Anjali's Red Scarf Ch. 06

"Please, milady, I'm stuck in the thorns."

"How very careless of you. Well, I suppose I must rescue you." I let go of her breast—pausing to admire the white crescent nail-marks I'd left in her skin—and began to stroke her, soothing the hurts I'd given her. "Is that better, girl?"

"Yes, thank you, mistress."

I stooped again, and gave her nipple a slow squeeze as my tongue flickered at her earlobe, and I whispered. "Later I'll have you pierced, so all the world can see whose you are. You'll look perfect with silver rings through you." I punctuated my words with a tighter squeeze, and she shuddered violently, a whole-body paroxysm. Her face was scrunched up, unreadable to me, and I whispered again: "Are you okay?"

Anjali nodded, squeezed out a moment's smile for me. "I'm okay. Don't stop..." Then her voice shifted. "Please, Lady Tanglespine, don't, have mercy..."

"I'm a kind mistress, girl, to those who know their place. Do you know yours?"

"Yes, mistress. I'm your servant-girl. I'll do whatever you wish. I'll be good. Please don't pierce me."

"Mmm?" I unclipped her bra, ran my fingers over her skin, circling her breasts, brushing the nipples. "What if my wish is to pierce you?" My other hand dipped down between her legs, teasing, testing. "What if hurting you is delicious to me?" And I scraped at her nub with my nail, just enough to make her wriggle.

She sighed, eyes closing. I saw her gulp a breath. "Then you'll hurt me, mistress. Because you can. You'll do what you want."

"Mmm." My fingers slipped inside her, and she arched and gasped, and her arms strained against my knots. "I think I want to make you cry. Is that wrong?"

"No, mistress. I'm your prisoner, in your palace in the thorns. You have the right. Nothing is wrong for you here."

So I did. I assailed her with fingers and nails and teeth, until she came sobbing in my arms, and I caught her tears on the tip of my tongue. Until she went limp in my arms, and started to shiver, and I loosed her bindings and wrapped my quilt tight around her.

"Are you okay, Anjali?" I stroked her hair.

"I... I think so?"

I held her, and not only for her sake; I had processing of my own to do. A few minutes ago I'd been high on ego, confident and cruel, but now the rush was gone and self-doubt was creeping in to take its place, the butterfly crawling back into its chrysalis.

There were bite marks on her breasts and thighs, red welts on her back, here and there smears of blood where my nails had broken her skin. All within the terms of our agreement and the checklist we'd talked through together. And yet, as the heat of lust cooled, I found myself uncomfortable with the evidence of my violence. I sat there holding her, until perhaps fifteen minutes later she spoke.

"Well, that was different."

"I'm sorry, I should have—"

"I didn't say it was bad. Just... intense. I don't think I can do that every week, Sarah." She wriggled around to squeeze my arm. She was still shivering, just a little. "But it was interesting. We can talk about it in the morning."

I nodded. "Get you anything?"

"No thank—actually, could I have a glass of water?"

"Sure." I went and got her one, luke-warm so as not to chill her, and then we spooned under the quilt. I was almost asleep when she spoke again.

"Seven years for a handful of blackberries? Really?"

"Don't blame me, I don't make the law."

"Uh huh." She wriggled back against me. "Just so we're clear on this, I'm absolutely not getting a nipple piercing. Never ever. You know me and jewellery."

"Understood. Anyway, if I was getting you pierced, it'd be a tongue piercing."

"Really? Why is—oh. Does that make a difference, then?"

"It can be... rather nice," I said, thinking back to my dalliance with Luisa.

"Well, I'm sorry I can't help with that."

"It's okay. You have your own charms."

"Mmm."

By mutual consent we slept late the next morning. Even early-bird Anjali didn't venture out of bed until ten, and I snoozed until she returned with a tray laden with breakfast.

"Omelettes? Thank you!"

"I felt like cooking. Budge over, I'm coming back in."

As she settled in next to me, her robe slipped, and I could see the bruises beginning to blossom on her skin.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm fine. A little sore." She tested one of the bruises with her fingertip, then shrugged. "Mostly just tired. What about you?"

"Okay, I guess. A bit confused."

"About what?"

"Where it all comes from. Wanting to hurt you. It feels kind of messed up."

"Am I more or less messed up than you for enjoying it?" She snuggled against me. "You know the joke about the man who thinks he's a chicken? His friends think he should go see a psychiatrist, but his wife refuses to take him, because they need the eggs."

"Wait, what?"

"Remember I went to medical school? These days, it's all about what causes distress. If it's making people happy and not hurting anybody, it's not an illness just because it's weird..."

And so we passed the morning—what was left of it—in philosophical debate about pleasure versus principle, on the implications of roleplaying cruelty and tyranny in a world that already had plenty of the real thing. Eventually we drifted into politics more generally, and I was surprised to discover the strength and depth of Anjali's opinions on various matters.

I still had a tendency to think of her as a creature of my making, the pupil to my mentor. In some things, she still was, but the more we talked the more I saw that she'd been learning a lot for herself. We agreed on a lot, but the more we talked the more I found ideas and beliefs that weren't mine, and somehow that made me feel better about the games I wanted to play with her.

Faithful readers, thank you SO MUCH for your patience. I know it's almost a year since the last update to this story... life has been busy, and tiring, and everything is on fire. But I'm still here and still writing, slowly, when I get a moment.

Next chapter: Sarah and Anjali's one-year review.

By the way, if you're seeing this notice on a site other than literotica dot com, it means the story has been stolen and posted without the author's permission, and I'd appreciate it if you'd report that.