and shirt brushed her bared skin in a keen reminder of how she must look to him.

He'd set her down on the bed with a gentleness that she'd never thought possible in a man his size. The gag came loose as she gratefully worked the ache from her jaw trying to conjure some moisture in her paper dry mouth and failed.

The silence held between them was brief as his blunt words severed what control she'd found of her tears. His voice roared in her ears as it replayed in her mind .... He's fucking that girl from the office... She stared at the far wall, the tears flooding her eyes as she cried in a silent keen of pain.

It wasn't true. She couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it. But it made sense... It was the missing piece in her broken jigsaw puzzle as the stories and lies dropped into place and the world she'd desperately tried to cling to fell apart.... But still she clung to it. She clutched at the scattered fragments of disintegrating infatuation as her shoulders shook with the silent racking sobs.

"No. " The answer croaked from her lips without hesitation. "Cut the ropes. Please."

She searched her memory for him, having remembered seeing him once or twice... Marcus... and that was the only thing she found. She knew nothing of this man.... and he of her. Besides... there was still John. The ropes went slack as she rolled her shoulders, slowly stretching to relieve the cramping muscles. She turned to watch him rummage through his dresser, tossing her a shirt as he searched for the sweats. She pulled the shirt over her head and found herself swimming in the fabric, the length easily falling past her ass. Sliding off the bed, she stopped his search with a light touch to the small of his back.

"Thank you... This should be fine. I need to get back. I'm sorry." The words tumbled nervously out before she turned and fled, pausing only long enough to belatedly say goodbye before she vanished out the door.

