tagBDSMFace (Sex, Power, Love) Ch. 13

Face (Sex, Power, Love) Ch. 13


Anna's Humble Home

Anna and Gina chatted away ignoring me as I followed a respectful three paces behind them walking out of the restaurant. I fetched coats at the door. The coat-check girl, a kitschy tart who habitually flirted for tips, pointedly eyed (sparkly purple eye shadow) my crotch as I handed her the ticket. With a sniggering grin (glossy scarlet lipstick), she shoved Gina's leather and Anna's fur across the counter. The tasteless slut (flashy glass rings on every finger) knew my tawdry secret. She knew the dirty thing Gina and Anna had made of me, and she needed to rub it in. "A leash on your balls? Nice."

Disgrace at the hands of this nothing girl ambushed me, and I forgot to tip her. My conspicuous embarrassment wasn't humiliation enough to satisfy her. As I turned to assist Gina and Anna in dressing for the autumn chill, the coat-check girl gloated, "The receptionist told me all about you. All about how you let your girl friend tie up your balls. The valet Julio told an interesting story too. What a wimp. Where's my tip, cunt sucker?"

She may as well have kicked me in the balls. The repeated assaults on my self-respect had worn me down to the point of collapse. I fought my tears only because I didn't want to embarrass Gina. Indignity had unmanned me, and I hung my head in shame. I could even move to tip the girl.

Gina overheard, and my love rescued me. She stepped up to the girl, tipped her and said, "Yes he is a wimp, my wimp, and a dutiful pussy licking whore of a boy. I'll bet your man isn't nearly as interesting, is he? Skank."

I reveled in this trivial triumph over the coat-check bitch and again experienced an absurd bloom of pride at being the possession of such regal women as Gina and Anna. Out at the valet station, I was happy to be displayed before the philistines as the slave of these remarkable women. The cocky boys leered as the sex goddesses approached with their slave in tow. The polite, well-heeled patrons awaiting their cars exhibited decorous restraint. They didn't drool.

We got the kind attention reserved for celebrities. Anna was dressed conventionally enough to draw attention only for her radiant beauty, and I might not have drawn any particular notice had not rumors of my slave status spread throughout the restaurant staff. The lump of my cock and ball restraints was not obvious under my sport jacket. But Gina's leather ensemble was a blatant show to even the most obtuse that she was a dominatrix of power, and her haughty bearing toward me spotlighted exactly what I was. Like the popping flashes of paparazzi, lascivious images lit up heads all around. I walked the carpet.

Julio elbowed his way to the front. "May I help you ladies?"

Contempt infused Gina's command. "Julio, be a dear and deliver my car to me tomorrow morning. We will be taking Anna's car now. You met Eric earlier. You will find me at his condominium tomorrow morning." Gina then directed Julio on getting to my place. Julio had carefully avoided my existence. He was befuddled and repelled by me, but after being instructed to deliver Gina's car to my door, he glanced at me with quizzical contempt.

Gina continued, "Julio, Darlene tells me you have been quite indiscrete about our relations. Is that so? Didn't anyone ever tell you it is impolite to kiss and tell? It's not that I really mind your friends imagining that I am available to fuck. I like hot young boys getting all the hotter thinking of me. Look at them; they're almost drooling on their shoes. I might find a use for a couple of those young hard-bodies.

"But Julio, if you like getting pussy from me you will have to learn to be more discrete. It is a matter of respecting women generally. Personally, I enjoy publicly performing the whore, but a whore by choice. A whore who will tell the world in her own way exactly what sort whore she is. That is my privilege. I will announce who and what I am in precisely the manner I choose. It's not your place to interfere or to talk about me behind my back.

"So Julio, when you deliver my car tomorrow morning, has the doorman announce your presence. Be there at ten a.m. sharp. If I'm in the mood, I might invite you up. I'll give you an etiquette lesson. Would like an etiquette lesson?"

Julio clearly didn't understand what was implied; he didn't even seem to know what the word etiquette meant. He just gave Gina a stupid grin and said, "Yeah, tomorrow morning, ten a.m. sharp. A lesson. His place."

