Other Colors -- Ch. 15 (part 1) - Sex Stories

Other Colors -- Ch. 15 (part 1)

Part 2 – Blue (continued) For reasons of length, this chapter has been split into two sections. Chapter 15 My eyes were closed. My breath was slow. I could feel the fire, its gentle heat pulsing over my nose and cheeks and knees. ‘ About suffering they were never wrong.’ I was thinking of Auden’s ‘Musee des Beaux Arts’ again; about wings of wax, and the melting point of paraffin. I ran a trembling finger over the smooth, red dot where he’d dribbled the wax, and let it dry. It was a tad ghastly, I guess, that he’d closed the envelope with sealing wax. Yet I was half-surprised that he’d stopped short in his theatrics, and not stamped the thing with some menacing signet. I smirked timidly. The sixth spintria…royal sigil of Monsieur Caine. I touched my throat, tracing out the phantom of his hand where it had lingered the night before. The fire crackled, and hissed. ‘Je n ' ai pas peur . Je suis née pour faire ça. ’ I stood in his parlor, barefoot before the carved stone hearth, holding his note to me with two hands. My hair was still damp from the shower. My clothes, like last time, had arrived outside the door sometime before sunrise, wrapped in crisp blue paper, and tightly bound with gold cord. The envelope was inside. I’d found it tucked between a cowl neck sweater dress, and a vaguely equestrian boiled leather belt; the buckle of which bore a somewhat unsettling resemblance to a horse’s bit. I broke the seal slowly, and read. ‘Penny, You’re to do as you please this ...

... morning. Rest up. Settle in. Explore. I suggest you find your way to glasshouse later, and get acquainted with your new studio. I’m leaving you on a long leash today, so take advantage. This will not always be the case. That said, I am glad that you’re here. ~ Dmitri’ I read it again, and then once more. Each time I did, I heard his voice inside my head; dark and dulcet, reciting each word as clearly as if he’d been standing right behind me, his lips bristling against my ear. ‘A long leash...’ I bit down on my cheek, remembering Stewart’s Nymphs Hunting , and The Coral Chain of Wilhelm Gallhof. Half of me was relieved. After last night, I knew I needed a little time to recover, and to at least begin to get my bearings. The whole whirlwind ordeal with him had come over me like an unremitting fever dream. But the other half... I think it wanted me to just keep dreaming. I think there was some part of me, strange to say, that wished he would keep me on a slightly tighter leash. I lowered the note, and gazed again into the fire. A jingle of dog tags heralded Rupestrian’s approach, and I braced myself to be mauled once more by the massive Newfoundland. But he didn’t rush me. Instead, I watched him saunter slowly across the parlor floor, and plop himself at my feet. He sniffed, whined, and wagged his tail. I dropped to my knees to stroke him behind the ears. In all reality, he really was quite well-trained, and I’d only ever witnessed two little lapses in his good behavior. The first was ...