Claire woke to the smell of pancakes and the sound of more rain. She wouldn’t have guessed that it was morning because her room was so dark. Sitting up, she yawned and stretched until she realized Marc was standing in the doorway. She let out a little squeak of surprise and instinctively yanked the covers up. "Marc!" she gasped.
"Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you." He was leaning in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the white wood. Lightning flashed and she saw him smiling.
"What time is it?"
"Eleven thirty. I figured I’d wake you up but you looked so peaceful." He pushed off the wall and came over to her. "You look so cute in my clothes," he laughed. She blushed fiercely.
"Oh, hush, I’m tiny, okay?" she grumbled, pushing the covers off and standing. "Did you make breakfast?" she asked.
"Yes, I did. Come," he said. Rubbing her eyes, Claire followed him into the kitchen where the breakfast bar was laid out with orange juice, chocolate chip pancakes, fruit and bacon.
"Mm!" she exclaimed.
They sat down to eat, chatting casually about the weather and listening to the news when Marc turned on the radio.
"Don’t you have a TV?" she asked him curiously.
"Yes, I do, but I almost never use it. I prefer music to senseless noise. And one can read the news from a paper just as much as one can watch it on a screen." He fiddled with a dial on the radio until he hit a classical station. "Ahh, Madam Butterfly. Do you like opera?" He turned to look at her, only to see a bemused expression on her face.
"You paint, cook, listen to opera music, read newspapers, and don’t watch television. Are you sure you aren’t Martha Stewart?" Marc threw back his head and laughed.
"Yes, I’m fairly sure I’m not Martha Stewart. On most days, anyway." He gave her a wry smile and stood, wiping his hands on a napkin. "Speaking of the painting…I have a little change in plans today. Would you come with me?" He held his hand out and she took it, following him into the living room.
Instead of the usual clay cuffs that were held on the wall, they had been replaced with what looked like real steel manacles. There were various sizes of chains and leather straps draped across the back of the couch. "For the final details, I needed something a little more realistic. The clay didn’t reflect any light, and they just didn’t look real enough for the painting. And I need the leather straps and chains to go around your body." He glanced at her. "Will this be alright?"
Claire bit her lip, surprised at the strange rush of arousal that shot through her abdomen. Alright? she thought. He’s going to chain me to the wall!
And you don’t mind, do you? a small part of her whispered. No, she didn’t mind…
"Yes, it’ll be fine," she said softly.
"Great." He pulled the canvas and easel from the corner and began to set up his brushes and paints. "Let’s get you up in those chains then, shall we?"
It took less than ten minutes for him to get set up and her to change out of the oversized pajamas. "Up you go," he said cheerfully as she stood on the usual blocks. After two days of it, her feet were beginning to hurt. She thought longingly of a good foot massage.
He started with the leather straps. One went around her ribs, just beneath her breasts and another just above them, resting firmly against her sternum. Two went around each ankle and were attached to each other with a length of chain. She was startled when he wrapped a thin length of leather around her neck, a cold bite of metal against her throat. "It’s a collar," he explained as he buckled it into place. "That feel alright? Not too tight?"
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "Now the chains," he said. Chains were draped every which way over her, winding around her arms and ribcage, dangling just over her thighs. He positioned one chain so her nipple would peak just through the links, pulling and teasing it under it popped upright. She suppressed a moan and she could tell he knew.
"Claire, this might seem a bit odd but…would you mind opening your legs for me?" She looked at him, surprised. "There’s one chain in particular I need…" His face was flushed and she felt her cheeks burning as she did as he requested.
Claire let out a soft hiss at the cold sting of metal against her burning clit as he wound a chain up between her legs, attaching one end to the front of the collar and the other to the back. "Perfect," he nearly purred. Marc stepped back to look at her. "You look wonderful, just like I pictured. Now we just need to put those cuffs on you."
She shivered as he moved her arms above her head, the cool metal encircling her wrists tightly. The click of them locking into place made her bite her lip nervously. No turning back now, she thought.
His head dropped into her neck for a moment and she felt his warm breath against her. A chill raced down her spine, causing her hips to twitch. The chain dug into her between her legs and she whimpered softly. "Relax," he whispered and quickly pulled away, walking to his canvas.
