Beauty--Remastered Ch. 05

The last, she plucked from the holder and ventured into the hidden room. The light cast a small glow around her, lighting up only a couple feet around her. There were shadows of tall objects, maybe bookshelves, along the walls, and tables scattered through what appeared to be a long, wide room. She bumped against one table, and several objects scattered across it. She instinctively reached out to catch them before they rolled off the table. Several long stick-like objects met her fingers, and she held one up to the light.

A paintbrush? A quick glance down at the table revealed nearly a dozen more, of various sizes and shapes. They looked well-used, but not worn down. Why would her husband -- her *blind* husband -- have paintbrushes is his private rooms?

Settling the paintbrushes in a neat pile, she rounded the table and moved further into the room. She bumped into something else, something tall. It rocked on thin legs, and she just barely caught it before it toppled to the floor. The candlelight revealed it to be an empty easel. Further searching brought to light several more, stacked against walls and set up. One in the far corner seemed to be holding a canvas and she carefully made her way toward it.

Rounding it, she gasped and nearly dropped the candle. A half-finished, but very well done portrait of her fourteen year-old self grinned back at her. It was like looking in a mirror from the past. Whoever had done this -- and she had a queer feeling she knew *exactly* who it was -- had seen her close enough to notice the freckles. Nobody really noticed them unless they were very close to her. When, in her childhood, had she been near Donovan?

She leaned closer, inspecting it, looking for some sign that it wasn't Donovan's. No, the lines of her face were vaguely uneven, her features mildly disproportionate. Not too badly, but enough to know that someone hadn't been paying exact attention to their handiwork, or couldn't see very well...(or at all, when it came to him.)

Turning from the almost scary painting, she nearly tripped over a stack of canvases. Pulling them up, she gasped again and again as pictures of herself were uncovered. A few were of younger versions of herself; but those were different. Each brushstroke was perfect, the lines perfectly straight. These were years old. From when she was the same age as in the picture, at least. Maybe from before he was blinded.

The newer pictures were on top; for a long while, there were only dark landscapes, abstract masses of writhing black and blues, the odd portrait of people she didn't know. Nothing of herself.

And finally, at the back, there was more of her. A couple that looked like attempts at aging her from imagination. They weren't half-bad, actually. In a few, the shade of her eyes, or hair was off, but not by much. It was like he'd simply picked the wrong paints without realizing it. And she couldn't say she blamed him.

Still, it was the most amazing thing she'd ever seen. Her husband was...incredible. Settling the pictures back down, she started exploring the room even more. More tables held more brushes or stacks of paintings. She wondered how he kept track of his things. There was so much, and he couldn't see.

In the back of the room, she found two easels set close to each other. She turned one around and gasped. A nearly perfect portrait of herself and Donovan kissing shone in the dim candlelight. The picture was from their shoulders up, and very large, almost lifesize. His strong fingers dug into her hair, which curled flawlessly over her shoulders and down her back. From what she could tell, they were also naked. The kiss looked real, too real. How was he that good at this?

The last painting was facing the wall, and her knees nearly buckled at the sight. Two perfect bodies were entwined on a dark red background. The edges of the canvas seemed to be painted with the design from the bedstead. The figures weren't finished; they were sole blots of white against the rich redness of the sheets. But the sketches were finished, and she knew, without the colour, without the freckles, that this was her and him.

Her body was halfway on its right side, only one ripe breast peeking out from the arm she had stretched across his shoulder, pulling his head in for a smouldering kiss. Her legs twisted and were lost partway in the sheets, but she could see a small hint of dark hair where her core was...and Donovan's hand was wrapped around her right thigh and creeping towards that place. Her head was thrown back, apparently in ecstasy, her lips opened wide in a scream.

She blushed when her eyes moved to her husband's taught body. There was no exaggeration in the slim muscles, bulging biceps or thick, corded forearms. His chest was really that broad expanse, covered in dark hair, that tapered to a trim waist.

She tried not to see his hard shaft, but...it was too obvious; her eyes were drawn to it like magnets. She still hadn't seen or felt it in all its glory, but he seemed to have gotten the proportions down perfectly. The long, scarily thick penis jutted from his lightly furred groin proudly, drooping slightly under its own weight. Her mouth went dry. If he was really that big, or even if he had exaggerated by a couple inches, it would be nearly impossible for her to fit that inside her body.

Scarlet's eyes ran from the large, thick mushroom head, down the lightly veined shaft, to the large, pendulous pair of testicles at his base. To her shock, her drawn self's other hand was peering from under his balls, as her slim fingers grasped them tightly. Donovan's own face was taught, the muscles in his neck corded, every bit of him tensed. His dark eyes stared into Scarlet's pleasure-stricken face, hungrily. He looked predatory, like he would take her at any moment.

