Andromeda

As though on cue, I hear a tiny rap upon the door, and find a young boy from the village with a basket in his grasp. It is filled with supper and a few staples to see us through until tomorrow night. Wine, fruit, cheese and smoked meat lies inside, along with a large, crusty loaf. We will eat heartily this night.

Immediately we set about to break our fast, tearing into the fresh bread with gusto, nibbling at its accompaniments and washing the lot down with the dry, red wine that is typical of this region.

Then we are done, and she awaits my direction.

I stand from the table and move till I'm facing her, taking her hand in mine she rises before me. I lead her to the post in the center of the room, facing the fire.

By now the sun has set and aside from the firelight the room is in shadows. She watches me as my fingers move to the buttons of her blouse, one by one opening and exposing the alabaster skin beneath. I slide the blouse from her shoulders and it falls to the floor.

She looks at me with a mixture of fear and curiosity, as though no man has ever undressed her before. I work the skirt over her full hips and then the silken panties. She lifts one foot, then the other and is now before me, exposed and incredibly

beautiful. I slide my fingertips along her sides, over her ribs, across her abdomen, softly rounded and so tender to the touch.

I cross to my bag and fetch two long strips of silk, then return to take her hands in mine. I hold them in front of her and begin wrapping her wrists with one of the silken strips, three times around and then between her palms so that she might grasp it.

I then hoist her arms over her head and tie the free end to one of the hooks attached to the beam. Her jut gloriously and my breath catches at the site of her, proud and defiant and yet helpless.

Bound.

I move to the hearth and retrieve a basin of water, now warm, as well as a bar of handmade soap and a small bristle brush. The soap is made from local ingredients, a concoction known to the locals since time immemorial. It contains seaweed which gives it the scent of the ocean.

I take a small cup, fill it with warm water and pour it over her head, wetting her hair, taking care to keep the water from running into her eyes. I work the soap into a lather and wash her long red curls, straightening them and then rinsing it with water from the cup.

I wet down her arms and run the soap over her skin, the suds forming and running along her outstretched arms. Then, taking the brush in hand I begin to scrub her. I know she is clean already, but somehow this bath seems like a cleansing, a purification suitable for a sacrifice.

I scrub vigorously, wanting to leave her flesh red and

tingling. I run the brush over her shoulders, across her chest and over her breasts. Her breath catches in her throat and she squirms against her bonds.

"Shhhhhhhh" I whisper, running the bristles

across the sides of her breasts, the tender underside, over her ribs, her stomach and the graceful curve of her hip.

The water is warm as it flows over her, but the breeze blowing

through the open windows contains a chill, and

her nipples are responding. My soapy fingers knead her and I pull slightly on them, bringing them to full attention.

Then, rinsing the brush in the basin, I once more run the soap over her flesh, over the swell of her full hips, over her powerful thighs, her graceful legs, her firm calves and over her feet.

Standing before her, I grasp my beautiful captive by the

waist and kiss her hard on the lips. With sudden force I spin her around and force my hand between her shoulders, pressing her against the wooden post.

It is then I take the bar of soap in my hands, covering her rounded ass with creamy lather, using my hand to spread it within the cleft of her buttocks and the secret entrance it hides.

"Open your legs" I direct, speaking quietly, and she

responds without hesitation. Under my direction the slippery bar slides along her opening, running lengthways along her channel until she whimpers with need.

I then set the bar aside and roughly scrub her thatch of pubic hair, my fingers pressing back the hood of her clitoris, cleaning the valleys of her sex and then thrusting two fingers roughly inside. Twisting and turning I try her, the soap stinging her delicate channel until, as quickly as I entered I withdraw.

I did not know that she would allow me to go this

far without a word. Indeed I never intended to, but once there I could not stop.

I fill the cup now with clean water and begin to rinse her trembling form, watching the water wash away her foamy agitation onto the stone floor.

She stands before me glistening. Beautiful. I watch as the water evaporates on her skin from the heat of the fire, and tiny

goose pimples form on her body. Her flesh is red and glowing from the brush and I imagine I can see the skin itself breathing in slow sighs before me.