"We’re almost done, Claire. Just stay there and look…trapped," he said, giving her a slight grin.
It was hours before they were finished and they painted in silence, apart from the opera music drifting from the kitchen, the patter of rain against the windows and the occasional rumble of thunder. Held as she was against the wall, she didn’t need much support from the blocks so she didn’t get any breaks this time.
By the time Marc finally laid down his paintbrush, however, her skin was damp with sweat from the bright lights overhead and the strain on her muscles. Not only that, but any time she moved even a little bit, the chain between her legs stimulated her frustrated pussy lips and clit.
"Painting’s done," Marc said quietly, coming to stand before her.
"Thank god," she gasped a little, looking at him. He stared at her and she stared back, breathless.
"Claire?" he asked, leaning closer. She nervously tugged at the steel manacles, forgetting for a moment that they were solid metal and not soft clay.
"Y…yes?"
His kiss was powerful and harsh, his lips moving roughly against hers, smooth painter’s hands, still stained with splotches of paint, cradling her jaw. She moaned, her mouth opening for his tongue, tasting him. One of his hands circled her throat and pinned her to the wall, squeezing just slightly and groaning into her mouth.
She let out a weak whimper, panting against his lips. His hand left her throat to grasp her breast, pulling and tugging at one tight nipple. His mouth buried against her neck, kissing and nipping it, his breath warming her. Her head tilted back, meeting the wall. Thunder rumbled outside and she felt it resonate deep inside her.
"Marc…Marc, we have to st…stop," she stammered but cried out when he bit down hard on her neck, his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple.
"No, we don’t. And we aren’t." He pulled away from her and she sagged against the wall, breathing hard. He walked into the bedroom, leaving her breathless and hanging. She didn’t even attempt to try and wiggle out of the manacles.
Marc returned, pulling a pair of leather gloves on his hands and carrying a black bag. He had removed his shirt and worn only a pair of black jeans, liberally spattered with paint. He set the bag down near his easel. "What am I going to do with you, Claire?" he murmured, gazing at his painting and then at her, pinned like a butterfly to the wall.
"Wh…what do you mean?" she breathed. Her nipples were peaked and red, the dark strands of her hair contrasting sharply against her pale skin and he found himself simply staring at her, taking in her form for a moment before speaking.
"You look so beautiful like that," he whispered. Marc swept one leather-clad hand up her side and fondled her breast, teasing the pouting tip. She moaned, arching into his hand. Oh, she loved how leather felt on her skin and it felt even better against her breast. He smirked. "You like my gloves, don’t you?"
"Yes…" she breathed, her voice cracking. She was in some deep shit. She was chained to a wall by a practical stranger, for god’s sakes! Oh, but she was turned on, achingly so, and the chain between her legs reminded her of this fact cruelly as she strained, making it rub against her swollen clit and lips. "I don’t understand," she whimpered and then gasped as he bit down on her neck again, her protests stuttering into a helpless whine.
"Hush, Claire. No talking." The command sent little skitters of arousal through her. His gloved hands roved over her skin and soon she was trembling, simply from the feeling of his long-fingered artists hands, lovingly clad in leather, skimming over the surface of her skin, leaving goosebumps behind.
"Marc," she tried to protest and yelped as his hand came up to circle her throat, pressing her into the wall. His breath was hot on her ear and she let out a pitiful moan.
"I said, no talking," he growled and chuckled darkly against her neck. She whined and his free hand found its way between her thighs, sliding past the cold chain to touch her intimately. Her eyes went wide and she sputtered; his hand tightened on her neck.
"Oh, Claire." He laughed, his thumb pressing in slow circles around her swollen clit. "You’re so sensitive here, aren’t you?" His exhilarated laughter echoed in her ear as sparks flew in her head. She heard herself gasp, her legs shivering.
His thumb and forefinger grasped her clit and tugged on it gently. She whined, and his hand pulsed against her throat again. He tugged a little harder and a harsh, throaty moan burst from her. He answered with a nearly inaudible hungry growl and just like that, she came, jerking involuntarily against the chains, gasping for breath and shaking.
He pulled back to look at her, stunned. He hadn’t expected her to come so quickly, but he smiled. "Good girl. Good girl…" he murmured. He stepped back and began unwinding the chains from around her body. She relaxed a little bit, thinking she was done.