The rain had resumed it's course as she padded across the lawn in her now ruined stockings. The pelting drops made short work of his dry shirt, plastering it to her like a second skin as it framed the curve of her ass cheeks and hugged her sides in a sorely needed embrace.

~~~~****~~~~​

Kaya had pulled up at John's office, having been too mentally exhausted to do more than pull on a pair of her jeans stashed in the apartment. The secretary had stared at her with open surprise as the drowned look made the fabric stick to her skin and did nothing to hide the bodice of her corset. At least it kept her from informing John of her arrival.

She stood by the door listening to the noise that filtered through on the other side... The groans of wet sex on the backdrop of the slapping sound of joining bodies was painful as she rested her head against the wall. She heard their bodies shift as the woman's cheek and hands found themselves pressed against the frosted glass window. Her splayed hands framing the gilded words 'Johnathon Ryals' as he fucked the woman with a passion Kaya rarely if ever felt from him.

It was all she needed to know.

She returned to her own apartment. Somehow she went through the motions of tossing the wet clothes into the wash despite the dull throbbing ache in her heart. How had things gone so wrong? She'd planned this day with so much anticipation, hope and care... how did everything fall apart so fast... When did it all get so fucked up... What was it that she missed?

With a pint of Ben&Jerry's, she sunk to the ground to stare at the rain pelting against the glass sliding door. And everything crashed. Absentmindedly she gorged on the ice cream on an empty stomach, not tasting the icy sweetness that she swallowed between broken sobs and incoherent screams of anger. The warmth of her breath clouded over the glass as her tears cut through it... and the retching began.

It was cathartic. Even as the burn in her throat mingled with the remnant taste of vanilla caramel fudge in her mouth, she felt slightly better. It gave a brief moment of false calm, the stupor lasting long enough for her to fall asleep.

Work was canceled the next day. No one questioned the excuse that Kaya was sick when they heard her croak over the phone. Hanging up, her anger flared with a vengeance as she thought of the afternoon before... spent tormented in the juices of her own sex as he fucked another behind her back. Meticulously, she took the day to scour the apartment as every item that was his found its way into a box.

Riding on the anger, she found the courage to return to the neighborhood that now became such a horrid reminder of the previous day. She left the box sitting by his front door and with the same diligence, she found every last picture of them in his apartment, along with all of her own personal things, all of which were tossed into the back of her trunk. Locking the door behind her, she left the spare key sitting on the box as she marched across the lawn.

Her anger was quickly running out of steam and her courage was deflating, losing both as her hand lifted to knock on the door. She was just returning the shirt... why was it suddenly so hard?! Her hand dropped without knocking as she turned to lean on the door, searching for the fuel to face the man who had seen her so vulnerable.

The moment vanished when the door opened anyways. Unprepared, she fell backwards as her arms wheeled in an attempt to steady herself. An arm snaked out to thankfully steady her as her mind scrambled to search for a reason to be standing by his front door without knocking.

"hey stranger" She looked up with a weak smile. "I... came back to return the shirt."

Her voice steadied as she spoke. Though the puffy eyes probably said volumes of her agitated night despite the front she kept up to conceal it. She handed him the shirt and for a second wondered if he was okay with the dryer sheet scent she'd used. The absurd thought fled as her mouth opened in an attempt to continue babbling.

"Thank you... for yesterday and sorry you had to see - I mean... didn't mean for... " She clamped her mouth shut as red flags blazed across her face, stopping herself before she dug herself into a bigger hole.

 

[Light Ice]

“I saw you coming.” He replied.

Outside the afternoon was turning to evening, casting the blush of the sun’s last light along the western horizon. Pinks and violets backlit the contemporary houses of the street for one beautiful moment, casting their shadows along the asphalt and flawless green lawns like creeping creatures. The timer on his porch light went off, keeping them at bay before they could wash along the small girl before him. Puffy, red-rimmed eyes and modestly made hair couldn’t hide her prettiness. It shone through. And Marcus, with eyes too pale to properly fit a black man, saw it clearly.

“Don’t apologize. You want some coffee?”

She breathed her relief as the simple words did wonders in setting aside her embarrassment. She paused a moment to admire him under the guise of mulling over coffee. He was dressed in the remnants of his suit. The slate grey pants were kept up by a pair of stylish suspenders stretched along his broad shoulders, the dress shirt an easy blue that yielded nicely to the darker grey tie. He’d yet to loosen it, and the Pratt Knot was flawlessly done. Only his jacket and shoes were gone, but he wore it all with a casual ease.

"Coffee?... no. But I'd say yes to tea if you have it." Her voice was almost musical, a drastic change from the hoarse whisper that came from her lips the day before.

Marcus smiled, watching her as she came in. The screen closed lazily behind her and he led her further into the home. From the exterior his house was scarcely different from John's. But the interior was a dramatic change. His remodel had left his living room sprawling and open, hardwood floors stretching to pleasantly shaded walls. The decor was warm and contemporary, a far cry from any bachelor's pad conjured in movie or television. Telling, perhaps, was the absence of a television.

The dining room was quaint, small and intimate. A candelabra hung above the darkly varnished antique table.

"I'm afraid I only have green tea. Do you take it with honey?" He asked.

"It's fine without." She replied absently as she drank in the haven of his home, surprisingly warm in comparison to the mess she'd tolerated at John's and strangely relaxing despite not knowing anything about the man that lived there. Her eyes traveled from the choice furnishings to the man that chose them as her appreciation for him went up several more notches.

The fading light was playing its last gasp against the windows, splintering into the kitchen to crawl along the counters and the cherry-wood cabinets. Marcus moved easily through the kitchen he'd designed, rolling up the sleeves of his shirts into precise cuffs at the elbow. He'd powerful arms, compacted muscle flanking them and shaped in trim lines. His build was more trim than bulky, tapering steadily from broad shoulders to a relatively narrow waist. His skin was a soft, warm chocolate in the fading light. The only truly distinguishing feature was the startling, glacial grey of his eyes. It gave him a wildly intense look that was softened only by his faint smile.

She watched the subtle interplay of muscle as he moved, and her mind swept back to the offer she'd turned down... You stay here, learn what I teach you, and you'll never want a man like John again... Briefly she wondered just what it was he thought to teach her before her thoughts turned sour, returning to the office she'd finally found the courage to barge in upon. She'd turned her head away by then, not wanting him to see her face darken with the memory.

She didn't need him to show her anything... She would never want a bastard like John again anyways.

“You looked beautiful last night.” He said.

The words were offered with an easy sincerity, though Marcus didn’t look at her now. His attention was fixed to the water as it boiled, to the crushed leaves he lay in the strainer straddling the small ceramic cup. The tea set had been a present from a client in Okinawa, a parting gift that had seen too little use in the years since he’d received it.

But the tea was fresh and its scent was suddenly sharp and pleasant in the kitchen’s confines.

He turned and gave it to her, set on a small saucer before her place along the counter. Marcus saw the color run through her cheeks, filling a warm blush through the freckles that dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. In that moment his kitchen was perfect, and he felt it so. The realization filled him up with a subtle satisfaction, a soothing contentment that he’d long lacked.

She didn't trust her voice to say thank you so the slight incline of her head was all he received as thanks for her cup of tea. Why was he the one that said the words she had wanted to hear from John for so long? And why were those words given to moments she felt the least ... beautiful? She avoided looking at him, staring instead at the ceramic cup he'd placed before her, letting the serene smell of fresh tea ease the color from her face.

“What happened after you left?”

The question did a much better job at erasing her flush as her face fell and color drained away.The moment of silence was brief but it felt much longer to her as she tried to rally words to answer him.

"I went to his office." Her hair obscured the pain in her expression, but it couldn't hide the cloud that hung over her, or take the bitterness from her voice.

"You were right. He was ... fucking that girl from work." The quiet voice was steady and the profanity was made even more profane as it left her lips.

She lifted the cup and sipped. The slight bitterness that came with the tea seemed like a reflection of her own. She did a wondrous job at not crying. Whether she had been cried out from the long night, or she just managed to keep them at bay, she didn't know.

“Hmm.” It wasn’t a word so much as a sound, a subtle affirmation. There was no surprise and no triumph, only the far-off consideration of a man whose mind remained silent and his own.

She sipped her tea, he took nothing. Instead he stood at the opposite side of the island counter and watched her, once more the plague of emotions ran through her. It was terribly attractive. Marcus had known few people whose passions played so honestly in their face. His look betrayed his own pleasure as he watched her, brazen in his appraisal.

The silence stretched on for only a few seconds, but poignant they were. He began boiling fresh water as the tea in her glass drained, watching as the steam rose idly from the kettle’s nose in wispy vaporous trails. The sounds outside common to suburban life, a dog here and children there. Otherwise the occasional sound of a passing car. Marcus spoke first, watching her.

“We’ve never formally met, not in any sense that mattered. I’m Marcus. Would you like to stay for dinner then?”

"Kaya." She replied and contemplated his invitation. Dinner. She'd not thought that far. Her own emotions blocking out all plans besides those that pertained to severing John from her life. She needed the presence of another human being... and Marcus had set down an opening that was too hard to pass up.

"Depends on what dinner is." She swallowed the last bit of her tea along with the resentment of John and made an effort to smile and be friendly... however strained it might have been.

She plucked the thought of having him for dinner from her meandering mind. Rebounding? Before she even got through burying the past? What was she thinking?? However briefly the thought had stayed with her.... at least it made her face brighten with its humor, and the tense lines of her body relax knowing that she still did find humor in the recesses of her mind.

