Muse 2 - The Assignment 2

Slowly, she shook no and directed our hands downward to her abdomen. I couldn't look away and she didn't, despite the growing excitement. Her face became blurred, her eyes dark. I nodded, my cock and balls growing heavy in my trousers. Hoarsely, I issued her my last instructions.

"Good. You're free for the rest of the morning. I'll expect you in the dining hall at lunchtime. There you will get your next assignment. You may dress as you see fit." I kissed her hand and let it go, carefully covered the painting and took it with me.

After seeing how you react to my painting, I want more. I want to turn dreams and desires into actions. It frightens me, but it is also exhilarating and liberating. I am grateful for what you have enabled me to do. I want to give you what you crave. Despite all your fancy posturing in your role of patron, you cannot hide the fact that you share my desires.

She arrived for lunch and closed the door behind her. Then she turned to face me and rendered me speechless. Again. She had gone to the guesthouse to change. Her face wore a seductive toilet juxtaposing her defiant gaze. She put her hair up with a few simple clips and the dress she chose was the one lying in tatters in the painting. A significant contrast to my simple black garb. She snickered at my unintelligible wrestling with the right words. "The second time today I have caught you with a foot in your mouth."

I nodded, recollected myself, and stood up to offer her a chair. "A price I'm happy to pay when you spring surprises like these." I said, and added more command to my voice: "Sit down." She did as told, lowering her gaze in submission. Or did she just discover the delicacies on the table? I poured wine and pointed at the food. "Or do you prefer water and bread?"

She threw me a playful smile. "Tempting, but not today. I'm starving," she said, putting her money where her mouth was, scooping her plate full of morsels and eating with relish.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

She kept eating her lunch while she chewed at the question, taking her time to clear her mouth. "Strange, free, light-headed." She hesitated. "Also tense, but no annoying anxiety."

Less tense than me, apparently, for the pit in my stomach was terribly annoying and limited my lunch to a sip of wine. "Excitement for the next assignment."

"That too, yes. Actually, I don't quite understand what you mean by giving me the choice if I..." Again she hesitated for a moment, searching for words with a slight blush. "Well, would follow my desires."

"Because there is little for you to choose if you do."

She blushed a deeper red, but her gaze didn't stray. "Yes."

The pit in my stomach fell straight to my groin with a wave of lust. Her outfit wasn't meant to taunt me. She still wanted to exchange her dark fantasies for reality. More importantly, she wanted me to join her. I would, but not before some basic ground rules.

"He was the master, but she was the boss, remember?"

Her face tightened at the memory of her husband and his lady. "Yes."

"Through your work and our conversations, I have an idea of what you want. Need," I said, "but it's still an estimate. Sometimes I will make mistakes. With a word or a phrase, you can tell me. Then I will pause or stop whatever is going on. I decide what happens to you, as long as you let me. If I am not sure whether I am on the right track, I'll give you the opportunity to choose a direction. If you travel this path, it's for yourself and no one else."

She nodded. "What is the assignment?"

"Actually, no different from what it already was. If you've eaten enough, you'll do what I tell you for the rest of the afternoon, without objection. Otherwise, you remain silent unless I say so. If you don't, I'll punish you."

She almost choked on her wine. "So, letting you boss me around like a slave all afternoon? Is this about my desires or yours?" Her fierce gaze made me hesitate for a moment. These were her fear and shame talking. I stayed as level as possible and continued on my chosen path. "Both. It's the next assignment, not the last."

"If I refuse? Decide not to do it after all?"

"If you can't handle it, you say so. You've always had that choice."

"With a word? Or a phrase?"

I nodded. "In your case, both. The word of grace is 'bastard'. If you say that, I'll pause this game until you've come to your senses again. If you want the game to stop, you say 'I can't do this'."

The word of grace evoked a cautious smile, which disappeared into the line her lips drew at hearing the stop phrase. "I don't think you need to worry about misjudging me. You know me far too well."

"I appreciate your pride and intelligence. Of course, I hope to know you well enough to assist you when you're ready."

She nodded, focused on her food again with little appetite. In silence, we played with the last remnants of our lunch. I mulled over my preparations for this afternoon. Everything was in place. The next step was hers to take.