Her nipples are as firm and hard as little pebbles, and I cannot resist taking one in my hand and give it a firm pinch as she hisses in pain, all the while staring wordlessly at me. She arches her back and whimpers her discomfort. I answer

her unspoken question, "Because this is the way it has to be. No questions. While you are behind this door you are mine. And this is my way."

I rake my nails down her forearms, over her wrists, the inside of her arms and armpits. They dig in a bit deeper as they cross over her breasts, drawing red welts across her skin. I kiss her again and roughly grasp her sex, pulling at her curls and covering her vulva with my hand. My middle finger slips demandingly inside, mashing her clitoris with the heel of my hand.

My lips softly graze her neck, along her collar bone, over the swell of her breasts until then she feels my bite, hard and savage in the tender flesh. Again she whimpers, but yet the hardened bud swells between my teeth.

I slide a second digit inside, made easy by her wetness. My fingers spread inside of her and she begins to move against them, urging me onward.

I begin to stretch her nipple with my teeth and she squirms in pain until it finally slips free. I repeat this again and again with both breasts, my fingers continuing to work her, pressing forcefully into her abdomen, searching for and finding the spot inside her that when pressed makes her flow in uncontrolled abandonment.

I fall to my knees before her and pull my fingers from inside.

Roughly I pull her legs further apart and press my face against her sex. I inhale her excitement, the smell of her cunt, rich and fragrant, betraying her response, her pleasure.

Roughly I grasp her pubic hair and she gasps in surprise. Then, spreading her lips, I suck her clitoris into my mouth, biting and abrading as my fingers once more fill her oozing channel.

She shakes as I insert yet a third finger, rotating my hand within her, probing her intimate domain with outstretched hand. I fill her, I stretch her vulnerable flesh, all three fingers

spreading inside her in different directions, the walls of her cunt convulsing around them.

My teeth ravage her clit once again, pulling harder until I

feel her shudder to a climax, her pussy swollen, engorged and dripping over her freshly scrubbed flesh.

Then, as quickly as I began it is over. I pull my hand and mouth from her, get up and walk away, leaving her to catch her breath.

I take my place in front in of her, grasping my pencil and sketch pad, and I begin to draw. My eyes feast on her, so very beautiful. I memorize her, my hands forming her image on the pad before me. Even from this distance I can smell her sex, her lips still flushed with red, still puffy and remembering me.

I’m sure it feels like an eternity, for her arms sag heavily and she begins to squirm. I order her to be still, not in a shout, more like a whisper. I refuse to lose control, I refuse to become angry with her. I have paid for her time, I own her for the

next two days, and she will do what I wish.

I am strong enough to overpower her if I need to, but I can tell that I won't have to resort to that. Whatever force I use, whatever pain she feels will be because she wants it….and what she wants I will give her, perhaps more than she craved.

Still she squirms, and though I know her arms must be tired, I can't help but feel that she’s testing me, to see what awaits her.

I rise to the challenge, and with sigh I stand and close the distance between us. Then, leaning in close I whisper in her ear "I told you to be still and yet you do not listen."

She hears me fumbling with my belt and her eyes widen. I open the clasp, the sound of leather on cloth whispering in the room as I slide it from the loops. I pause, weighing my options, her breath escaping in shallow gasps as she watches me wrap the belt around my fist, until only a foot remains free.

In a flash my arm rises in the darkness and the belt comes descends, a blur which contacts her pale flesh just above her left breast.

Again I swing and this time it falls between them, the tip biting into the fragile shell of her right, immediately raising a welt.

The next stroke catches the ribs on the right side of her body, then the left. Tears flow from her eyes as the blows

rain down upon her. Then, once again I lean in close and the onslaught stops.

"I know what you want, little one. I know where you

want to feel the sting" And so, as my words are still warm in her ear she feels the bite of the leather across her abdomen. Again and again it falls, creeping closer and closer to the place where she craves it the most.

Once more I whisper "Is this what you want Elise? Say ‘yes’…tell me…"

Through her tears she tries to speak, and finally she manages to choke out the word. "Yes."

Almost as soon as the word leaves her lips she feels the band of leather wrap around her mound, the tip striking between her swollen lips. Again and again it falls, stinging her clitoris, whipping the wetness that is now her cunt.

