The Choices of Evelyn Ch. 16-18

Chapter Sixteen – Angel.

There still were days when the sun gathered its waning powers to dissolve the creeping mists. Days when it could incite the surrounding hills, turning its sides into a splendor of gold and orange. But more often, like now, the winds thrashed the windowpanes, thunderous rainstorms shaking the building.

Autumn had come to the house.

A fire blazed in the huge sandstone hearth; Eva felt its heat touch her skin. She lay stretched on the white furry rug in front of it, embracing Sandro, whose body was as naked as hers. Sandi he was to be called now. Eva's mouth closed in on the boy's ear, her tongue licking its silky-pink lobe. One of her pale legs crossed his tanned hip. She whispered words into his ear, clumsy little forays into Italian that made the boy giggle. It caused their bodies to move together, nipples touching nipples, thighs touching thighs, keeping their arousal simmering at a juice-weeping level.

From the corner of her eye, Eva saw M reclining in a leather club chair, her scary blue eyes half-closed, her glorious body wrapped in the blood red silk of a kimono robe. The woman sipped a mouthful of white wine, rotating the glass in her long fingers. 'Mistress,' she ought to call her. At first it had been easy to do so, a matter of course, ever since her rebirth at the teeth of the branding iron. It had felt natural in Venice, but then... thoughts had entered her mind – ghosts.

True, the woman had saved her from her own awful choices and disastrous consequences. Her life was hers now and she'd gladly surrendered it, hoping to be released of her guilt and shame – hoping to find a new home, a place to belong. But then there had been Sandro, Sandi, and what she did to him.

Sandi was part of that new home too, wasn't he? Her little brother, her sweet, innocent little lover, victim of a cruel woman that was her Mistress, treated horribly, utterly broken now, depending on Eva, wasn't he? So, there was cruel M, and sweet Sandi, choices, ridiculous choices.

'Mistress.'

She always used the word to her face, obeying the eyes. But in her mind, it was M again, like it had been scribbled in that first letter when she arrived. Eva knew it was just a pathetically thin line of ultimate defense; a last vestige of... what? Pride? Rebellion? Didn't M stand for Mistress anyway?

Stretched by the fire, Eva knew what the woman saw, looking over her glass's rim at them. She saw two naked creatures that she'd bought, her property to play with – to drug and flog and mark and manipulate with impossible choices and cruel dilemmas, humiliating them again and again, until they were hers, mind and body, using tricks to make them dependent, powerless to shape their own lives. Had she succeeded?

Eva watched through the curly curtain of Sandi's hair, using it as camouflage. She feared the woman's unpredictable temper, her whimsical actions. She had to be pleased at all times or there would be pain, wouldn't there, intimidation and nightmares? Fear it was.

Sandi didn't fear her, did he? Not like he used to. He'd changed, melted into a soft eagerness; how could he not have after what he went through? Before his absence, they'd both obeyed the fickle woman, but they'd also gossiped and giggled behind her back, doing harmless imitations and having their own private little jokes, like fresh breaths in a stifling room. There had been a 'her-time' and a 'their-time.'

Not anymore. The boy seemed to have lost every bone in his slender body, anticipating M's every wish. He wasn't just her slave, but really needed to be, it seemed – every moment, every second. Never not being it. He told her he loved the woman, and Eva knew it wasn't just a phrase. His wonderfully clear eyes sparkled when he said it; there was no trace of fear left, no trace of 'self.' With total indifference M had broken him at the Bordello; it must be. How else could he believe what he said – loving a woman that had been so cruel, so indifferent?

Love? The sick sweetness nauseated her, and she loved to believe it was from indignation. She should feel mad at the woman, shouldn't she, for what she did to him; for breaking the poor boy into believing he loved her? But Eva wasn't able to find madness, or even offense inside her. She should, she knew, shouldn't she? But she couldn't find it. Why couldn't she? It must be there.

Eva's branding and her time with M in Venice maybe changed her too. For a while, she'd even forgot she was Evelyn, hadn't she; many of her old memories never came back – neither the sad ones nor the miserable ones. Did she ever have good ones? Her pathetic little secret garden had been destroyed, engulfed by a black sea of ink, no private place left to run to. But now, so much later, she'd built new walls, hadn't she – flimsy things, pink, paper-thin walls, like a Japanese folding-screen to hide her nakedness behind. A mere gesture it was, the ghost of a ghost of a choice.

