Art Appreciation

It was her request, that always gave the game an edge. The words came over dinner, with a coy smile and an embarrassed roll of her big, green eyes.

"Can we play tonight?"

His reply: "Of course," as it most often was. After the meal, he cleared the table and sent her to ready herself. In a few short moments she stood before him, powdered and perfumed, her auburn hair in pigtails tied with white silk ribbon (always a pleasing touch). She was naked, and he reveled in the sight of her. Her breasts full and glorious, her nipples hard and flushing deep pink against her pale skin. She stood with her legs apart, open for his inspection, and he noted her damp pussy and swollen clit already begging to be fingered and kissed.

He drew close and kissed her hard twining his fingers in her hair and yanking her head back. He clamped his teeth firmly on her lower lips and she gasped and moaned softly . He lifted her head and looked into her eyes and noted them, wide with desire. For a moment he left her and returned with one of the folding kitchen chairs. He placed it, before her, the seat facing her. "Come here." Demurely, she obeyed. "Bend over, place your hands on the seat and keep your back straight, your legs apart displaying yourself properly. Again, she responded with wordless compliance, bound with cautious curiosity.

"Now," he said--his voice was deep and authoritative, but under it lurked a playful smile. "I have to clean up the dinner dishes; I want you to stay here. If you utter a word, you will be gagged. If you move a muscle, you will be punished." He moved to the end table and picked up a plastic wineglass filled with small glass beads. She liked things that sparkled, and these caught her eye. How pretty they looked in the glass, like little jewels. He carefully balanced the glass on the small of her back, and she knew that if she moved, even the slightest bit, the glass would tumble and the glittering jewels would scatter about the room. Still, she kept her eyes down and focused now on remaining as still as possible.

His hand stroked her bottom and then made its way between her legs to fondle her damp sex. The urge to thrust her hips to meet his hand was instinctive, but she caught herself, feeling the glass teeter precariously on her rump. He enjoyed the pretty scene before him, and quelled some instinctive feelings of his own. The sweet flair of her hips, the sight of her pussy peeking out at him as she stood, bent over and inviting, fueled his desire to a new height, and he wanted to take her, roughly, then and there. Patience, however, prevailed. He knew there would be a time soon when he would feel himself slide into her, her body yielding to his. Instead, he gave her bottom a playful swat.

"Now, I don't want you to get bored while I'm away, so I'm going to give you a little project." He placed a white card on the sofa before her. "The other side of this card has a picture on it; I want you to study it. I urge you not to take your eyes off it. Why? One, I will be checking, and if I so much at see you glance away you will regret it with every crack of the 100 swats that land on your bottom. And, two, there will be a quiz later, and I think you'll want to do well." He smiled wickedly , yet there was a charming glint in his eye. She knew he was not joking and that she had better study the picture in every detail. Her mind, however was driven to distraction. This wouldn't be easy.

She wasn't sure exactly when it happened, her mind drifting between studious scrutiny of the picture and wanton erotic fantasy, but something she did, perhaps a careless shift of weight; or an, ever so slight, involuntary thrust of her hips, caused the glass to wobble, and before she could compensate, she felt its base slide from her back and thud to the floor followed by the sound of the beads raining softly on the carpet. Her heart sank with the dread of some unknown, and now unavoidable, punishment; yet somehow along with that dread came an intensified heat between her legs. The ember was now fanned.

He appeared quietly in the doorway, casually drying a glass. Before she could stop herself, she looked up at him as if to say, 'I'm sorry.' "Eyes on the picture." He snapped. She dutifully obeyed, but not without a silent, yet perhaps half-hearted curse at herself for looking away. Another fate, this one known, was sealed.

"We'll clean up this mess when I've finished with the dishes. And, since you've proven to me that you can't keep still on your own, we'll have to give you no choice in the matter." He returned in short order with their toybag, placed it on the floor behind her, and set to work securing her.

Her ankles were lashed to a long spreader bar, which was in turn lashed to the chair. Her wrists were similarly tied to a smaller spreader bar that too was tied down to the chair. A collar was placed about her lovely throat, and that also was fastened to the chair. Her position was the same as it had been, but now her movement was quite clearly limited. To further ensure her immobility, he added a pair of nipple clamps to the already sensitive buds. He then weighted the clamps so that even the slightest movement would cause them to tug harshly at her nipples. He did the same with a small silver ring which he fastened to her, now, desire-slicked clit.

It was, perhaps, only a few minutes, but the time passed slowly for both of them. Each trying to focus on his/her respective task, but, thinking more perhaps, about what thoughts might be occupying the other. The dishes were dried, and carefully put away. He entered the room and beheld her naked and bound body before him. He paused, struck again by her sheer beauty. Again he quelled an impulse. That desire would be satisfied, in time. Lifting a notepad and pen from the trunk that served as their end-table, he circled her once, removed the picture from view and lighted upon the sofa opposite her.