“I see, we’re negotiating now.” The humor in his smile was warm, even as he poured her a new cup of tea. All at once he was moving again, this time cleaning up the kettle and the tea-leaf strainer. They were washed briskly in the deep double-basin sink and stowed in the stainless steel washer, no movement wasted. The interior of the dish washer was revealing if only in the meticulous order in which it’d been organized. The plates ascended in size neatly in the racks, the utensil tray organized by utensil and size.

In fact, upon inspection, Kaya would find the same meticulous order dominated every element of his home. From the décor to the magazines and books in the shelves that flanked the living room there was a remarkable order. Everything was spotlessly kept and the rooms were immaculate.

“Well, Kaya, I’m afraid you’ll find I’m the kind of man that’s impossible to negotiate with.” He toweled off his large hands, only to look to her. “I’ll cook, and you’ll like it. What do you do for a living, Kaya?”

She chuckled. The sound was surprising even to herself, to know that it was okay to laugh. "I suppose I've not much of a choice then. At least I know whatever you make will probably be better than what I can put together on a stove." She followed his precise movements for a second before continuing, "I'm an engineer. I do fabrication in the lab at Raytheon, you?"

Marcus watched her, followed the laugh as it lit up her features. He felt at once the stirring want roll through him, spreading from his belly to the tips of his fingers. It was an almost startling awareness of her, a heightened sense for the soft nature of her. In his mind the image of her, bound and bent against the force of her climaxes, stirred darker and more sensual images to mind.

He turned from her and began preparing dinner, drawing the fresh haddock fillets from the fridge and spreading them along the counter. She’d watch him work, the swift certainty of his hands combined with an obvious ease and practice. Now and again his attention broken only by the willingness of his gaze to stray towards her own.

“I bet you want to ask me what I meant last night My offer. Why don’t you?”

She arched a brow at the blatant ignoring of her question but allowed it to slide. "The offer last night ended when I said no. Didn't it? Besides. I'm in the process of erasing all traces of what happened last night. Dinner now... is merely a detour before I head to the beach and start a bonfire to burn that failure of a night.. and the time spent with a failure of a man I don't want to remember."

Until now he’d been tender, assuring even. Despite the rangy strength in his body, the dark skin and crisp exterior, he’d been warm and inviting to the sleek-framed girl in the extent of their encounters together. He wasn’t so gentle now. The force was conveyed in his words without malice or any real urgency. The weight of them came from how matter of fact he was, how simple it was for him to say it.

“Well, you will always remember. Instead of wasting your time attempting to forget you’d be better off learning to make sure the next time you submit yourself to a man and give yourself to him the way you meant to last night, it’s the right kind of man.”

The sun had set quickly, darkness stretching itself along the street. It looked far less inviting at night to Marcus. The crisp lines and attractive contemporary feel of the neighborhood gave way in the dark to its more common-place and uniformed features. The manicured lawns unnatural and unnerving. He felt no real connection with this street or the people on it. And he’d not be here much longer should all go as planned. The desire to move had been growing in him, growing like the desire for her that he’d felt blossom that night he’d found her bound upon John’s living room floor.

“After dinner you can go to the beach and burn his things. Or, instead, you can have a glass of wine with me and hear what the offer was about. The beach isn’t going anywhere. Burning can wait for tomorrow.”

She felt the impact of his words, but said nothing. Letting the silence stretch between them as the night filtered in. The darkness that seeped into the house made him look mysterious... almost ominous as he appealed to her curiosity. She shrugged, it was a long weekend. She had time. She could afford to indulge her curiosity.

"I'll pass on the wine. But I'll listen to the offer." The simplicity of her statement was punctuated with the tinkle of her empty cup on the counter. She moved around the island to place saucer and cup in the sink, and close the gap between them.

Her nose picked up the faint scent of Marcus and couldn't help find ease in the smell that somehow conveyed security. She also noted with appreciation the meticulous perfection that came with his pristine kitchen, reinforcing the comfortable safety she found in his proximity. Closing the dishwasher, she almost missed his scent as the wafting smell of food masked his to fill the room and despite her silence, her stomach growled her approval.

The timer went off, a simple digital chime that briefly interrupted the otherwise pleasant cadence of their conversation. Marcus ushered her, a gentle shooing gesture of his hands, toward the dining room. All at once he was moving, displaying a tremendous and easy dexterity as he drew dishes and utensils from drawers and cupboards.

“Go have a seat. I’ll serve in a moment. What would you like besides wine? I confess that I don’t keep soda in the house but I’ve juices and cider.”

"Cider sounds good." She answered over her shoulder as she pulled a chair out and settled down at his dining table.

Her fingers traced the grain of the wood whilst she waited, seeing with her hands the etched design that framed the table. She failed utterly in her attempt to silence a growling stomach as the smell of food grew stronger and wished whole heartedly that she could make something that smelled this good.
He returned to set the table with empty wine glasses, and two water glasses. Kaya’s held cider, his own water. The candlesticks at the table’s center he lit deftly, only to return a few minutes later with their plates. Marcus enjoyed to cook and the nature of flavors. It suited him, really. The hedonistic subtleties of his self agreed heartily with the appreciation of small pleasures. The stuffed haddock was full of fresh clam and a wine and cheese sauce he’d encountered in his travels, and he’d brought himself a bottle of wine to taste from.

“It’s been a month or so since I’d had company for dinner. I appreciate you staying, Kaya.” He began, claiming his seat. “I honestly thought I’d not see you again after the other night.”

"I didn't think I'd see you either." She admitted as she sampled his cooking. Her eyes closed as she savored the flavor on her palate with a groan of open appreciation. "Though if this is the caliber of 'dinner', I'm quite glad you invited me."

“What made you do that for him?” He asked.

And then almost immediately clarified. The wine was a light sauvignon blanc, a favorite of his with fish, and he drank it in steady swallows. The room’s soft colors were accented in the gentle glow of the candles, their light reaching only through the dining room. The darkness beyond served to isolate the pair and bring the dinner to an immediately more intimate place.

Marcus relished company, particularly her own. She was beautiful and well-spoken, her manner betraying a natural femininity that attracted him. In the end, though, the simple truth was that it was good to have another woman in his house. Dating, at least as of late, had taken a dramatically complicated edge. Work was becoming more demanding and it’d stolen from him the time many women demanded. The compromise between romance and success was proving to be suddenly elusive.

“I mean. What attracted you to binding yourself?”

"I should've known what he was doing. With how distant he'd been. I suppose it was an effort to regain the affection we had when the relationship first started back in college. We'd time back then. Now... with work as a time sink it was harder to maintain. At a glance I'd say it was to do something different to spice up a rapidly dulling relationship." She spoke calmly, finding a certain amount of relief at being able to lay out the tumult of events.

She took another bite and chewed. Focusing more on organizing her thoughts than the taste of good food. "Of course, you're asking me to look at why I chose what I did to 'spice' things up. Control is an interesting thing. There's a thrill in having it... and there's also a thrill in the absence of it. Or so I thought it would be."

She laughed softly. It was a dry mirthless laugh as she recalled him coming to her rescue as she laid on the living room floor, hating the moment he'd seen of her vulnerability. "And it turned out to be an epic failure. At least I know not to try that again."

She pushed her plate away as her appetite vanished.

 

[VampiricTouch]

"How'd you know to .... come over?" She hazarded the question that homed in on her own insecurity and immediately, the answer came to her as she continued, "You saw everything happen."

There was no flush to warm her cheeks at her foolishness as the first sliver of annoyance triggered its way through her mind and quickly vanished. She was here to enjoy his company, she would not let John ruin it for her. John. Too easily her thoughts dwelled upon the open wound in her heart as she remembered his bedroom, the room that seemed to say so much about him, and yet so little.... and his offer. She gave into the gnawing curiosity and asked.

"Yesterday... What exactly did you have in mind to... 'teach me'?"

Her mind worked as she chewed on the thought for a moment longer. "My gut feeling says something about sex. But it isn't just that is it. You don't need to make such requests for it. You were... thinking of something more."

The words came to her then... stay as I want you to stay, do what I tell you to do. Could that be it...? "It's quite obvious that John was the 'wrong kind of man', but that's not just what you were trying to get at now is it. The point you're trying to make... is that I should've arrived here and... submitted to you. That you'd be the 'right kind of man'?"

She leaned towards him, plucking the glass of wine from his hand as she spoke. Her solemn eyes stared at him through the liqueur in the glass as if he were part of the bouquet she was inspecting. Slowly she swirled the wine as it turned in her hand and when her voice fell silent, she lifted the glass to her lips, closing over the exact spot he had drank from... too precise to be a coincidence. She rolled the small sip over her tongue, searching for the subtleties in the vintage and taking in the first impression of the wine as if she were evaluating him along with it.

He wondered what she expected him to say, watched as she tasted the dinner wine and cut her feline stare over his face in staunch appraisal. The nuances of seduction were one of the many fine things to which Marcus harbored great interest in. The way her lips pressed to the glass where his own had lingered, how her small fingers had so deftly plucked it from his grasp. Women, even sleek-bodied and heart-broken young women, had within them the great potency of a predator when it came to matters of the heart. There was, at least in most of them, a greater awareness of it.

“I saw you last night. You didn’t draw the shades down. Usually, Kaya, I’ve no care for what my neighbors do. But a man sees a beautiful girl working dutifully to bind herself, clad in lace, and his interest is stolen. And then after you lowered yourself to the floor you never stood up again. Not for an hour.’

Do you know what I thought when I saw you on the floor, looking up at me?”