Julio peeked sidelong at me with confused scorn. I returned his glance with a casual, even superior, nod. I hated this boy, this dumb cock that my Gina was playing with, but I would not let on that any of it mattered to me. Gina would give him an etiquette lesson. I knew what that meant even if he did not. Hurt him Gina. That hope gave some consolation for my public humiliation at the hands of these sadistic women. But what was I to do when the doorman called to say Gina's car had arrived? Gina's boy lover backed away from me as if I were infected.

"Get Anna's car Julio." Gina dismissed Julio and turned toward me gleaming with a mocking, satisfied grin. I hopelessly looked to Anna as if for help. Anna laughed, "Eric, that doleful look does become you. Did I hear right? Did Gina just invite that sumptuous boy up for a fuck in your bed? And there you stood with nothing to say about it. You just wear that sad sack look while Gina, the woman you love, invites herself to strange cock right in front of you, in front of me, and in front of all these people. In your own bed? What kind of man are you? But it's really quite obvious. You are a weak, cunt licking cuckold—the ideal male."

Anna took Gina by the hand and whispered, "Gina, you are the perfect bitch. And your slave restores my faith in men." Anna touched my cheek and purred in my face, "Poor Eric, not only does your love cheat on you with strangers, she rubs your nose in it, and you passively accept it. Delicious."

Gina had just openly invited her young lover for a fuck in my bed. The insult cut and my heart throbbed with jealousy, but I could not protest. I understood Gina was broadcasting this show of abuse for Anna's benefit, and I must play along. Gina intended to demonstrate to Anna both my utter submission and her complete authority over me, including public humiliation and open, unrestricted cuckolding. To gain admission to Anna's tutelage, I was expected to accept meekly any malicious nastiness these women could dream up to amuse themselves.

I had gone so far down this path I could no longer guess the direction back. Here I stood under the control of two gorgeous women, under the gawking stares of a group of horny valets and scornful bourgeois, with my cock encased in a steel cage, my balls hung in a harness, and a dog leash attached between my legs. Who was I to protest anything? If my mistress wanted to use my bed to fuck someone else, that was her prerogative. Yes Gina, take him in my bed; may I be of any further service?

I desperately clung to my pathetic sense of pride at being Gina's trifling plaything, but pain gnawed insistently at my heart. Jealousy and a desperate fear of losing Gina seethed. Gina could and would have any man she fancied, and if she preferred another, I was lost. I couldn't do anything about it. And I had let Gina make this thing of me.

Still the simplicity of my circumstance was oddly liberating—Gina was utterly free, I was utterly enslaved. I could happily wallow in my misery because there was no point in self-defense. It was not my place to make the slightest demand upon her time or fidelity; my role was to suffer and accept. And so I endured the hurt in my heart, and savored the pleasure/pain of that ache. Under the wicked glare of my cruel lover, all powers of self-determination wilted.

Gina smiled, "You don't have a problem with my inviting Julio up to the condo, do you honey? You do think that cocky jerk needs a lesson, right? And if I want to do it in your bed, that's ok, right? You know I am just the woman to set him straight on the proper relation of men to women. Don't worry; I won't make you watch. By tomorrow morning either Anna will have accepted you, taken custody of you, and started your treatment, or, and I hope this does not happen, you will have failed to make the grade, and you will never see me again. Don't return to the condominium, I won't let you in."

Never see Gina again? Devastation. Living without her would be worse than any other pain she could inflict. I could not live in that black and white world now that Gina had lit my life with the dazzling colors of her world. I could not see without her light; I could not feel without her malice. My life would be colorless, tasteless, and breathless—food would not nourish; air would not sustain; music would not sing. No humiliation could be worse than a void life empty of Gina.

I begged, "Gina, I am yours completely. Of course, take the boy if it pleases you. Take him in my bed. Hurt him if it pleases you. Please, stain my bed with his blood. But please, don't throw me away. Use me as you will. I will be faithful." And then, right there on the sidewalk in front of the busy restaurant as patrons came in and out staring at the two dazzling women and their obedient supplicant, I bowed my head in open capitulation to my goddess.

Gina stood tall in her shinning leather, tall in her triumph. Pride, thick with satisfaction exulted, "I will use you Eric, and as long as you amuse me, I will not leave you. So far, I'm amused."