Looking through a curtain of hair, it allowed her to watch the woman from a distance – a fake, uncomfortable distance, maybe, but nevertheless enough to create the illusion she needed, a way to duck the woman's attention, even when her body ached for it.

Her damn body.

A small hand crawled up her bare neck to disappear into her new, thickening hair. Fingers scratched behind her ear. Full lips appeared, whispering sweet words as they kissed the tip of her nose.

"Ti amo," Sandro said; Sandi. "Ripeta!" They dissolved in giggles as Evelyn indeed repeated the Italian for 'I love you.' For just a second the outburst of uncomplicated fun put a stop to Eva's glowering, unrelenting horniness that kept rising into a blind lust she had no way of dodging, let alone satisfying. A week ago, the blond woman had once again locked Eva's crotch, this time with a leather contraption, closed with buckles and a silver padlock. What was the use? Why do that, if not out of pure sadism?

Things were done to keep her aroused all day and night; something in the food, maybe, the water? Perhaps she was hypnotized to keep her cunt itching and flowing, pre-occupying her mind? And then there was Sandro, eternally horny Sandi with his soft hands and lips and tongue...

Why she, why not Sandi as well? Sandi wasn't locked up, was he? Eva made him come whenever they were together, sucking his sweet little penis, balls and all, while milking his tight ass with a crooked finger. All it did, was arousing her more, like it did now. The boy's closeness, his scent, his heat, his kissing and licking, his sweet little moans and Italian whispers brought Eva close to coming again and again – heart-aching, pulse-racing close.

Close, yes, but never there.

She could smell it right now, and so could the woman, no doubt, watching them over her wine glass. The pink skin around Eva's nipples swelled into aching tightness. Her locked-away cunt lips strained against the smooth leather that closed her entrance. If she spread her thighs right now, her moisture would seep from the edges. It would run down the tender skin where loin and leg unite. Sweetest hell it was, forever making her totter on the brink of ecstasy – a brink she couldn't cross. Writhing her groin, she tried to conjure up enough friction for release. In vain, of course, always in vain.

The woman must hate her, she thought. Did she get off on seeing her like this, hearing her moan, watching her cry? What was the point? Did there have to be a point? Eva had learned to accept M as the woman who, be it bizarrely, saved her. Looking beyond her, all she could see now was a desert, or a swamp, rather, drably colored, but lusciously green at spots she knew were the most dangerous of quagmires and quicksand. The woman had given her a new, livable world and held it together after Evelyn destroyed her old one with her ruinous choices. For that, the woman had to be respected and obeyed. There was no choice, was there?

There was no doubt in Eva either about who she was and to whom she belonged. There also was no doubt why M was her Mistress. But the answer to that why wasn't love. The answer was fear. The woman wanted Eva to put her on a pedestal of blind, terrified respect. So, Eva obeyed, hastening to anticipate every wish the woman might have, pleasing whomever or whatever she pointed out. Eva had no doubt that this was what M wanted. To her, the woman was a distant, fearsome Goddess she had to serve and obey.

There was no doubt there, no choice.

***

Right when the pulsing arousal in Eva's groin started to abate, she felt hot moist lips close around her right earlobe, sucking it in. Groaning, she felt her pussy twitch, preparing for another journey into the frustrating lands of denial. Pussy, ah, no, say cunt.

"Evalita?"

M's voice penetrated the humming of her aroused mind. She shook herself free from Sandro's clinging body and assumed the position of respect the woman had taught her through hours of discipline: kneeling, sitting on her heels, straight back, thighs spread, open hands on thighs, eyes down. Rebellion was there, but it was a secret grain of sand now, slowly glazed over by the juices of compromise. All that would be left soon, was a slick, shining pearl – a gift to her Mistress.

Her eyes were on M's bare feet.

"I think it is about time the world should see how far you've come, sweet bitch," the woman said with the silky voice she feared most. Eva knew she should respond immediately, her face showing excitement. This time it was easy, though, as the news truly excited her. Was it real excitement, or was it anxiety? Who'd know the difference anymore? Who cared?