"Time's up," he smiled "let's see how much you remember." He hooked a finger under her chin and brought her eyes up to meet his. His face was stern, but his eyes belied his true feeling. They sparkled with playfulness, and deep within; they burned with love, and desire. And so, the bizarre little pop quiz began.

"How many people are in the picture?" He said, propping the picture up in front of him.

"Five." Her answer caught in her throat slightly, as if she wasn't quite sure her voice would work. Her eyes were demurely downcast. He made a big show of nodding thoughtfully and then made a careful notation on the pad.

"The man in the background is wearing a hat, what color is it?"

"Red." Another nod, more scribbling.

"What letter is inscribed on the goblet?" Her mind raced for a moment. She remembered no goblet. Had she missed it? It was unlikely. She felt as though she had taken in every brush stroke of the painting. She decided to take a risk.

"That's a trick question," Her voice found a note of playful boldness; "there is no goblet in the painting."

"Well done!" His face lifted into a smile, but just as quickly, it vanished leaving behind only a slyly cocked eyebrow, "but I'm sure you don't know how many tiles are on the floor." His eyes dropped down to the pad, trying to maintain a cool facade and cover the smile returning to his lips. He awaited her answer. She had none to give. She wanted to shout, "That's not fair!" She heard his response even before her mind formed the thought.

"Of course it's fair. You had plenty of time to count them. I did. There are 103."She sighed a slight protest, and shifted in her bonds; the weights swinging and tugging gently. But, inwardly she secretly thrilled that he caught her, even if it was on a silly detail.

"Well my pet. You performed well on my little quiz, but sadly, not well enough. You see, to pass this quiz, you needed a perfect score. I would, of course, accept no less from you. It seems we must improve your eye for detail. This along with your other slight infractions," he nodded toward the widely scattered beads, "will make for quite an active evening for you. Are you up for it?" Again he brought her eyes to meet his. She nodded shyly. "That's not a proper answer."

"Yes, Sir" she said, almost too loudly, her voice catching in her throat again with uncertainty--or desire.

"Much better." He smiled playfully, and rose from his seat leaving the picture and notepad behind. He crossed behind her and placed a hand on her bottom. She closed her eyes and wished silently that the hand might slide down between her legs; open her widely; expose her; and quench the desire that was slowly consuming her. Instead, the hand left her briefly, and returned forcefully with a loud smack. She always knew when it was coming, yet somehow the feeling always took her by surprise. Something that shouldn't feel pleasant, yet somehow, wonderfully, inexplicably, it did. It sent a complex shudder of intoxicating pleasure and pain through her that was only intensified by the presence of the weighted clamps and ring.

"Let me explain the rest of the evening's agenda. First, a little lesson in the importance of detail. Then, a break to clean up the mess you so carelessly made. After that, there is the matter of your disobedience. And finally, you will be fucked." His tone was not unkind, not harsh in any way. It was quite matter-of-fact, yet it was oddly soothing and reassuring. As if he was telling her that while there was discomfort on the horizon, he had control over it, and he would never allow that discomfort to cross over into harm. In a strange paradoxical way, she felt protected by him. No sooner had she completed this thought, than her bottom was met by another loud swat from his hand. "Now tell me, my pet, how many tiles are in the picture."

"One hundred-three." Her voice was clear but tentative.

"One hundred-three," he repeated, giving the number an ominous significance, "that is how many are to follow. I want you to count them down for me, and so you don't forget, after each count, I want you to tell me how many tiles are in the picture. Do you understand?" There was a brief pause, she wasn't exactly sure she did; but, she reasoned, a negative answer might compound her present situation.

"Yes."

"Good, because if you do it incorrectly, or if you lose count along the way, I will simply have to start again."

She swallowed hard. Perhaps it would have been better to admit her uncertainty. She took a deep breath and readied herself, and a heart-beat after, the first official blow landed.

"One hundred-three/One hundred-three," She gasped.

Crack.

"One hundred-two/One hundred-three."

Crack.

There was no other reaction. Apparently, she had the right idea. She was relieved, and at the same time the smallest bit disappointed. "One hundred-one/One hundred-three."

It continued. She lost count twice, the first time in the mid-sixties; the second, to her horror, in the twenties. Her bottom was on fire; her loins drenched with the juices of her own passion; and she wanted, with all her being, to cry out. If she did, she knew she would be gagged, and she wondered how that would effect the punishment. How could she be expected to count with a gag in her mouth? A dark, secret part of her wanted to call him on it--wanted to find out. A dozen or so swats passed, and she could no longer contain her rebellious curiosity.