Anna, sensing the reproachful stares of a conventional couple just arrived for dinner, briefly ran her finger under my chin. Then she took Gina by her slender waist and warmly kissed her on the mouth. The couple's shock at this calculated display of perversity chilled me. I was utterly lost and vulnerable, so stranded in Gina's world there could be no way back. The air was cold, the sidewalk hard and barren. The restaurant's neon lights cast a harsh and garish glare on my darkening world. I stood displayed to the world as a retched slave.

Julio delivered Anna's car. In contrast to Gina's slick sporty Jaguar, it was a large custom-built limousine, black with opaque windows, and the perfect trinket for a global financier, or a party barge for an international drug dealer, not the wheels of a social worker, not a couples-counselor. Anna was obviously very rich. If she really did work as a couples counselor, it was evidently just for the perverse thrill of fucking up men's lives.

"Eric darling, you drive. Anna and I would like some time together in the back. So keep your eyes on the road and don't spy on us. And don't tip that prick." Gina gave me Anna's address as if she were addressing a cabbie. I opened the back door for the ladies, and the women disappeared into the dark warmth of the leather-scented cocoon. As I shut the door, Gina and Anna were locked in a passionate embrace.

As instructed, I kept my eyes on the road and drove. There was, however, no need to spy; it was clear what was going on. It started with a rustling of clothes and heavy breathing, then passionate moans, and finally Anna whispered, "Gina darling, go down now. It's all wet and soupy. Drink. Careful, I love this dress; don't let it get stained. Oh, Gina you are the very best. I had forgotten how good. Yes, my sweet little pet, yes, drive that wicked tongue in there. Oh, wicked, wicked girl."

Anna slung a leg over the front seat. Her foot was on my neck. The smell of Gina, the smell of leather, and all the haunting odors of ardor filled the cabin of the limo. I struggled to concentrate on driving. Breathless whispers and gasping moans melted into a simmering stew. Soft squeals bubbled into feverous groans, to boiling obscenities, to searing weeping—then climax. The ferment cooled to satisfied silence. All the while, I drove on.

We arrived at Anna's high-rise and the doorwoman escorted us to a private elevator and dealt with the car. The elevator door closed, Anna punched in a security code, and we flew to the top where we entered directly into Anna's home. I lifted Anna's fur from her shoulders. It wasn't mink. What exotic creature had been sacrificed to lie upon the shoulders of this incomparable Goddess?

As I stepped into the envelope of Anna's proximate intimacy, into her air, an extraordinary thrill ran through me. What was it about her scent? A strange, overpowering need, something like lust, but much finer, gripped me. I was dizzy, my cock swelled in its cage, and my eyes welled with tears. My reaction was visceral, emotional, and profound.

Gina patiently stood by as I ministered to Anna. Did I sense a hint of jealousy? I staggered as I hung Anna's fur. Then I attended to Gina.

She wore a long, soft leather coat over her threatening leather costume. Now I luxuriated within the radiant warmth of Gina's personal space. Gina's height in her red platform boots was still unfamiliar. I surreptitiously fondled the slick, velvety leather. I bowed, bent to one knee, kissed the hem of her full-length black leather skirt, and, leaning to the floor, kissed the tip of her blood red boot. I intended this gesture to say, "Do not let a wisp of jealousy cloud your mind my darling. I belong entirely to you." Gina's familiar scent cleared my head of Anna. My cock throbbed against the steel bars entrapping it.

"He's so sweet." Anna approved.

Anna dwelled high above the city in a spacious penthouse occupying a full floor encircled by ceiling to floor glass glowing with the light of the city night. Anna flew high above it all. Modern art and primitive artifacts filled her home, high art sculptures and paintings, and savage masks and totems—the futile fumbling of archaic people for magic. Even Anna's furniture was more art than functional commodity. "Welcome to my humble home Eric. There is wine in the cooler behind the bar. Fetch us some Champagne. None for you.

"Do you like my art collection? Come look at this one. It is my favorite."

The women ignored me as I handed them their Champagne. They were admiring and discussing a large canvas that filled one inner wall. I could not make any sense or it; it seemed a hodgepodge of neon colors—blood red, cobalt blue, and various blends of deep sea green. It reminded me of the art in Ashley's office, the art I stared at in silence incomprehension as the nasty bitch destroyed my long gone life. Abstract art had always made me somewhat nauseous. I could not understand what anyone saw in it.