"Very well. I'm done eating," she said.

"So am I. Clear the table," I said, kind but firm.

Her widening eyes searched mine. Not the assignment she expected. "Excuse me?"

Which wasn't the response I wanted, so I answered her rhetorical question with a measure of dourness. "You obviously didn't hear me. I said, 'Clear the table.'" The game began.

She hesitated. Should she quit or continue? She decided on the latter and looked at me with a dangerously raised eyebrow. Rising from her chair, she grabbed the tablecloth with both hands. With a powerful jerk and a lot of violence, she obeyed my order. A few pieces of the tableware survived. The rest lay in shards on the floor.

I didn't move a muscle, even though I could barely contain my smile. After she swept the last remnants of lunch from the table, she wiped her hands and faced me, her eyes glinting with mischief at a job well done. I pointed to her chair.

"Sit," I said sharply.

Her smile faded as she sat down, upright and proper, the way she undoubtedly been taught as a child. Her gaze fixed on the table. She knew she was in trouble, but I hadn't yet decided what kind of trouble. Best stick to my plans for now.

I slid a square box into her field of vision, wrapped in black lacquered paper. "This box contains a pouch with a gift and a task," I said. "When you open the pouch, the gift is yours, but you'll have to carry out the task." I stood up, walked around the table and kissed her full on the mouth. She allowed it, too staggered to react. I took a small hourglass from my pocket and placed it next to the box.

"When the sand runs out, you've made your choice," I said, and left the dining room, locking the door behind me.

With a heavy click, the dining-room door locks behind you. I only hear it, hypnotised by the hourglass and the box you left on the table. Your lips glow on mine. Every time I regain control of the situation, you disrupt me. The most frustrating thing is that you manage it with my own feelings. Now I sit here and stare at the black box and jitters run through my body. I already decided to take the next step and share your bed. I wear this dress for a reason and it had not escaped your notice.

The reasons for my adultery changed and the stakes seem so much higher now. I try to reassure myself. What is the worst that can happen? The portrayal of my desires in the painting; what did you see in it? What if you are a madman who wants to rape, torture and kill me?

I laugh at myself. It's all very well to use mind games, but you have to practise the right strategy at the right time. It's not like you determine and I have to follow. You will guide my first steps in this erotic game. I just have to trust you, and in this domain, I do.

Breathing exercises then: in through the nose, out through the mouth. I calm down a bit; the fear subsides and my eye falls on the hourglass again. Time passes quickly. Of course I open the box and do what it says. As if I wouldn't dare. Immediately, a wave of uncontrollable excitement follows. The warm knot in my lower abdomen tightens.

I open the box with trembling fingers and take out the bag, black satin, tied with a leather lace, nothing else. Another choice. I could peek and refuse. It is beneath me. I won't look, but I try to sense the outline. It is egg-shaped with a short tapering stem ending in a round, flat disc. The object my husband used on his whore. It seems different, larger, as if you attached something to it.

Uncertainty strikes. I must know (I already know, but I must know). I have to open it; want to show you I dare. "Come on, Milena, you've know that you're going to do it anyway. Just open the bag," I admonish myself and take the dreaded object from the bag. Relief. The large object turns out to be two smaller ones. A bottle of oil and a white-gold plug that looks like a small spinning top. Not too bad at all, then.

The plug looks like a piece of jewellery, gilded and decorated with a cut crystal at the flat end. A long, black silk ribbon is tied to it with a card. 'Wear me,' it says. Of course, I expected nothing else. Did you guess that yearning through my painting? Did you notice how I reacted when my husband removed a similar object from his lady before taking her there? Or does it reveal your own desires?

No more doubts. The room grows slightly darker when I close the curtains and turn on the gaslight. I don't know exactly what you're up to, but nobody else needs to witness it. I spread some oil on the plug and, lifting my dress, I push it against the opening only meant as an exit. I can't get it in right away, only when I relax concentrating on my breathing does it slide in. After the thickest part, it's not so bad and I don't really notice it. It's more the idea of it.