Wetness coated her inner thighs, and she squeezed her legs together; that only made her throb. All those memories, the ones she'd tried to forget, came back; memories of how he touched her, tasted her, made her quiver. This picture was so erotic, and she was so aroused...she needed a release, and she needed it *now.*

There was an empty table a few feet away, and she stumbled to it, blinded and dazed by her lust. Her back hit the sturdy table in seconds. Her skirt flew up to her waist, and her hands plunged into her panties. The flimsy cloth got in her way, and she wriggled out of them, letting them fall to the floor. She hadn't touched herself since the day he'd caught her, and day after day of arousal, coupled with that sinful picture, was driving her mad very quickly.

Scarlet wasted no time at all, didn't tease, or gently explore. Her fingers moved over her throbbing, wet clit urgently. Her hands moved so fast, they were practically vibrating. Low moans escaped her throat, and turned to louder cries as she brought herself higher. Unthinkingly, she whispered to herself, to her imaginary lover.

"Yes...faster...ooh, baby, please..." Her words grew dirtier and more frantic the closer she got to completion. "God, yes! Suck my clit, baby. Lick it. Please, baby. Please make me cum! Yes...fuck, *yes*!" Her voice broke when she screamed...screamed *his* name. "Donovan! God, Donovan...mmm --"

"What are you doing?" A deep voice demanded, very close to her.

Scarlet sat up quickly, still shaking from that almost painful release. Her heart stopped; her husband stood a couple feet away, his face grim in the low light from the sputtering candle she'd forgotten. It was toppled on the floor, and as she stared down at it, for only a second, it sputtered and a spark landed on the thick carpeting she hadn't noticed. Quick as a wink, the floor caught and she screamed before jumping off the table. Donovan turned and stamped out the fire immediately, before it could do any real damage. Once it was out, the room was plunged into blackness again.

"I asked you, wife," Donovan growled, closer to her now. She stepped back. "What are you doing in my room?"

"I--I--I'm sorry!" Scarlet stammered, backing against the table. "I just...I was bored. And the door wasn't locked. And --"

"What were you just doing?" He asked. He knew full well. He'd entered just as she started speaking to herself, and it wasn't hard to guess why she'd been talking.

"Umm..." She couldn't bring herself to answer. "Why did you paint me? As a girl? What -- when did you see me? Were you stalking me?"

Donovan turned away, walked through the room. She'd been through his things; canvases were moved, the brushes were out of their jar. He paced back to her, and realized exactly where they were. Near the new pictures, the ones of the two of them. She'd seen them, she knew his secret. The thought of his young wife knowing about him froze him. "Get out."

"W-what?"

"I said GET OUT!" He roared, taking her arm and pulling her, kicking and screaming, to the door that lead to the hallway. He tossed her out, and heard her stumble. "I warned you, Annabelle. Wait for me downstairs in your room. I'll deal with your punishment later." The door slammed behind him, and she heard loud curses as she backed away. Something heavy struck the door, and she turned and ran.

Down the stairs, through the third floor, down the next set, and to the second. She paused before she entered her room. There was no way in hell she would wait for him to come dole out whatever punishment he wanted. She skipped the room entirely and darted into the room with her luggage. Her cellphone...where was it? The lining was empty, and she hadn't left it in the study. Maybe in her bedroom. She started back up the hall towards it, and heard a door slam close by. Heavy footsteps stalked toward her, and she hurried away from them. Darting downstairs, she skidded to a stop. Where could she go in this house, so he couldn't find her?

Nowhere.

Her heart pounding, she looked at the front door. Was there even the slightest chance it was unlocked? Glancing around for Abner, she sprinted down the hall to the door and tugged. For a moment, it resisted and her heart sank. Then, the door groaned and opened a few inches. It was enough for her. She slipped out onto the porch and glanced around. The sky was overcast, and looked ready to let loose any second. She had no real choice; stay inside to weather whatever storm she'd brought upon herself, or weather this one out here. Maybe she could reach cover before the sky opened up.

The huge wall that surrounded the grounds and an equally large gate was at the end of a short drive, and she ran to it. The gate was shut, and locked. There was no way to get through it. Pulling her skirt above her knees, she began to climb. Being best friends with a boy had its advantages. She scaled the gate quickly and dropped to the other side.

"Annabelle!" Her voice thundered toward her as she landed. Donovan stood outside on the front step, glaring around him sightlessly. Abner appeared beside him and said something that made Donovan turn toward the gate. "Get your ass back in here!"

She hurried away, toward a stand of trees a few yards away. Behind her, the gate clanked as it began to swing open and she put on an extra burst of speed to reach the trees before he or Abner could get out.

"Scarlet!" He called her again, using her nickname this time, and she turned, briefly considering returning. The furious look on his face as he and Abner came through the gate changed that, and she slipped into the trees without another backward glance.

She made it, just as the heavens opened above her.