Endless orgies and punishment sessions, cock after cock...and I felt as if I were standing in the middle of a dungeon, screaming at the top of my lungs, and no one ever looked down.
But as you know, Jack Pawson rescued me, in a way, from all that. He saved me from jumping that cold night...taught me how to ride proper, none of that side-saddle stuff. To talk like a male. Suck cock like a male. Swallow--not spit--like a male.
Father didn't much like my new-found independence, especially when I shoved it under his tail. The only whalebone that would ever touch me again would be up my ass, not suffocating me around the middle. I wonder what he's doing now, after watching him lowered to the waves among his fellow well-to-do.
You should have seen Jack's eyes when I opened up the box and showed him the piece my new Master had procured for me. The Heart of the Orgasm. A spectacular blue diamond at the end of a string of diamonds, attached to a platinum P.A. that was to mark me as his betrothed pet-to-be.
"I want you to draw me like one of your French fox boys," I say, meeting his gaze. "Wearing this."
The ghost of a grin creeps up the side of his muzzle.
"Wearing only this."
The grin falters, but just for a moment. He swallows and nods softly. "The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like a virgin," I joke.
Minutes later, I shrug off my silk kimono and hang it on a chair by the divan he's arranged in the middle of the sitting room. The Heart of the Orgasm dangles from my cock, swaying as I approach his staring face and bend, placing a Milkbone on the bridge of his muzzle. He's still watching my every expression, nostrils flaring.
"As a paying customer, I expect to get what I want."
Jack snaps the Milkbone up in the air and into his teeth, crunching it and swallowing drily. My pulse throbs in my shaft, which has risen to its full length, its adornment dangling proudly from the pierced head. He directs me to the divan with his charcoal.
"Uh... just bend your left leg a little and... and lower your head. Eyes to me. That's it." His eyes focus and he gets to work. For the next several minutes he's all business, his paw flying over the paper. Even now, I can't wait to see it when it's done.
As Jack fills out the paper, I watch his eyes in the warm dim glow of the electric suite lamps. He pauses to unbutton his trousers, evidently discomfited by something or other. Never a man of much decorum, he tucks his undershorts below his balls and his ears turn pink, and I figure he's gotten down to the diamonds. I turn my eyes down to his rapidly filling sheath.
"I believe you are lipsticking, Mr. Big Artiste. I can't imagine Monsieur Monet lipsticking."
Grinning his rascally grin, he replies, "He does landscapes."
***
Hector is \r\n\t\t\t\t\t
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Art is
\n\t\t\t\t\ttushApologies to James Cameron.