~~~~****~~~~​

Kaya shifted her weight in the cramped space of the wooden crate. Thankful that she'd thought far enough to place a cushion down for her knees as the lengths of red ribbon restrained her ankles to her thighs. It also took a lot of nerve to rope Deidre into helping her with the surprise, but it was reassuring to know that her bestfriend would support her in all the crazy ideas Kaya had stowed away in her head.

Kaya'd arranged to leave work early, and spent the remaining afternoon with Deidre's help getting trussed into the corset with stockings and garters to go with. Deidre had also been the one who'd taken the pains to wrap her in ribbon, The few lengths around her chest looped to form a bow and the crisscrossed pattern from wrist to elbow formed an effective armbinder immobilized her arms behind her back.

Deidre had arrived at Marcus' house and with the help of a friend, carried the crate to his front door. She still couldn't help but smile at the thought of her spontaneity, clipping the panties from Kaya's body and stuffing it into her mouth as a gag before taping her mouth shut. If Kaya wanted to play games like these... well it wouldn't hurt to help further such things along...

The brisk knock was promptly received as Deidre handed the man an envelope, directing him to read first before asking questions. She watched him as he read, as if she were searching for what it was that Kaya had found in this man. She waited, even without him reacting, she recited to herself the words that would be on the short letter -

Dear Marcus,
It's been a month since you'd extended your offer, and now the question to ask is if your offer still stands? If the offer is no longer valid, then Deidre, my friend, will be taking the crate back. Otherwise... I hope you enjoy your birthday present.

Sincerely,
Kaya Fujiwara​

and waited for his response.

________________________
OOC: Apologies for taking so long to respond. As expected, the dialogue for this scene was done with Light Ice's help. It's quite obvious where the line is drawn between the eloquence of writing.

 

[Light Ice]

Deidre lingered after the crate's delivery, watched him. She was smirking as he stood there, letter in hand, feeling the quality of the heavy paper between his rough fingers. He was aware of her eyes roaming his face, trying to take stock of his reaction. The only one he'd offered at his doorstep was the invitation for her to come in, instructions on his present's placement on the hardwood floor of his bedroom. He didn't offer her any different now. He was confident she'd find nothing in his features, feel nothing in his manner. Until she bent and lifted the top and sides from the crate and he saw Kaya.

Marcus was a man who lived for the beautiful things in life. He'd spent his years taking stock of the wonders of men and the world in which they lived, getting pleasure from the small fineries that life had to offer. Around them in the bedroom were pieces of hand-carved furniture, works of art forged by artisan's hands. The women whom he'd had in his life were all beautiful. His patience forged by an unwillingness to settle for less.

And still, in comparison to Kaya, they were all put to shame.

She remained as she had been, kneeling on that small pillow. Her dark hair cascading along her lean shoulders, down the length of her nubile spine. The gentle bend of her body forged by the bindings that claimed her, confined her to that own tiny and tremendously intimate space. It was an offering. A start. An admission of the insights he had made when they'd met and a display of willingness to the offer he had given. She was untrained. She was unspoiled. A virgin into the deeper bindings of the heart and its darker desires. The world to which she was entering was at times an unforgiving and blindly passionate one. It was not a place of mediocrity. The greater means of commitment required her to submit without understanding, without foresight. She would have to bend to his will without knowing its course or her own limitations. When Kaya entered the world he had offered her it was with blind devotion.

And so it was fitting she was eyes closed and bound. In so many ways he would be trying to open her eyes and setting her free.