But he simply dropped the chains on the couch and returned to his black bag. There was a black strip of fabric in his hands when he came to her again and she stiffened, a little frightened. "Now, now, Claire. Be good," he whispered. He tied the silk blindfold around her eyes and she whimpered. "Marc," she whispered.
His leather-clad hand came down on her upper thigh with a sharp smack and she yelped. "I said no talking," he barked and her insides clenched again. She couldn’t help but moan.
What is happening to me? she thought desperately.
"You’ll have to learn to obey orders, I see. I’ve got so much training to do with you, Claire." His quiet tone conveyed that he was talking more to himself than her. She opened her mouth to ask a question and heard his sudden quiet. Her mouth snapped shut and she bowed her head, blushing. "A fast learner, I see."
His footsteps walked away from her, in the direction of his easel and his bag and she relaxed on her cuffs for a moment.
Why was she allowing this? Why did she allow someone akin to a stranger to chain her to his wall, order her about, and make her come? And furthermore, why was she enjoying this?
She was so immersed in her thoughts that she jumped when she felt his hands on her hips, the leather gloves gone. She felt a brief flare of disappointment that they were gone, but his hands were so lovely all on their own that it didn’t last long.
His fingers were gentle on her this time, wandering up over the curve of her stomach and along the sensitive skin of her breasts. He ran his thumb in a lazy roll over her nipple, up and then down, up and then down. She squirmed, the lack of sight heightening the experience even more. Thunder rumbled once more outside.
He kissed her again, just as deep and possessive a kiss as the first, but a note of tenderness in it now. No, not so much tenderness as patience; he was taking his time with her. Both hands squeezed her breasts lightly, feeling the pebbled nipples pressing into his palms. She moaned, shivering. She was so distracted with his kiss that she failed to notice one of his hands leave her breasts. He unlocked her from the manacles and switched her arms so that they were crossed above her head. His other hand left her breast to grasp her neck, thumb tilting her chin up to deepen his kiss.
"Marc," she moaned against his lips. He bit down on her lower lip and she gasped.
"No…talking," he whispered roughly. She cried out as he flipped her suddenly so that her cheek was pressed to the wall, her back and buttocks exposed to him. He pulled her hips flush to his and she gasped again, feeling his erection against her ass. His teeth nipped at her shoulder and she let out a little breathy moan. "You are so beautiful…"
His hand ran down her spine as he pulled away. "You’re not going to understand what happens next, Claire, but I need you to be patient with me. I promise that you’ll enjoy it eventually."
His steps retreated, back to his bag, she supposed. She felt something soft and cool brushing her thighs. He tapped her ass with it and she froze. No…surely not.
The only warning she had was a soft whish just before the riding crop cracked against the skin of her ass. She yelped, her back arching, pressing her breasts into the wall. A second blow, and she heard herself let out a breathy moan. Where did that come from?
"You’re doing well, Claire," he breathed. He sounded aroused, and she realized how sexy she must look to him, pinned to the wall, squirming underneath his abuse.
Another sharp slap, this one at the top of her thigh. She squealed, arching against the wall, going up onto the balls of her feet. His fingers drove deep into her and she gasped as he roughly fingered her; she was hot and dripping, her clit swelling to painful proportions. "Yes, you’re doing very well," he purred, tapping her ass with the crop as he prodded her G-spot. She whimpered, panting.
"Please…please," she pleaded breathlessly. Another yelp left her lips when the crop came down harder. Suddenly the blows were coming hard and fast, coming down and then up, right, left, left, right, thighs, upper back…she lost count of how many times he whipped her. She only knew that she shook and trembled and sweat and moaned and even cried, becoming nothing but skin and sensation, melting into his wall.
She seemed to come back to herself when the whipping slowed and then stopped. There was a soft clatter as the whip fell to the ground and then a clinking as the cuffs were unlocked from her wrists. He spun her around and whipped the blindfold off. She blinked, his face flushed and heightened, his eyes bright.
Marc’s mouth came down on hers and she felt him lift her, cupping her sore, welted buttocks in his hands. Her legs went around his waist automatically.
Her breath left her in a rush as he slammed into her, sliding easily into her wet, enflamed sheath. "W-wait…condom," she breathed, clinging to him.