My voice echoes in her ear though now the words must seem garbled and disjoint, indistinguishable. The only consciousness I have left her is centered on her pussy, throbbing and aching and still it goes on. I watch her breathing, the way she twists and turns and I can tell by her movements that she is coming even before the scream escapes her lips.

When at last I see her slump against the pole I stop. I kiss her open mouth, my tongue forcing its way deep inside, keeping her from catching her breath. My hand finds her nipple and I twist it cruelly before circling around to other venues.

She senses me behind her, and then feels another band of silk

wrapping about her throat. I wrap it twice, the fabric soft

against her skin, then around the post until I tie it to the hook which holds her wrists firmly in place.

I then return to her more vulnerable side, facing her. Her eyes watch me as I open my pants and let them fall to the floor. My cock stands hard, erect as I enter her “space”.

"Open your legs." I demand brusquely.

Immediately she parts her legs as wide as she can and I move between her thighs. My organ grazes the lips of her cunt, wallowing in the wetness it finds, working her clitoris with its spongy head. My hands reach for her legs and I lift her off of her feet, then wrapping them around my waist I slide inside of her, like moving into melted butter, until our pubic bones meet.

I pin her against the post, penetrating slowly, withdrawing from her with deceptive ease then thrusting back inside with a

force that slams her against the beam.

My hands cup her buttocks and I lift her higher, her legs curling tightly around me. With deliberation I step away, pulling her with me and the silk around her neck begins to tighten. Mutely I watch, her eyes widening in shock as it pulls

taught and blocks her flow of air. Fear does that to a person. Fear takes her breath and leaves her heart pounding in her ears.

She has barely time to draw a second to breathe before I pull her back on my cock, impaling her again and again on my length. Urgently, she thrashes and twists at her bonds, fighting both for breath and satisfaction.

She’s light as a feather and so very beautiful. I wish I could just take her to the bed and make tender love to her, but right now she wants a savage, and so a savage is what she'll have.

Finally, my nails digging into her tender flesh, she jerks wildly and screams her release, her sex overflowing, making wet, sucking sounds which fill the room. I feel her go limp and let her legs fall to the floor. Then, reaching up I release the silken bands from the hook and she slides downward along the beam to the floor below.

She looks up at me with helpless eyes as I step forward and grasp her hair in my hands, twisting it and pulling her closer to me. Then, pressing my dripping cock to her lips, she guides my shaft deep inside of her until she can take no more.

Once again I begin to move, shallowly at first then following with long strokes until her head is pressed against the wooden beam. Deeper and deeper I lunge until she can't escape from it and has no choice but to open her throat and allow me to plunder within.

Then, in thick, wet profusion I climax, warm jets pouring into her mouth as she fights to swallow, fights for air… and still I fuck her. At last the flow subsides, but my cock maintains its rigidity and I know I'm not finished. The thought of forcing the tender portal of her ass passes fleetingly through my mind, but my God her mouth feels so good, her puckered lips so very beautiful. And so I resume my attack, thrusting again and again until she watches me throw back my head for a second time and her mouth is filled with my warm, salty cum.

Finally, I pull away from her and she grasps me, sucking and

licking until my organ is glistening with saliva. It is then that I realize I haven’t taken her at all, but quite the contrary. Instead she has taken me, taken all that I could give her. I am hers, shackled by bonds of passion and longing. In her vulnerability, she has conquered me.

I help her to her feet and enfold her in my trembling arms. Her lips are now bruised, tasting of me, and I want to kiss away all that has passed between us and start anew. Tenderly I carry her to the bed, her arms wrapped tightly about my neck, her body snuggling securely against my own. I press her close, safe and warm, as if to ward off all the evils that men have brought into her life. The warm blanket nestles snugly about our bodies, a nest for new beginnings, and looking into each other's eyes we share a moment of intimacy before the curtain of sleep descends.

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Chapter 5: Elise- Intimate Encounter revisited

I am Andromeda, and the rock upon which I am to meet my fate lies before me.

I wonder, as we descend onto the rocky ledge, with its fragile cottage perched precariously on the edge, had I arrived here with Perseus…or the beast?