Marcus was vaguely aware of Deidre's study of him and looked to her. What he saw was disappointment. It was forged, no doubt, by his lack of reaction. The great stoic nature of his features had held, despite the internal realizations that had played through him. He was grateful for that.

"Forgive me if I don't see you out." He said.

She went. Reluctantly at first. And when the front door closed and the car left his driveway, finally, Marcus exhaled.

The air within his room had grown hot, thick and moist. The vaulted walls and ceilings, the great cavernous space of his room shrunk down to a ferociously intimate measure of feet. He paid no mind to the luxurious four-post bed, a trophy piece whose dark wood and burgundy sheets were veiled by the silk panels of earthen-brown from its canopy. There were no thoughts of bedding this woman yet, even as he smelled the sweetness of her perfume and the subtly spice of her arousal. He was aware of her breath coming in rapid puffs, pushing a tendril of ebon from where it'd fallen across her face during her delivery.

Marcus reached and let his finger push it away, brush it back from her smooth cheek. Beneath his touch her skin ran like silk, warming under the pad of his digit. Her face formed by its elegant lines, broken only by the tape that bound her mouth from him. The anxiousness palpable. The uncertainty less so.

Looking at her Marcus remembered her note, the dark ink on the heavy paper. He looked at it now, admiring the gently feminine shape of the words. The strength of her submission painted in the brevity of its contents. It was a confidence, a self-awareness, that lingered beneath the surface. He was not wrong to have wanted her and this. It was so easy to see that now.

"You look beautiful." He began. The acknowledgement coming as his powerful body crouched before her. Even with a foot of space between them he felt their heat, a great pulsing warmth shared between their bodies. His want for her thickening by the moment, coupled in time with the quiet realization that they were starting. The words were a formality, one last avenue of escape. After that there was his armoire and their days together.

"You will obey me, Kaya. You will call me Sir unless I tell you otherwise. There are no safe-words during your time with me. There is nothing too far. No line that I cannot cross. Tell me that you are ready for this and we begin."

Master. Slave. Monikers to which he had never ascribed, never embraced. They made a gaudy mockery of what they would share, the partnership to which they were endeavoring. A submission of this potency required too much strength, too much choice, to ever be disregarded as slavery. The instruction, the freedom that he offered more akin to an education than a Mastery. Here, in the quaint luxury of his bed chambers, they would begin what would be a true adventure together.

As if to emphasize this he waited for her reply, smoothing his fingers down her elegant jawbones until his fingers held her chin within their grasp. Her full lips a breath from his own, his eyes piercing the gentle warmth of her stare. The tape came free easily, slowly peeling back from her mouth without the tearing or ripping perhaps they had both feared. Marcus' fingers fished between the soft pink petals of her mouth, pulling the lace panties from within. His thumb gently tracked her full lower lip, following its gentle curve as he waited. The suit he wore bunching some from the feral strength of his crouch.

"Are you ready, Kaya?"

 

[VampiricTouch]

Adrenaline. Anxious-ness. Excitement. Arousal. There was no concept of time within the darkness of her crate except for the fluttering rhythm of her heart. Her heart pounded a wicked beat in her veins as she waited for his decision, waited for the slow sway of the crate to cease, waited. Waited for the darkness to lift. It could have been mere minutes for Marcus and Deidre to bring the crate in and open it. To her it felt like hours.

The light flooded in, and even with her head bowed and eyes closed, she could sense the sudden brightness that displaced the darkness she had been kneeling in for so long. But even still, she kept her place. There was no movement, daring not even to breath as she listened for a sign. Any sign that he appreciated what he saw the way she thought he would.

It had been three simple words. The simplicity carried in those words that finally made her let go of the breath she had been holding. The corners of her lips lifted in a smile despite the tape that restricted her. And out of necessity, he added more. Words that would have easily taken away the moment she had so artfully created, but was preserved by the touch of his fingertips.

That which prompted her, compelled her to lift her chin and meet his gaze. There was no wavering behind the assurance in her eyes as she held his gaze. Even without words, he probably knew her answer...

"Yes Sir." She responded without hesitation. Brief and clipped with confidence, and unadulterated with excessive words, so unlike the meekness she'd expect from someone in her position. But she was confident. Confident in her own decision. Her answer had been decided long before this. It was something she had come to terms with the moment she'd stepped into the box.

 

[Light Ice]

Marcus rose after she'd answer, leave her looking at the panties he'd left discarded on the floor. The delicate lace bands severed from where Deidre had cut them, pulled them from Kaya's slender form. He could feel her dark eyes following him as he moved to the armoire, it's antique form looming tall amidst the room's other furnishings. The great pallor of his stare washing overs its hands before his large hands took hold and drew the doors open.

The interior was lined in crushed velvet, a deep wine-colored padding. Hooks and mounts dotted its massive expanse, revealing a virtual library of toys and tools. A catalogue of whips lined the left door panel, a series of restraints both leather and rope lined the right. Each crafted with unmatched care, works of art. Not toys. Of them all there was only one that did not belong. The plastic dildo was pink and small, a simple phallic tube of smooth and light pink. It was the very same toy she'd abandoned when he'd found her, left resting along the velvet.

Marcus chose it. His large hand dwarfed it, lending scale to several of the others visible against the wine-colored padding of the armoire's interior. Some were much larger, capable of filling his powerful hands. They were like promises, arranged in an ascending scale over a handful of cuffs and manacles. Her very future laid opened to her, a sultry revelation of the great poignancy of his intentions.

But for now it was her toy, not the tools of his collection. It was one of the things that had gotten them here. A part of their story. And so, cheap in comparison to what lay in store, he handled it with a faint reverence.

The ball-gag was the next thing he chose. It, as well, was not the cheap mock-up she'd used. From no sex toy store or online shopping haven did it herald. Instead, what he approached her with, looked as though it'd been hand-crafted with care untold. The ball was of solid rubber, meant to yield against a woman's teeth just a hint. It allowed her the freedom to sink her teeth into it, to feel the resistance and compliance both between her jaws. The leather was supple, naturally soft.