"No," she said softly, but firmly, the tiniest of smiles playing on her lips. He stopped in mid-stroke truly stunned by her sudden display of willful defiance.

"What was that?" He did his best to cover his surprise by feigning indigence.

"No," she said again. This time she reveled in the rebellion. She knew she caught him off guard. Her unseen smile widened, she bit her lower lip timidly and her shoulders shook with a faint inaudible chuckle.

"Well now, for a young lady facing such dire circumstances, you seem to be awfully high spirited." He circled her again, slowly, and again he settled on the sofa. He looked at her gravely; but deep down, he too was reveling in her defiance.

"Do you recall, my love, what the price is for speaking out of turn?"

"Yes."

"And what is that price?"

"I will be gagged." The words came easily; however, it sent a sudden erotic tingle through her to actually say them.

"Look at me." She raised her head slowly. He leveled his eyes to hers. "Say it again."

"I will be gagged." He recognized the look she gave him, and the tone of her voice. He'd experienced them many times before over a chess board. This was no different; she was challenging him, pushing his limits, as much as he was pushing hers.

"And so, you shall." He rose and crossed out of her line of sight. She heard a rustling in the toy bag, and soon saw the large black ballgag lowered before her eyes, and forced between her teeth. He fastened the buckle tightly, making sure his rebellious captive could not somehow slip free of the appealingly harsh device.

"Now, we shall begin again." She resisted the temptation to groan aloud. "I certainly hope, for your sake, I do not lose count. And since you seem so fond of moving and making noise, I am going to give you the opportunity. I want you to moan and twist in response to this punishment. I want you to sway those fabulous hips, and I want to hear how you enjoy the feel of my hand on your bottom."

She did as she was told, shyly, timidly at first; but as the smacks continued to echo in her ears, and her already-scarlet buttocks was rewarmed by his hand, she lost sight of herself and gave over to her task willfully, and with lusty abandon.

Mercifully, he did not lose count. And the effort to make herself understood with the enormous ball strapped in her mouth sent rivers of drool cascading to the floor...which both humiliated and excited her. When the punishment was done, to her surprise, he removed her bonds and her gag. "Now, to the mess that's here, pet. We'll have to do something to clean it up."

Properly chastened, "yes, Master" the repentant girl replied. He took the glass, which had been sturdy enough not to shatter, and sat down with it in a chair on the far side of the room.

"Kneel to face me pet." She did so in the way she had been taught was pleasing to him, knees wide apart hands palm up on her thighs, in a gesture of offering, chest thrust slightly forward, and head down. "You are to pick up each and every one of these jewels, and bring them her to my feet where you will drop them in this glass." He placed the glass on the floor slightly forward of his booted feet. "You will do this on all fours, and you will take each jewel one at a time between your teeth -- not you lips, or into your mouth -- between your teeth. Understood?"

"Yes Master." She said with just enough voice to be heard, her body blushing with shame.

"After you drop each jewel, you will assume the slave squat position, you will say the following, 'Master this one dutifully atones for the mess she made' and wait for me to tell you to continue."

The position was one she loathed, even the very name of it, and he knew it. It was a stress position, she would be required to squat balanced on the balls of her feet her bottom could not touch her heels in any way, and she was not permitted to use her hands, they were to be outstretched palm up in front of her. Less than a minute in this position made her legs and feet burn with pain. And the very thought of it thrilled her.

"Begin pet." She did, and as she did she swayed her hips to please him, for she knew she was being watched closely. She delicately took the first glass jewel up in her teeth and crawled as seductively as she could, slinking like a proud feline. She dropped the bead into the glass with a clink, and assumed the squat, reluctantly but gracefully. She had been trained to make this transition as gracefully as possible, but that never lessened the difficulty of maintaining it.

She met his eyes and said with a clear and sincere voice, for nothing less would be accepted, "Master this one dutifully atones for the mess she made."

"Continue, pet." And so she did, over and over -- thirty-five times. She truly did not think there were that many beads in the glass to begin with, and just when she thought the end was in sight, her Master would discover a bead she had not noticed. Twice he left his seat leaving her in the rigorous, straining position, for she had no idea how long. Her lower body and abdomen were on fire, she glistened with sweat from the strain. As she progressed, her crawl became more and more wanton. In performing her task she gave over to it and crossed into that realm where she was and was not herself. She was not the self she was publicly, but the self within. Primal, sexual free of all her human 'baggage,' a simple thing to be taken.

When her task was completed, she was taken, right there on the floor. Even he was startled by the effect the simple game had on her. She came with an abandon he had rarely seen, even in her. She noted that in her throes, she toppled the wine glass again, and wondered if she would be required to repeat her duty.

The next day found the painting framed on the wall. She never passed it without smiling and feeling a spark of lust deep within her. She was glad her Master had taught her the proper way to appreciate art. And, so was he.