The dank chill from the uneasy sea penetrates me, and I shiver. It is then his hand encloses mine, a gesture I had not expected, nor perhaps even wanted, but yet it lends some warmth to my heart.

He is a strange duck, the artist who sits beside me on the rolling wooden seat of that rumbling carriage, and I know not what to make of him. He has left me to my own devices all this long day, and yet he then extends himself to assure my comfort. There is more to be seen here, I suspect, perhaps more than I care to know.

The cottage is bathed in shadows as we enter, the last light of a dying day. Pensively, I gather my wits about me, scanning the Spartan core of that ancient place as Etienne secures our belongings and makes ready the fire for our sparse comfort.

I cross then to hang my clothing in a crude wardrobe tucked into the very corner of the room, and to these I began to add my Master’s. He pauses to watch. Have I displeased him? Perhaps this small display of domesticity is inappropriate. I have much to learn.

Finally, foreplay at rest, we settle ourselves before the fire to fill our bellies and discuss what is to be expected of me. The rules are simple. I am to be Andromeda, both in body and soul. My fears would be hers, and my flesh her own. By day I will be expected to pose until my Master gives me leave to cease, and by night I will summon her spirit, chained to the solitary pillar that supports this hovel, so that we might become one upon the canvas, a single and inseparable entity.

I look about me then, and see the cold stone walls and strong hooks upon which the fishing nets had been stretched and woven so long ago. They look cruel now, empty of the hand-knotted webs that were the trademarks of those simple yet vibrant people. Civilization is far from this place, only the meager vestiges remain…those, and the whispering memories of bygone times.

And yet they fill the room, I think to myself. Somewhere within the gloom of these walls lies the aura of lives that had once filled this space with love and laughter, ultimately surviving the barren eons between. I will draw upon that to keep me sane, I think. I will find in Andromeda’s heart the strength to define myself in this place. I will use her as she is to use me, and within her timeless spirit I will find myself a place.

“Now we will begin,” he murmurs at last, his stern and solemn directives concluded. Then, leading me toward the center of the room, he positions my body so that the glow of the fire casts both warmth and illumination on the composition. He pauses to consider, then with sure and steady fingers he begins to loosen the tiny brass buttons that guard my modesty.

How many times have I felt the touch of one such as he, I wonder…how many? And yet as his warm fingers slip beneath my fine linen, I shiver. Never, I think, never like this.

Slowly he strips the remnants of clothing from my body, caressing my pale flesh as he bares me, his eyes ablaze with the reflection of his thoughts. It is then that the dire weight of our isolation hits me full force. What is to become of me next? What strange emanation is at work in this place? What hand guides the one that touches me?

I watch wide-eyed as my Master crosses to his satchel and removes two thin but sturdy-looking strips of fabric. My knees begin to weaken. Does he notice? Does he care?

Silently, he presses me against the beam, then proceeds to bind my hands before me. I cringe inwardly. This was a bad choice, very bad, and I now wonder if I shall be alive in the morning to rue my lack of discretion.

Sternly, he tests my bonds, then stretching my hands above my head, he attaches them to the uppermost hook, causing all but my tip-toes to pull taut and vulnerable before him.

Once more he explores my ashen form, his fingers curious and demanding, then retrieves a basin of warm water from the hearth and begins to abrade my flesh with something which smells of the sea around us.

The brush he uses to perform this ritual is stiff and unyielding, and in no time my breasts are red from its abuse, my nipples hard and yearning. He toys with them, turning and teasing until they are full and dark, swollen with a need I cannot identify. My lips part, and once again my inner demon rises within me. A soft moan escapes, and my bonds begin to tighten. I am weak…so weak.

My Master is thorough in his task, and as he scans his pink and profuse handiwork I wonder if he will finish the job he has started. Will he now deliver me from myself? Will he consummate that which he has so surely begun?

Without preamble he parts my legs and opens me brusquely, his fingers touching places that leave me breathless and yearning. Then, in a single lunge he forces his soapy fingers deep into my belly and drives me beyond the veil. I whimper, hunger rising between my thighs, the heat of his touch more than I can bear.