Marcus crouched before her once more, and reached out. His fingers stroked her jawbones, the soft lines of her cheeks. A gentle appreciation for her beautiful features before his fingers took her chin and lifted it. The crimson ball filled her mouth, forced her pouted lips to spread around it. The strong hands that had paid her such a subtle caress now stroked back along her cheeks to straddle her face as he fastened the buckle under her hair at the back of her head.

"Learn from me." He cautioned her. His eyes tracking into the depths of her own. The study was keen, made with obvious consideration. Even as her confidence bloomed he dictated to her, feeling sparks of pleasure run through him as her commitment and conviction danced in the lusty depths of her gaze. When it came to students he had always lived a charmed life, taking the very best he had seen and nothing else. But she was the first he had found himself fixing upon, her eyes so frequently drawing his as they began.

"Do not come."

The first command, a potent thing. It bound them now to the course, linked them in their attempts to navigate the world as it had opened to them. His strong hands guided her down, drew her forward until her cheek hit the pillow she kneeled upon. Her head canted so that those dark eyes could look onto him, watch as he rolled up the cuffs of his shirt and the sleeves beyond. They folded neatly, leaving a crisp knot above his elbow above the rugged stretch of his forearms.

And then he was using his palms to spread the round, smooth cheeks of her backside. The pink petals of her slick sex revealed beyond the beautiful spread of her thighs, framed by the feminine slopes of her lean thighs and the swell of her ass. The contrast of her rose-blushed sex and the creamy hue of her skin both beautiful and telling, betraying her arousal as his hands allowed the toy's cool tip to touch her.

Tension arched through her, the ribbons biting gently into her body as her muscles strain. The promised invasion prompting her slick depths to clamp prematurely in protest, even as the slickness of her body began to become more and more apparent.

Marcus pushed it inside her, allowed it to sink past the soft grip of her outer folds. With each moment another of its few inches pushed inside her.

"Failure comes without excuse."

A gentle assertion of what was to come before abruptly, suddenly, his fingers turned the toy on inside her. The buzz of its vibrations muted by the wet clench of her body, filling her up as it remained within the tight sheath of her core.

The minutes passed. He offered no relief, no release. Her eyes would only see his sweeping over her, appreciating the lean shape of her body and its precariously bound poise. Within her the toy was an unrelenting invader, hot and slick from the juices of her sex and trembling fiercely inside the core of her body. There was no effort to remove it, to give her relief. Instead, looking on, he merely waited for the inevitable. For her dark eyes to grow dusky with want before she cried out around the gag. Marcus waited for her first orgasm.

He had never to teach anyone as badly as he wanted to train Kaya. The image of her bound, with the toy buried deep inside her, was one he made certain he would remember.

 

[VampiricTouch]

He was in his element, in a place where everything was like a shading of shadow pointing at decadence... He opened the doors of his armoire as if they were gates into the world she had thrust herself into. Everything within spoke of the thoughtfulness of the man that possessed them. Indicative of his tastes as each and every crafted item found it's place only after the scrutiny he must have given.

and then there was her, plunged into the deep end of the world he offered to show her, the adventure they were about to embark. There was a flush of color that had nothing to do with her arousal as she saw him pick up the familiar toy she had forgotten here a month before. It stood out like a sore thumb in the set of accessories around it.

As he returned to her side, she couldn't help but find the scene similar to how he'd found her a month before. The situation seemed so familiar. The way her corset cut into the limit of her breathing, keeping her from taking the deep breaths needed to calm her pounding heart, needed to still her quivering sex, needed to provide air for her system...

Even still, she fought against the driving need. Failing at the first task given... was not acceptable. She arched against the self inflicted bonds, just like she had a month ago. The merciless binds cutting into her skin and leaving her motionless despite the struggle she put up. Moments passed, time set by the ticking of her own heart as she looked up from her vantage point, and pleaded with her eyes to shut off the dreaded machine.

It was the last she made as her eyes fluttered to a close. Kaya stopped fighting. Whether she lost the hope of success or was no longer able to fight, she did not know. She moaned, it heralded the orgasm she had fought valiantly to stave off, and it was stolen away by the gag between her teeth.

Never had pleasure felt this gut-wrenchingly painful. The force of it was like the breaking of a dam. The pent up tension she had struggled to maintain, merely fueling the intensity of her release as she came. The lack of air drew her in to focus on the rippling shudders of pleasure before he finally shut it off. Her body spasmed, tightening around the invasion as the distant part of her mind reminded her that she had failed...

She turned her face away, burying it instead in the pillow beneath her as she awaited the results of her failure. Berating herself for the control she had not been able to achieve, immediately questioning what it was she could have changed... and her shoulders sagged with the defeat that had come so forcefully over her.

 

[Light Ice]

Her first failure was a hard one, harder than he expected. To most the bitterness was an acquired taste, part of learning the borders and boundaries of the games and exercises. it was a point of pride to sate him, or so it became. But with Kaya, this lovely dark-haired angel whom had life and its many ironies saw fit to give him, the darker sting and humiliation of it was a potent and immediate thing. He saw her fall forward, her face cushioned in the warmth of the pillow. Her bindings forced her ass to lift higher, an offering, a shameful revelation.

The toy buzzed between her pouted petals, soaked now in the sweetness it'd coaxed from her. It was a beautiful image of struggle and the inevitable surrender to sensation. The limits of the body asserting themselves, even as Marcus walked behind her. The muffled cry she'd made was a sweet thing, a siren's call. A heralding.

The memory of it, he knew, would haunt his dreams tonight. It was hard not to selfishly claim her then.

"This is the second time you failed me." He began. His words low.

He stroked his fingers along the bared cheek of her ass, smooth ivory skin passing beneath his touch. Outside the rain had started, as he knew it would. The day-time skies darkened as the clouds filled them, swollen and angry. They shed their tears, pouring them down in thick drops that splattered against the windows and drummed against his house's siding. It was a steady cadence, a tumultuously intimate patter within his bedroom. A gentle backdrop to what would be their first introduction together.