"Oh yes, yesss Mistress...," she heard herself cry out. "You hear that, Sandi?" Eva asked over her shoulder with an eager, childish voice. "Mistress is proud of us. She wants the world to know." She crawled on all fours over to the woman, clutching her calves and kissing the painted nails on her toes. What was fear anymore, what was devotion? What was real, what conditioned? Was there a difference? Where did Genuine stop and Fake begin? Why couldn't she stop her mind and be like Sandro? The woman grabbed her hair, burying her steely gaze in hers.

"Tell me. Is that the truth, Eva – that you want me to be proud of you? Is that really what you think?" she whispered. A wave of unspeakable fear engulfed Eva. What had she done wrong? Where did she slip up? She started crying, swallowing to clear her throat.

"Please, Mistress," she sobbed. "Don't doubt your girl. She once carried a heavy guilt and almost perished. Please don't add new weight to it." She shivered, holding on to the woman's calves, avoiding the eyes. "Mistress," she went on, talking to the feet, her lips quivering. Mistress, she'd said, Mistress, Mistress, repeating the word in her mind. "Mistress, please believe this damaged girl. She came around. She did! She's perfect; she's yours. Really, she is." Silence stretched out. Eva felt the woman's fingers on her bowing head.

"But, does she love me?" the silken voice insisted. The question pushed Eva into a pit of confusion. She couldn't answer, she couldn't even speak as her eyes were drawn where they didn't want to go – the steely blue gaze, fearsome gate to pain and agony. And to unbearable yearning.

Eva broke down in tears, pushing her face into the skin of the woman's feet.

***

She stood on silver stilettos. Looking out of the slits in her mask, Eva watched M walking around her, feeling her hand caress her thighs and high ass, pushed up by the heels. She felt the tip of the woman's riding crop touch her small round tits. It caused fear to send ripples down her skin at the thought of what that crop had done to her – and might do. Where it had been, how it had changed her. Her painted nipples tightened in response.

There was no mirror to see how she looked. She knew she wore a silver skull cap that gripped her head tightly, crowned with a tall, long pony tail in a color that reminded her of... ah well. Pain blocked the memory. Her throat, she knew, was circled with shining steel, and her eyes sparkled from behind a silver mask. So much shining.

"Something's missing," she heard M whisper under her breath. "Gustav must be waiting for us in the car by now, but something's missing." She circled Eva again. Caressing her body with the soft tip of her riding crop once again, she tapped the aching nipples with it. Colored a dark green, they pointed out of silver-painted haloes. As she looked down on their stiff, new length, hours of painful training flashed through her mind – needles stinging, pumps sucking, contraptions stretching. Then she heard a metallic sound as the crop tapped the shining cup that covered her slit. A hand once again stroked her high buttocks, half-heartedly covered by a tiny skirt of fragile chains and trained into firmness. At last fingers poked at the silver plug deep inside her painted asshole. It stretched her sphincter into a perfect O.

"You look lovely now, sweet girl," the woman said. "Do you feel beautiful for me?" Eva's lips, just as green as her nipples, tried to stretch even further. She stood straight and nodded, unable to speak because of the silver ball gagging her mouth.

The woman chuckled with her cruel sense of humor, and walked over to a huge black trunk, half hidden in a shadowy corner. Eva stiffened, knowing that pain and discomfort would be attached to whatever she might dig up from that trunk. Her eyes followed her through the mask, wondering which part of the bile cocktail that rolled and roiled in her stomach was healthy terror and which was sick excitement. M opened the lid and looked inside.

"Something pretty," she mumbled.

She took out a small, black jewelry box and placed it on the palm of her open hand, stretching her arm until the box was right before the girl's face. Then she opened the lid to show its content.

Through these months of constant harassment, Eva had learnt there were many kinds of fear in her life with M. There was fear for the unknown – a fear that abounded with the fickle woman's mood swings. Then there was fear for the pain so many objects promised. But there was also sick curiosity for what might be in store for her. There always was.

By now she knew she was hooked to this uncertainty. Under a constant layer of fear, she felt her body's craving for this nauseating tombola of pain: knowing that the assaults of hurt could suddenly turn into waves of bladder-emptying pleasure. Or not.

On the purple silk inside the box lay two bright silver ornaments. They were filigreed little caps, each half an inch long. Attached to them were fragile chains. Two silver French lilies dangled from their tips. Seeing their shape caused an itch at the top of her right ass cheek. And a throb in her cunt.