Anna said, "Eric, can you make out the significance? You seem lost; let me help. What you are looking at is an example of what art critics call neo-cubist eroticism. It is quite the rage in Europe just now. Wealthy people are turning to it because, while they are often horny bitches with sex-obsessed mates, they would be horrified by overt pornography. Their great grandparents proudly displayed huge pictures of naked nymphs cavorting in the woods. However, it was not considered erotic; the intellectual fig leaf of 'classicism' covered that pornographic stuff.

"Today, that deception no longer works, the naked pink bodies just make people giggle, but the yearning for obscenity by the obscenely rich persists. But how can these fine people display the stuff on the walls of their foyers and dinning rooms? In the mid-twentieth century culture of artsy lefties, rebellious sexuality was absolutely trendy, but that is passé now. What excuse can we use to put pornography on our walls today? Well, we reprise the twentieth century cubists. These guys made what was sometimes called abstract art, but it was not abstract in the sense that it represented abstractions, it was real stuff represented at a remove—photographs broken into pieces and rearranged. These puzzles could read by the cognoscenti; the peasants were simply perplexed. The best of them was Picasso, Pablo the Pervert. Much of his best stuff was crypto-pornography. Sadly, even the artsy leftists would not admit that they loved the pornographic; they hid behind the intellectual fig leaf of 'intellectualism'.

"The picture you are looking at is pornography, jumbled but accessible with a little effort. See this line; it is a woman's leg. Follow it up to her crotch. That is a tongue. Follow the line of the tongue. There is her slave boy. His arms are bound; his balls hung by this rope. There is a lot there. I looked at this work for months and still there was more to learn—layers of images, layers of meanings, layers of sensations. The artist is a great genius."

Out of jumble of colors, the images Anna described coalesced. As if from a crystal ball visions emerged, apparitions of violent sex, images of woman whipping men, defiling men, destroying men—revelations of my ruin. It was intense, beautiful, and frightening. I had no idea art could mesmerize like this.

As if directly from painting, Gina spoke. "Eric, you used to constantly pester me about what I did for a living. This is it; I paint. Do understand now why I wouldn't tell you? If I had said I am a painter, you could not have understood. But now I can see in your face a dawning understanding of what I do. This canvas is mine. But all great artists must work in more than one medium. My current effort is in performance art. I will create in life an erotic paradigm for the world to emulate.

"You, Eric, will be my vehicle. From now on, you will have an objective purpose. Any pathetic, subjective, human purpose you imagined for yourself is hereby extinguished. You will become Art, my work. That means you will become a what, not a who. Perhaps this will console you—though your existence as a human will be subsumed into 'Art', you will become eternal, the Art of a great artist, me. Perhaps art historians will discuss you in dusty classrooms in the distant future. He was Eric, the one whose being was sacrificed to Art. The one who enabled Art to merge with biology through his performance, a skin sack filled with bone, blood and cellular goo, become platonic ideal."

I didn't understand any of this. Art, it was just another form of insanity. But, the astonishing canvas before me seemed to be alive. It was a 'what' becoming a 'who'. I felt the painting sucking me in. The same thrill ran through me as when I breathed Anna's scent. I tore my gaze from the canvas and turned toward Gina and Anna. The two beautiful goddesses stood holding their wine glasses, smiling, appraising me as if I were an object they would hang on a wall.

Finally Anna spoke, "Eric, be thankful Gina is not a composer of medieval Church music. Those good Christians turned boys into their instruments, into castrati. We are not that nasty, are we? You have done well. It could be that I will take you on as my patient, although it is evident that you will require significant modification to serve fully our purpose. You seem to have accepted your status as a slave, but you still present certain problems. The dissolute life you have lived has allowed your pride to grow to an obscene degree, and you don't seem to possess any innate respect for woman. But the pride can be beaten out of you. If I force you to exhibit reverence to a wide variety of women, and deny you any space for personal choice, I believe I can create within you an instinct to respect.

"Remove your clothing and come to the sitting area."

I undressed while the woman walked off to the other side of the huge room in the sky. I folded my clothes and carefully put them aside. The room was cold. I took a breath and sucked in my waist, the better to pose for the women, to present for the art critics. My testicle leash tinkled on the hardwood floor as I approached my goddesses. Anna and Gina sat cross-legged on a luxurious sitting assembly. They smiled and sipped their Champagne. I stood with my head bowed. Anna spoke.

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