Muse 3 - Forced Desire 2

Yvette turns a standing mirror towards me. "See? The proper outfit can embellish even a divine body like yours," she concludes. I never considered my body divine, but the one I see in the mirror looks like a fallen angel.

"You opted for rags again?" I ask as Milena closes the dining-room door behind her. She still wears the simple white dress. "No, Yvette only took measurements. She'll have it finished the day after tomorrow, she says."

"I'm curious."

She chuckles. "I'm sure you'll like it. Yvette makes beautiful things, even if they aren't very comfortable."

She's been in the studio all afternoon, which doesn't surprise me. I'm quite astonished she's in time for dinner. A simple, light meal awaits us when we take our seats. We have the dining room to ourselves. The large glass patio doors are open, allowing it to be sultry rather than stifling. A noiseless flickering thunderstorm in the distance and candles on the table provide light in the otherwise dark room.

"Where is your mask?" I ask as I pour our glasses.

She flinches. Completely forgotten. I smile and hand her a glass. "I'm glad you got along so well," I say, and we toast.

"How did you recognise her talent for making such things?" she asks.

"I paid her to strip for me. Someone who can transform her body like that, without financial means and with homemade clothes, must have an incredible talent."

"So, you and her... You two have..." but she remains stuck in amazement.

I finish her sentence. "Fucked is the word you search. Yes, all the foreplay made me horny. To her, I was a paying customer. Besides, she was fond of me. With this estate at my disposal, I pulled her out of the misery that Paris became for her." I take a sip of wine and let her chew on my answer. She doesn't grimace at it, which is to her credit.

"Do you fancy men?" she asks, as casually as she is capable. Acting is not one of her talents.

"If they look like a beautiful sensual woman, yes," I say with a chuckle, but continue more seriously: "Generally, I prefer women, but I shared beds with men I considered attractive."

That silences her, save for the very telling furtive glances in my direction. She won't be into women.

"I can't imagine anything like that," she finally says.

"How so? Our tastes may differ, but I think you appreciated the sculpture with the marble men. Even though it depicted a scene seen as perverse."

"No, I mean the idea of sharing a bed with another woman."

"Don't focus on the difference between men and women, but see them as human beings. Each with their own kind of sensual beauty," I say.

"That's what I understand," she says, "and I can also see the beauty in a woman, but it doesn't turn me on." I shrug and turn my attention to my plate. "That's possible. Everyone has their own preferences. Exciting others is what excites me. Someone who surrenders to lust because of what I do to them. Or having them do."

"As long as you are in control."

"Yes, most of the time," I say.

"What if you let go," she asks, "surrender to someone else?"

I ponder on her question along with a delicious piece of salmon. Does she want to switch roles? She might, after our agreement ends. Even though I had fun playing a slave, I could never fully surrender to the part. It can't hold a candle to the pleasure the role of master provides. "Sometimes it's nice, like when you gave me a blowjob in the bathtub," I say, "but I was a pawn for others too often, I think. To submit is not a desire I cherish."

"I apparently do." Sagging in her chair, she stares at her plate. "I'm not sure I'm happy about that."

"It is what it is, Milena," I say, "and as long as you set boundaries, you are safe."

"I used to know my boundaries. Now I doubt if I even have any."

Doubt and fear caused by navigating uncharted waters. She may sail a ship without a port, but she has to understand she's still at the wheel. I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. "Milena, everyone has limits, including you. I'm sure you can imagine assignments where you say, 'fuck it'. Just because I haven't reached your limits yet doesn't mean they aren't there. Discovering them is part of the game we play."

"A fortnight ago I'd say 'fuck this' to things you make me do."

"A fortnight ago, you were only under the assumption that you knew your limits. At least now you know those assumptions were nonsense. Let me ask you this, the things I make you do, do you enjoy them?"

"You know they do perfectly well."

"Are they the things you recognise from fantasies you suppressed and didn't dare share with anyone?"

She doesn't answer, but her blush says it all.

"Are you hurting anyone with it?" I ask.

She stares into the distance and ponders. "Myself perhaps," she says and smiles at me, "my salvation? If I tell the complete story in one sitting at my next confession, the good father won't survive."

"Your concern for the health of your confessor is to be commended, but seriously. I may be the one to whom you submit as a slave, but my role, my satisfaction and the pleasure you give me with it depend on what you allow me to do. It is a game. An exciting and scary game, because of the risks involved. But not the risk of me forcing you across a boundary you can't handle. Because if I do, I want you to use the word of grace."

"So, what risks do you see?"

"That we forget it's a game."

I let go of her hand and we drink our last glass of wine in silence. A pleasant silence, with both of us lost in our own thoughts. She affects me more than she should. Much more. I enjoy what she offers me, her body, her intelligence and her humour. But she shares those delights with other ladies I encounter. What really touches me is her courage to burn all the bridges she believes in behind her and give in to her desires. And the trust she gives me in doing so. A trust I'm not worthy of.

