Sunday, November 9, 2014

Soul of the Gray (Part 2)

She did not struggle as he lifted her wrists to snap a metal band around each and attach them to the rings on the sides of the table. His touch was oddly comforting despite her fear, so warm and solid compared to the airy coolness of the servants. Once he had her in place, he drew his warmth away from her and tugged the pooled fabric of her ruined clothes away from her feet.


The Master circled her like so much prey, passing into her line of vision at agonizingly slow intervals. Eilin examined him in the glow of the candlelight. He loomed over her, tall and broad with bulky shoulders with thick muscles trying to punch their way out of his chest. Ropey scars banded his belly, disappearing into the mat of dark silvery hair that covered a fair portion of his torso, ending at the soft leather trews he wore. His arms were thick and just a little too long for his body, culminating in the pale claws that graced the finger tips of his large hands. The thick beard he wore and the long hair that brushed his shoulders in a cascade of layers were both black, although the hair gradually faded into the silver of his body. Glittering around his neck was a silver chain bearing an delicately crafted pendant, a triskele of wolves. The sparkle of the metal emphasized the bright grey of his eyes.

He stepped closer to her, sweeping her deep auburn hair over her shoulder and out of the way. He drew his claws lightly over her back in a series of patterns. Eilin shivered and squirmed, unsure how to feel about the sensation. Something in her wanted to purr. The rest of her remembered that she was naked and chained to a table in a room with a man-beast. The tickle of his claws moved leisurely downward over the small of her back to tease the sensitive flesh of her backside. She found herself arching involuntarily as he dipped over the hollow to the rounder flesh. Her body erupted in a rash of goose pimples.

That growling laugh rumbled through the air again, giving sound to his pleasure in her response. Her cheeks flushed with the heat of a deep blush, and she pressed herself into the table, concentrating on staying still. The Master clucked his tongue and delivered a sharp smack to her rump. Eilin jumped with surprise, letting out a small squeak. It just hard enough to sting a bit, but nothing unbearable.

"Ah, ah, ah.  I am the bard. You are the dancer. I play the tune. You will dance. It is that simple." He gave her another slap, and she bounced with it.

He came into sight again, sitting in the chair before the fireplace, facing her. He held in his hands a case of dark cherrywood, carved with beautiful knotwork and inlaid with silver filigree. He lifted the lid and presented the velvet lined beauty toward her. A set of exquisite hairbrushes were carefully laid within. He sat the open case on his lap that she might look at them more easily.


"A gift, pretty one. These are now yours." He caressed the auburn waves dangling over the edge of the table. "Choose one."

She looked over her choices. A wide silver one with stiff-looking bristles. A narrow golden one fitted with jewels. Another silver one of a middling width with soft bristles and vines curling around the handle.

"The one in the center," she said, indicating the ones with the vines.

His eyes glinted happily. "A good choice," he said, plucking it from the case and setting the others aside.

He walked back behind her, stroking her back with his claws as he went. "Tell me, how many steps do you think my staircase has?" he said, sliding a chain around the back of her left knee and hooking it into place.

What an odd question, she thought, as he slid another chain behind her right knee. "I...I do not know," she said quietly.

"Five and thirty," he snapped, his tone suddenly harsh.

Eilin cried out as the flat of the brush crashed into her backside a thousand times harder than the chiding slap of his hand. Her breath left her in a wave of pain. She stiffened, riding out the sting as it resonated through her. She jumped when he unexpectedly pressed the soft bristles to her skin.

"How many did you climb?" His voice was unyielding.

Eilin whimpered and hid her face in her hair. The brush popped her again, more quickly this time, but with less fervor.

"All of them," she managed to bite out. Another vicious swat with the brush had her sobbing, the chains at her knees not allowing for any sort of evasion.

He stroked her throbbing cheeks with the bristles. "What were you told upon entering my home?"

She spoke through little sobs, each word punctuated but a frantic breath. "All that is yours is at my fingertips, but do not ascend the black staircase."

"Aye," he said, administering another firm swat low on her rump, "and while I am overjoyed that you came to me, you still disobeyed my orders. So, we shall account for each and every step."

Eilin sniffed, trying to lift herself off the table with little success. "If you wanted me to climb the stairs, how is it fair to chastise me for it?"

He gave a quick little pop to each cheek. "Another thing you shall come to learn. I make the rules. I do not have to be fair. You, on the other hand, my lovely little jewel, are expected to be obedient from this point forward."

The next eternity was filled punishing wallops of the brush, peppered with excruciating pauses and unexpected strokes of the bristles or his hand. She had long since lost count, giving over to the useless writhing of her body and the steady sobs. This last pause seemed much longer than the others. She relaxed slightly, panting softly, as the air finally caused the light sweat he had worked her into to cool. He swept his hand over her body, gently rubbing each warm and throbbing cheek. Then, out of nowhere, one last blow, this time to the tender lips of her sex, keen and lingering.

The hard silver was replaced with the soft bristles. He pulled his hand away and simply moved the brush back and forth in small motions against her sex. Somewhere, in between her sobbing, Eilin let out a new sound, a foreign sound that she had never made before.

"There it is." He removed the brush from her, much to her disappointment she realized and resumed his seat in his chair.  The Master pulled the long ends of her hair into his lap and began to brush them with the mean little instrument he played so well.

"You did well. Although, I would advise you that this was a rather mild punishment because I did not expect you to obey the edict. However, if you desire to regain your previous privileges, it would behoove you to accept your new role."

When he was satisfied with her hair, he unhooked the chains from the bands around her wrists and carried her towards the bed.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked


  1. Oh you sure know how to build up suspense and keep me hanging on and wanting more. I look forward to what happens in bed ;)

    Rebel xox

    1. lol. Me too. I'm working on it during bored times at work. ;) Hopefully I can work in next week's topic somehow.

  2. We have a hair brush... it is EVIL


    1. Yeah. I was very clear to Daddy that I do not actually have the desire to be hit with a metal-backed hair brush. lol.