"Already on," he growled against her mouth, nipping at her lip before thrusting his tongue into her mouth at the same time as his hips rocked back and then slammed forward again. He grabbed her wrists in one hand and held them above her head, as strong as the manacles.
His eyes bored into hers, amusement and desire dancing in them. "Do you want to come, Claire?" he asked, his thrusts becoming rougher, the tip of his cock dragging over her clit on each backslide, sending sparks shooting through her abdomen.
"Yes…yes…!" she gasped.
He nipped the side of her neck, sucking and surely leaving an obvious hickey. "Beg me," he breathed against her ear, nibbling on her ear lobe.
"Please…"
"Please, what?" he demanded.
"Please, Sir! P-ple…oh, god, please!"
"Please, Sir, what, Claire?" he goaded, laughing as she let out a keening wail. He ground inside her, his pubic bone stimulating her clit as his cockhead massaged her G-spot. He felt her clamp down and quickly pulled back. "Ah-ah-ah, no coming before I say so," he teased and she sobbed. He slowed his thrusts, gazing into her eyes as he did so. She was nearly hyperventilating with her desperation. "You only have to ask, Claire."
He saw the actual snap in her control, and felt his triumph; she was submitting to him, finally.
"Please, Sir, can I fucking come!" she shrieked.
The hand supporting her ass came around to grasp her clit, giving it a rough pull. "Come, you little slut," he growled in her ear and slammed balls-deep into her.
Her whole body shook with the spasms that overtook her, adorable whimpers and moans falling from her lips as her pulsating cunt urged him to his orgasm.
Claire gasped for breath, his deep groans in her ear making her orgasm continue. Only when it was over did she slump against him. He released her wrists to wrap his arms around her, carrying her to the couch before his own legs failed him.
He sat her in his lap, cradling her head to his chest and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Well done," he said softly, brushing her hair off her damp temples. She smiled weakly, nuzzling his pectorals. He was still almost fully clothed, only his chest bare. His jeans were scratchy against her ass, which felt like it was on fire.
Her shakes finally subsided and she lifted her head to look at him. He must have seen the question in her eyes because he smiled. "I’m sorry I went about this the way I did. I hope I didn’t scare you." She shook her head.
"No, I wasn’t scared. Confused, maybe, and definitely shocked. But I wasn’t scared."
"You did like it, then?" She blushed and her smile was more than a little shy.
"Yes…I did like it. I never imagined anything like that. Thank you," she said sheepishly. He smiled and kissed her lightly.
"Would you like me to take off all these straps?" he said, playing with the leather collar around her throat. She nodded and he went to work unbuckling the straps. He went to remove the collar around her neck but she stopped him.
"Leave that one," she said with a soft little smile. He grinned and kissed her again. "Can I see the painting now?"
"Maybe you should get dressed first," he replied with a cheeky grin. "It’s already hard enough to keep my hands off of you."
She laughed and slid off his lap, going to the little puddle of clothes on the floor, pulling his soft clothing on. His arms wrapped around her from behind and she smiled, leaning her head back to look at him. "Don’t distract me, I want to see it," Claire teased and he laughed.
"Alright then, come here."
He led her to the easel and then covered her eyes before he let her see it. "Ready?" he asked softly. She nodded and he uncovered her eyes. She gasped.
She wasn’t against a wall at all. She had big but broken dirty white wings, her face half concealed by her hair. The part that wasn’t covered looked to be in a sort of tortured bliss. The straps and chains covering her body were stark and contrasting with the bright pink of her nipples and the cream of her skin.
A man clad all in leather was behind her, one of his hands in her hair and the other lifting her leg to drive into her. Even with the mask around his eyes, there was no mistaking that it was Mark. The background of the painting was in harsh red and clay browns, and the floor beneath the leather man’s feet was dark grey.
And what really drew her eye were the cuffs. They were the brightest thing in the painting, seeming to gleam right off the canvas. She looked over her shoulder at Marc. "It’s beautiful."
"So are you," he murmured. His lips trailed over the side of her neck as she glanced back at the painting.
"Hey, Marc?"
"Hm?" he mumbled, distracted by the curve of her shoulder and neck. She tilted her head to the side to give him better access.
"When can you paint me again?"
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