M leaned in and sucked on the lobe of her right ear. Were they earrings? Then she whispered: "My pet, please present me your left nipple." Gasping, Eva cupped her left breast with a green-and-silver-tipped hand, pushing out its nipple. She hissed as an ice-cube slid around it, once, twice and again until the painted flesh stood out numb and hard. Evelyn moaned through the gag ball, looking down into a smiling face.

Taking the first jewel out of the box, the woman warmed it slowly in the curl of her tongue. After sliding it over the extended tip her fingers turned it and turned it, until it sucked itself tightly on the strangled flesh. M iced the right nipple too and applied the second clamp – extracting muffled moans and the rippling of skin. She attached the two thin chains to the collar. They were short enough to pull up the nipples, making them point upwards. She stepped back and marveled at the sight. Light sparkled off the filigree. The dangling lilies tingled with every shivering breath Eva took.

"Yes," M sighed. "You're perfect now, sweet love... just perfect. Let's go." Eva wondered if she'd pissed into the silver cup. Clamps had been part of many of M's games, but this pain felt different. It had been cranking up with every twist of the clamps, piercing through the iced numbness and making her dance on her stiletto heels. Then the pain subsided until her nipples were just two sore extremities, throbbing with the beat of her heart. Tears trickled between her skin and the silver mask.

M attached a leash to the metal collar, pulling softly as she led the girl away.

***

As she walked behind M, Eva's hooded eyes followed the leash until it disappeared into the woman's gloved hand. Strutting on impossible heels, she noticed how her thighs and calves stretched at every step. It also made her aware of the fullness in her bowels from the churning silver plug. Her clamped nipples were electrified by every checked sway of her tits. The combination of all those sensations made her tremble from head to toe. The fragile set of silver chains that mockingly substituted for a dress, tinkled and jingled at every step.

She was an object, wasn't she? An adorned, moving statue, a piece of perverted art expressing the pride of the woman in front of her – the tall, blond Valkyrie with the icy eyes, walking with perfect elegance in her slinky evening gown. It left most of her back free and split at her hip, presenting a perfect leg that ended in a towering sandal.

She was the woman she feared enough to accept her as her Mistress now, didn't she? Her owner. Ah, yes. But the fear wasn't of the scary kind anymore, was it, or even terrifying? It was a seductive fear – addictive. And like a true addict, Eva had made it part of her, letting it tap into her helpless emotions. She had no idea why or how, but she knew that it wasn't a healthy fear any longer. It had morphed into something entirely different, arousing her body with waves of lust, making her nipples ache and her pussy – her cunt – flow. But most of all, it occupied every corner of her mind. It had become a fear she couldn't live without anymore.

'I hate you,' she thought, watching the churning hips in front of her. A spasm twisted her crotch.

***

When they entered the hall, she saw Sandi. The boy was on a leash attached to a collar similar to Eva's. The leash was held by Gina, his grandmother. Sandro was naked and crouching on all fours, like a dog, his eyes down and his face darkly blushing behind the straps of a muzzle. Eva stopped, staring at him.

"Oh, look, Evalita," M said with a mock-surprised voice. "Look how beautiful puppy Sandi made himself for you." Eva gave a muffled moan, looking from the boy to the grandmother and back to the floor. M laughed out loud and clapped her hands.

Eva knew rationally that there was no reason for the shame she felt; it wasn't she who humiliated the boy like this, was it? But rational thinking hadn't been much of a priority these last few months. She, as well as little Sandi, had been treated like unthinking slave sluts, the objects of a sick mind, but they'd at least been allowed their humanity, hadn't they? Well, mostly. Imprisoned they'd been, enslaved humans, bought and abused by a fickle owner, but nevertheless, human.

Sandi was a dog now, naked, cuffed and leashed by his own grandmother. His mouth and face were caught in a muzzle, his 'paws' wrapped in silver kid leather, his loins and hips strapped with silvery leather too. It held a footlong bright purple dildo in place, that dangled from his crotch like a dog's cock – mocking his humanity as well as the smallness of his natural penis. A knob like a stiff bobtail closed his asshole.

A rage invaded Eva's mind from a place long forgotten. She felt her breasts rise and fall in rapid breathing, each breath sending jolts through her capped nipples. It made the lilies jingle. A line had been overstepped, she thought. A line not to be crossed. Something had to be done. Something.