Dipping his fingers lower, Marcus allows their tips to trace the slick pout of her kitty. They gripped the toy within her, trapped it there. A tight, vice-like seal that betrayed the ferocious hunger inside her. Too often men saw cunts as one-way portals, entrances to be invaded and intruded upon. It was a childish perception, one that neglected the sweeter and more subtle elements of a woman's sex. The drippings of her climax, of the want still within her, a gentle expression of desire. The scent of her was pure, clean, and unfulfilled. It was as though those puffy petals were weeping for all the men that had touched, taken, and seized without hearing the plea that came from within.

She needed to give herself to a man. He knew that. A more naturally submissive woman he had never seen. The very arch of her body was a compliant one, her ass thrust skyward, held almost proudly there as his fingers and breath brushed along her wet sex. Within her, confined within her heart, was a woman aching to love and to give. The dark lack of trust that had inhibited her for so long their greatest foe.

The other was the toy, which drove her to distraction, which didn't allow her to fully feel his strength behind her. His fingers pushed into her sex, immediately caught in the grip of her slick walls as they clenched down hard on them. Marcus took the time to sink them deeper around the toy before closing them around it, pulling it free while it still trembled to leave her empty.

He laid it purposefully beside her face, let her witness the slick of her cum along it.

"I don't believe you took me seriously." He said darkly.

Rising, Marcus reclaimed his full height and abandoned his place behind her. Once again his stride took him to the armoire, it's doors folded open. His rugged frame shielded her this time from his selection, from what she'd earned. It shielded it as he walked back out of her line of sight, striding behind her.

"It is my job to teach you how a man should treat you, girl. To show you what a man who understands your needs and seeks to meet them is like. But the reason you have never known one yet is that you lack the training to attract one. You accept less than what you deserve, and so you deserve less. I have to break your bad habits and rebuild you, Kaya. In this I will not fail you."

The warmth in his words meant, sincere. Spoken to her, bound as she is, with respect and gentle affection. He allowed her to hear the great desire in his voice, the subtle appreciation of beauty she inspired. For, bound as she is, her delicate limbs immobile in crimson ribbon, she is beautiful.

But his word did darken then. "So you will not fail me."

-CRACK-

The first strike without warning, a ferocious impact of the cat's tails against the silk of her skin. Rubber, not leather. A beginner's tool. The spark of pain blushing crimson along her flawless cheek, the pert flesh blushing violently under the powerful impact. Could she tell the difference between rubber and leather? He doubted it. Not yet. But a time would come when this simply did not sate her, feed her desire to be punished for her failures.

But that was far ahead.

His fingers found the buckle at the back of her head and freed it, allowing the ball-gag to slip from her lips and fall to the pillow.

Relief given with another command. A low growl of warning. She should not fail.

"Count your strikes. Ten more for your lack of control."

It was never disobedience. It was never disappointing him. It was always a lesson for herself, a lesson for the heart. Lack of self-control, a core tenant in Marcus' lessons. Something she would come to understand. For now there was only the cat, it's soft rubber tails. A start to the journey, cruel as it was.

Through fire and flame. Pain and Passion.

-CRACK-
"For sobbing over a man too weak to be honest." He said.

-CRACK-
"For your self-pity."

-CRACK-
"For your insecurity."

-CRACK-
"For your lack of self-respect."

-CRACK-
"For being afraid."

-CRACK-
"For being ashamed when I saw you, for the -wrong- reasons."

-CRACK-
"For settling for less than you deserve."

-CRACK-
He waited. Waited to hear her voice. It was shaking. The pain, perhaps, finally reaching her threshold. Beneath his hand her ass was a brilliant brush of red, the tails of the cat visible in their stroke against her cheeks. A beautiful, blushed contrast to the soft ivory of her skin.
"For believing that you could ever submit to a man who had not opened his heart to you."

-CRACK-
"For your lack of self-control."

The cat's rubber grip was turned in his hand, rolled over before he laid the leather-bound hilt between her cheeks. He felt her shudder as the warm black knob touched the pouted petals of her sex, listened to the sounds that slipped from her lips as it gathered her wetness on its end.

-CRACK-
He drew it back and snapped he tails across her round cheeks a final time. She cried out this time, counting the end of their first encounter. Her reward, even as he defined the sin accompanying her lashing, by unbinding the ribbons that trapped her. His present finally opened, the soft and lean curves of Kaya's body no-longer constrained by more than the soft lace of her corset. Her dark hair hailed about her head, her ass still lifted, hot to the touch. He felt it beneath his free hand, a lazy caress, almost soothing to the flushed skin as his words sank down to her.
"The last is for pleasure. Because you'll learn to want the punishments as much as you want the rewards; when they're given by a man worth giving them."

"Clean my fingers." He said. Taking up a feral crouch behind her. His hand lifted the honey-slicked digits that'd helped pull the cheap toy from inside her, still damp with the sweetness of her sex. Marcus held them up, waiting. His dark eyes piercing the softly-lit confines of his room to watch her reply.

 

[VampiricTouch]

His words stung. As the toy left her body, leaving her empty, the knowledge that she had disappointed him, hurt. She picked up the musky sweet scent that was evidence of her failure before her hazed filled sight focused upon the toy that had violated her... twice. It was enough to make her look away, almost enough to make her cry.

She didn't see him coming, choosing not to see what he had in store for her punishment. The discipline in his words already carrying more than their full weight within the despair of her failure.

The first strike came without warning and the open surprise of pain flared over brought a cry that was thankfully contained in her gag. It was a small blessing that her lack of control was held in check when she was unable to.... A blessing that was soon taken away.

There was no room for failure this time. Her forehead rested against the pillow before her as her eyes closed tight, letting her ears focus onto when the set of lashes would come down.

"Ooo-one" Her teeth clenched tight as her body flinched with the blow, surprising herself with the voice that formed her first count.

"Two" Her voice solidified just as the pain warmed her ass cheeks, making her wonder if she'd be able to take ten.

"Three" The number was breathed through gritted teeth as the lash kissed her sensitive skin.