"Come," I say, when we've emptied our glasses, "tomorrow I'll give you a day off, but now it's time to play."

It remains a mystery to me. One moment I'm afraid of what's going on, the next I'm trailing you back to my cell like a lovesick hussy. Although I enjoy your company as an equal, a slight shift in your demeanour is all it takes to throw myself naked at your feet again. When you insert the plug, all my doubts disappear. The rush of wanting to do anything you desire returns.

You make me Stand and Present on the mat, while you blindfold me, something I am used to by now. Then you caress my skin with rope. Rough, tickling, and with soft drumming when taut rope slides against taut rope. With undivided attention, you weave a pattern around my body, binding me in a corset of rope. With every binding that tightens, my lust increases.

Who would have thought that a rope could excite me so much? It is also the way you do it, relaxed but careful and meticulous. Your lips kiss my skin at points where you tie a knot next. My control slips, I surrender to you, and as if by magic, I follow your commands. I become a puppet controlled by your voice.

Stand, Kneel, Rug, Floor, Chair, Wheel, Bow, Offer, Down, Table, Serve. With every movement, the ropes chafe my skin. It makes me horny and fuzzy in my head, and I mix up poses.

You no longer correct my mistakes with your voice, but by delivering slaps with your flat hand. When you hit me lightly, it's quite nice, but when you hit me harder, it briefly causes genuine pain with a vicious sting. After each painful stroke, a warm glow follows.

I'm in a constant dilemma, between wanting to move away from the pain and enduring what you do, making you proud of me. It is nice to know you call the shots now, to be subjected to your dominance.

Finally, while I am bathing in sweat, you make me kneel on the mat. You take off the blindfold, offer me water to drink and caress me. You smile with satisfaction, which to my surprise fills me with pride. Then you tie my wrists behind my back to the corset and command me to go Down. As soon as your gaze changes, your voice shifts to commanding, and your hand grabs my hair leading me to bend over, the excitement surges and I want to be used again. With the plug in my ass, I can't get enough of your cock in my mouth or my cunt. I don't have to wait for long.

You drive your cock into me. I can't stop you. I'm trapped in your rope. I don't want to, not even when your flat hand smacks hard against my buttocks. Lust courses through my body. The spanking you deliver is welcome now. Do I like pain? No, but my body is aching for intense stimulation, for any kind of touch. And you provide, when you violently ravage my buttocks, my nipples and my thighs while fucking me.

In those moments, I really lose all control, don't know whether I'm groaning or panting. I tremble with horniness, tension, excitement, desire. Intense desire for you. You say I can come and immediately the orgasm surges through me. I have no say in it. My body answers to you, not to me.

You lift me by my hair and take off the preservative. You force me to kneel upright and tease me by not feeding me your dick right away. As humiliating as this is, I can't keep from making pleading sounds. I want you to know that I long for your cock in my mouth.

You want proof of my devotion. As you lead me on my knees with your pole in my mouth where you want me. As you hang casually in the armchair, allowing me to suck you off. As you count how long I can last deprived of air, with your cock deep down my throat. As you end up fucking my mouth as my cunt, with your balls hitting my chin.

I let you do it, let you humiliate me, because the lust in your eyes turns me on without end. Even more so, when you pour your seed deep into my throat with a growl and pull back to spray the next load over my face. I greedily lick it from my lips. Your orgasm is more important to me at that moment than my own climax. It is proof that you also give up all control and let yourself go.

When you loosen the ropes and let me lie on the mat so you can wash and care for me, I continue to enjoy your closeness, your tenderness, your kisses. You kiss so well. It's nice to linger in the small world of our game, where only you and I exist.

You end the game with the order to return. Yes, now I can, although my mind resists. It is always strange, like I'm leaving a different reality and you haul me back to the real world. I am broken, thoroughly fucked and very, very satisfied.

I am exhausted. Playing the game with Milena is addictive. Again and again, I allow her to seduce me with her unbridled devotion. Even now, when I raise the stakes by hurting and humiliating her.

These elements can increase lust, but not for everyone. Pride can turn lust into disgust, but for Milena it doesn't, it just helps her to hold on. She wants to prove to me she can handle what I demand, thus paving the way for the intoxication that pain and discomfort can bring.

I revel in watching her struggle under my command until she succumbs to her rush. She makes me struggle as well, knowing I can do anything I want to her, while balancing it with what she can bear. When she cannot contain her release, I grant her permission. Together, we enjoy her surrender to vulnerability and my illusion of absolute control. My orgasm satiates the sadist in me. All I want now is tenderness and gratitude. We need a day off.

Thank you for making it this far, any comments, suggestions and (dis)likes are appreciated.

Once More With Feeling