Nervously, I look at my rear in a large wall mirror. Unless I spread my buttocks, no one can see the jewellery. But I see my wedding-ring. Again I hesitate. Should I continue with this? Now that I acknowledge my urges and they're similar to my husband's, what reason is there to cheat on him? You will let me go if I ask you to. You have said it several times and you are someone who stands by what he promises. Unlike my husband.

I remove the ring and put it away. Accepting my fantasies is another thing than acting on them. I could use some experience without disastrous consequences for my reputation. Walking feels somewhat strange, but not unpleasant. My eye falls on the hourglass where the last grains drop and I stand next to the table, waiting for your return.

The door unlocks, and you enter. I show you the ribbon with the card, let it whirl to the floor, and smile seductively. At least, that's the intention, but my heart is in my throat and I'm trembling on my legs.

You answer my smile with yours and stride towards me with confidence. You want me. Petrified, I stand before you as you gently remove my hair clips, one by one. Then you grab my hair, firm but not painful. This does something to me, something I cannot quite fathom. I'm at peace with what's coming.

You kiss me, full of passion but also cautiously probing. I answer your kiss, longing to feel instead of thinking. I close my eyes. Taste your tongue, your lips. Then you break off the kiss, step back, and ask me to take off my dress. It sounds soft and friendly, but I perceive it as an order.

I want to do what you do to me, to throw you off balance. Discarding my corset, I undo the laces and buttons one by one, trying to seduce you by slowly revealing my body. I let my dress slide down my arms, revealing my breasts. The loose fabric slips further down my legs and I kick the dress away over the floor.

Your eyes betray you, as does your breathing. You have a warm knot in your stomach as well, I'm sure. Knowing this strengthens me, and my confidence grows. I look at you defiantly and enjoy the effect I have on you. Your eyes wander over my body and your gaze tells me you enjoy what I offer.

My underwear has to go as well. What I already expected when I carefully selected my lingerie, delaying the ultimate revelation. The end result is the same. Naked, dressed only in stockings and short lace-up boots, I stand before you.

You seize control again. You ask me to bend over the table and show how the jewel suits me. Again it sounds friendly, again it is an order and again you throw me off balance. Yes, I expected this, but now it's actually happening? Then I just do it, turn around and bow.

The table's cool hardwood presses against my breasts and I spread my buttocks. I blush, not just in my face, but all over my body. Suddenly, I am very shy. I am literally lying here, open and naked, in front of you. I see nothing while you see everything. It excites and unsettles me at the same time.

Do you read my thoughts? Your voice is hoarse when you say I'm beautiful and you're impressed with my audacity. I am proud of myself. Proud because I dare to do this and it doesn't leave you indifferent. Your fingers tangle in my hair to grab it.

"What an effort for you to let go," you say. I smile. As unfamiliar as we are, you see right through me again and again. It breaks the tension a little; it's nice being able to smile. Then your hands caress my skin. I close my eyes, focus all my attention on my body. My way to clear my head, which is always difficult for me to achieve. Relinquishing control little by little, my desire grows.

The rest happens in a rush, not strong at first, but gradually I allow myself to be carried along on waves of pleasure, a mishmash of sensations and events. Your hands running along my back and over my buttocks, disappearing between my legs. Your fingers notice how wet I already am, and stroke me, slow, just the way I like it. Then deep inside me, with your thumb on the jewel. I sigh and squirm, venting my growing lust.

You pull me off the table, forcing me to kneel before you. Your member at my mouth, stiff, beautiful. When did you undress? Oral gratification is no stranger to me and I take you in my mouth. Gently at first, playing with it a little, using my tongue to see whether you enjoy it. You do, but you take over and determine the rhythm with your hands grabbing my hair. You thrust deeper and deeper into my mouth until it almost overwhelms me. You notice, releasing me, and force me to look at you.

Concerned, you give me a sip of water and ask if I'm alright. You offer me a way out. I don't want a way out (but it feels secure to have one). I want you in me. Now. Not a wish I can put into words, but you can. You ask if I'm a slut who wants to be fucked. The words are coarse but as you intend it, it's right and I know it is. I'm too torqued to answer you. Can only nod yes, blushing and full of shame as you put on a preservative.