"Four"A whimper now as she fought to remember her count through the blaze of heat on her derriere.

...

"Nine" The number came out in a sob as words accompanied his lash.

"t-ten" Her cry rang out before the final number ghosted in a whisper of relief.

His words hurt as much as the burn of his cat... if not more. Her sensitive body shuddering against her bonds with the desire to curl in on herself from the pain.... and the ribbon went slack. She pulled her arms free with a groan to wrap around her body, but unsure of herself, she did not rise, not daring to disrupt any more of the position she was already in until he gave his next command.

"Clean my fingers"

Her head lifted, far enough to see his slicked fingers before her but not enough to meet his eyes. Her tongue darted out to draw over his digits, gingerly tasting herself, her own lacking, upon his offered hand. Her lips parted further to take a single finger into her mouth, suckling it clean as she drew back up and moving to the next digit in question.

By the time she'd released the last finger from her lips, tears had stolen past the guard she'd maintained even through the administered punishment. She pulled away from him then, rising to settle on her heels as her head dipped low, hiding the display of another lack of control with the curtain of her hair.

It had been a sweet taste, sultry even... but all aspects were lost... and made bitter upon her palate when she recognized it as her failure.... a taste that suddenly felt far more painful than the cat had been on her derriere.

 

[Light Ice]

The cat hung in the grip of his hand, tails swaying almost angrily as he loomed over her. Her face was veiled through a curtain of her dark hair, wavy ebon strands that had fallen loose to lay against her cheeks and over her eyes. It wouldn't do. Not like this. Not when her face was shrouded, not when she looked in kind like a dog that'd been kicked. He felt sympathy. Not pity. There was no coddling for the sake of it. But this girl, this sweet little girl, had come to him for a lesson and found it to be a hard one. The erotic thrills of the her bindings and the expected appreciation of her appearance had come with an expectation in behavior.

And he knew that would take some of the hope away. It always did.

But what troubled Marcus the most was how truly submissive she was. Defiance, at this point, would had been preferable to her gentled seat infront of him. He wondered, briefly, just how badly his neighbor had damaged the girl's confidence.

He reached with a large hand to the chair at his desk, pulling it across the hardwood floor. The legs had small felt pads attached to the feet to keep the sound down to a soft "whoof" until he settled it behind her. A suitable seat, as any, as his strong fingers stroked through her dark hair and began to gently part it, digits soothing over her scalp. His strong, pant-clad legs framed her lean little body as he worked, pulling her hair back before separating the pieces, beginning to weave a fisherman's braid and keep her face bared.

"If you are to cry, don't cry for disappointing me." He offered, letting his fingers pinch down on captured strands so that his other hand lay free. It stroked along her cheek, followed the smooth line of her jaw upward until his thumb could reach down. He caught a few salty tears with the thick pad and smoothed them down across her cheekbone until they were little more than a damp streak.

"You're a brave girl. It's why you came here. You just have to learn to see it, and feel it, even in the adverse moments that life gives us. Go to the mirror. Look at yourself. Tell me what you see." Another command.

Subtle hints of the quietly assertive force inside him. He felt his eyes walk over her lean shoulders, mostly bared now that the braid was done. She was a terribly petite thing, slender in the shoulder and narrow in the waist. The flair of her hips and swell of her breasts were gentle and feminine but far from exaggerated. It gave her an almost natural quality, a kind of healthy leanness that was emphasized by the corset. His admiration turned partially predatory, a consequence of behind who he was. Not far from her his hard length swelled down his thigh, following the leg of his pants as it hardened inside them.

The full-length mirror was an antique, carved of heavy Italian cherry and hand forged from the nineteenth century. It was not so far from the bed, light glinting off the mirror's surface. Marcus watched her go to it.

 

[VampiricTouch]

The ribbon fluttered loose from her body as she rose. The passing strands catching over a pert nipple before falling with the rest in scarlet rings about her feet. The unconscious sway of her hips rolled to a pause as automatic steps brought her before the mirror.

Reluctantly she drew her eyes to the reflection, following the crisscrossed diamond lines upon the backdrop of sheer black stretched over her legs. The laced edge gave way to tanned skin, marred only by the garter straps. Her thighs glistened with her earlier climax, evidence made that much more obvious by the smoothly waxed skin.

What did she see?

"A woman." It was a flat response, a voice that carried the bitterness of her failure as she continued in a regretful whisper. "A woman that has disappointed you."

Her eyes did not stop there, instead they followed the flare of her hips upwards to the satin of her corset. Her small waistline emphasized that much more by the hour glass figure contained by the bodice of laced ribbon and ties. Her breasts spilled over the top of her corset, a lewd offering for the one that had still yet to lay claim on her.

"A small woman. Petite." A tiny smile gradually dawned upon her, "A woman that might just break in your hands."

Her hand lifted to the heavy braid that rested over her shoulder, following the silken contours before pushing it aside to let it fall behind her in a pendulous sway just above the full curve of her derriere. Fingertips remained there, and slowly traced over the gentle rise of her collar bone before dipping low to cup the globes of her breasts. It was a subtle lift as her nipples peeked between her fingers and her eyes traveled from her own reflection to his, making eye contact through the mirror that connected them.

"A beautiful woman." The confidence filled her voice as she spoke, and her smile turned impish, "A woman that you can't resist."

Her eyes returned to her own reflection, following the bared shoulders to the elegant line of her neck and finally the gentle features of her face. The stray strands of hair tucked neatly away as dark brown, almost black eyes returned the scrutiny she paid.

"A proud woman." Her chin lifted as her body turned, presenting the streaks of red that adorned her derriere to the reflection in the mirror and her voice hardened, "An intelligent woman, that hates failure."

A half step took her backwards against the mirror. Her hot skin chilled against it's reflection, a balm against the scarlet lines on her ass. She met his gaze once more as her arms draped against the sculpted wood that framed her body, "It won't happen again."

Her voice was hard as she declared those words.... until the memory of her earlier, inevitable failure returned. Her face fell along with it, turned aside to avoid his eyes, as she softly amended her words. "At least I'll try."