The rapture returns when you force me to kneel on the floor, hands out in front of me. You warn me: I must not climax until you give me permission, and then you do what I so desperately desire. You take what I offer you: kneeling behind me, pushing my legs apart and filling me in a way that often gives me the greatest pleasure. From behind, starting slow and deep.

With every thrust, I feel the jewel. Not painful, as I feared, but the opposite, as I hoped. Now I am complete. This is how it should be. No more nervous tension, only delicious arousal. Just before the redemptive climax, you pull out and spray your hot load over me, roaring. Animalistic and exhilarating, but also ambiguous. Proud of what I achieved with you, but empty, still yearning for my release.

Then a dustpan and brush clatter in front of me and you point to the shards of crockery. You have taken me the way I have cleared the table. No climax as a punishment until I clean up the mess. "Bastard" flashes through my mind, but I keep it to myself, because I want more. More of this sensation, of your hands, your body, your voice, your spirit touching me.

I do what you demand, and on hands and knees I wipe the shards together. Meanwhile, you enjoy the view over a glass of sparkling wine. To my surprise, I enjoy it as well. Not only because I challenge you with my naked body clearing the mess, but also because of my subservience, having to do what you tell me to do. I want to be the pupil, to be dominated by the teacher who decides, who punishes me when I misbehave and praises me when I do my level best.

I work as fast as I can, because the warm throbbing desire between my legs gets stronger with every move I make. When I have cleared the mess, I'm allowed to join you. You remove the plug, as you call it, and wipe away the remains of your seed with a damp cloth. I am allowed one glass of wine as a reward, no more. The experience should be sufficiently intoxicating. You take a break.

Break? I don't want a break! I want to feel you inside me. I have to take into consideration you just had your climax. It's nice to have you back in the ordinary way, although very little sense comes from my mouth. Do you notice that the pressure of my need hasn't left my body? Or does your own lust take over? Your eyes grow dark when you hand me the jewel again and ask me to wear it. Which I do immediately.

You tie the silk ribbon I dropped earlier over my eyes. My body reacts when you blindfold me. The tension rises again. My breathing quickens, my breasts and legs tremble. I smell your perfume. I hear a clinking sound. Then something heavy and cold weighs down on my shoulders, a chain that attaches to my collar with a click. I'm leashed in the dark, with only touch, sound, and smell. It overwhelms me. I never felt this kind of excitement before. It's different, as if I enter some kind of trance.

In the dark, you use the chain to lead me until I reach the back of a leather armchair. You force me to bend over it, my hands leaning on the seat. Although, forcing, I want nothing more! Your lips touch mine, with none of that caution shown earlier, so you are in front of me now. We kiss violently, your tongue demanding mine. You break the kiss, but when your half-hard member touches my lips, I want only one thing, and I get it. It's nice to feel it growing in my mouth and to work it over with my tongue. A beacon, as I have nothing else to vent my agitation with. Writhing, I try to rub my groin against the backrest, pressing my thighs tight together, but it is not enough.

You thrust just as deep into my mouth as before, but now I can handle it. I want to endure it. You growl, almost coming, but you hold it back and leave my mouth. You grab my hair and force my head to the seat, so I'm leaning on my forehead and my hands. I smell the leather, taste you on my tongue and hear you walk across the room. Suddenly, the wine we drank together flows over my back. The cold fluid with its tingling bubbles pours between my buttocks and legs, flowing over all my oversensitive spots.

I moan and revel in it. In your hot breath washing over the inside of my thighs. Your lips and tongue licking away drops of wine mixed with my fluids and sweat. Your fingers, first playing with my breasts, then deep inside me again. You ask, growling, what I want. It seems as if I am possessed. I can only find peace having you inside me. That desire is absolute. You make me beg to be filled again, to be your slut.

"Take me, please, please." It flows from my lips, no more shame. I don't have to wait long. You enter me, stretching me along with the jewel. I'm filled, lusty, and many more sensations I cannot describe. All fear evaporated. Any doubt I had disappeared. You want me, take me and I let you. Then you take off my blindfold and in a haze I see my painting. But it is not my painting, it is a wall mirror, hanging right in front of the chair.