0 comments/ 35261 views/ 1 favorites Pretty As A Picture By: HarveyMarcus WARNING: The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further! This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen. This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached. * * * * * * * * * * This story departs from the "Birthday" series, following the first two Klymonn chapters. Mr. Marcus is summoned when Anna submits a problematic project to her art teacher. All parties agree that beauty is in the [insert body part here] of the beholder. * * * * * * * * * * I just crossed the threshold of my house when it started. "Harvey!" The shriek of my wife's voice. No 'Welcome home,' no 'How was your day." "Yes, Harriett." There's a message for you from Anna's art teacher." "She's taking art? I thought our idiot neighbors voted down that school district referendum." "Where have you been? Not at school. It's a Park District program she started last month. Remember?" Not a clue. "Oh yeah, sure." "She wants you to come and see her tonight." "Annie? Is she upstairs?" "No! Her teacher." "Damn it, the Bears are on tonight." "Watch your language. Besides, it's preseason, isn't it? It doesn't count." Harriett didn't get it. Watching gladiators in hand-to-hand combat was a great way for me to purge the venom I accumulated all day. And, it kept my thoughts and me out of Annie's friend's panties. She handed me a scrap of paper with the address, time, and teacher's name. Bourgeois. Wasn't that a kind of red wine? "Can I eat first?" I kicked off my shoes and dropped my coat on the floor. Harriett handed me a plate. I wolfed down a lukewarm casserole with anonymous ingredients. Then it was back to the car to one of the scattered Park District buildings. Only one car, a Chrysler convertible, remained in the lot. I pulled in beside it and headed inside. The receptionist's desk had been abandoned at a reasonable hour. The building directory said the art rooms were in the east wing. "Hello?" My own voice echoed the question. "Is anyone here?" A lanky woman with black hair, black blouse and long black skirt came into the hallway. "Mr. Marcus?" She carried herself straight, almost stiff, with an accent that was either French or Hungarian. "Yes." I completed the hike up the hall. "My name is Ms. Bourgeois. Follow me, please." I entered the classroom after her, an art studio complete with easels, stools, half-open cabinets brimming with supplies, a raised modeling platform and the teacher's desk at the far side. Paintings and sketches decorated the walls, and sculptures sat on side tables along every wall. "Please, have a seat." I slid a stool closer. "Thank you for coming in on such short notice." She put one buttock on the edge of her desk and crossed her legs. Close to a dozen gold chains adorned her otherwise flat chest. A slit in the skirt allowed it to open like a theater curtain. Her legs were long and well shaped, as if a master had sculpted them. I was staring at them when she cleared her throat. "You're wondering why I asked you here tonight. You, instead of your wife." I had no idea I had been singled out. Didn't Harriet have a previous engagement? Isn't that why I was here? "Yeah, sure. Something about Annie. She's in your class." "Correct. Anna shows great promise. She could move on to bigger things." She smoothed a strand of hair back over one ear. It waited under her hand returned to her lap, then fell forward to its original position. "Depending on how she does here, with me, there could be a scholarship for art school, no?" "Yes. My wife told me about that." She leaned forward. "Anna is one of two candidates for the scholarship. It has been difficult to decide. However, Anna's last project put her in jeopardy. Unless you can satisfy me, I'll have no choice but to award the scholarship to the other student." Satisfy her? Does she want to fuck? No, she's too formal and proper. I glanced back at her legs. Her movement had parted the curtain even further. The tops of her stocking peeked out. No pantyhose for this woman. Good old stocking and garters. "Let me show you." She leaned back. The slit was now open to her upper thigh. The garters were exposed, as well as the edge of her lacy black panties with significant pussy hair showing on the edge. When she straightened up, she had grabbed an easel pad, with a cover over it. She tugged once at her skirt, which barely moved. "The last class assignment was a still life, drawn from something real from the student's experience. Something that had a significant impact on them." She pointed to a series of drawings hanging up for display. "As you can see, some chose objects; others chose family members." Sketches and paintings of cars and dogs and parents adorned the wall. I pointed at the object in Ms. Bourgeois's hand. "Is that Annie's?" "Yes, and the source of the problem. Anna chose to draw an unusual, uh, family member." She threw back the covering page. It was a life-size drawing of my penis, will a full erection. For the first time in a long while, I was speechless. It didn't last long. "I'm so sorry. Of course this subject matter is completely inappropriate. I'll speak to Annie at once. She'll draw something else, as a make-up assignment." "The due date is past, Mr. Marcus. No other student got an extension or a second attempt. Anna will get no special treatment." Ms. Bourgeois stared at the image, running her jewelry through her fingertips. Even though it was a picture of me, I felt blood flowing, both to my face and my crotch. "I have no problem with the subject matter. The work is quite good, actually." She traced the wood end of a brush along the canvas. "See the details, like this vein that runs the entire length of this cock." That was a word I didn't expect. She seemed to be caressing the image of my penis with the brush handle. I wondered what she'd do with the real thing. No, not the proper Ms Bourgeois. "Annie has quite an imagination." I fumbled a forced chuckle. She looked deep into my eyes. "Anna has no siblings, correct? So, this is your cock?" There was that word again. "I guess so." No reason to agree too forcefully. "You said it's good, right? So, what's the problem? Give Annie an appropriate grade." "You clearly don't understand my grading method on this assignment. It was to be a realistic still life. For each student, I compared their work to the subject matter." She pointed to a sketch of a dog on the wall. "I visited the Hampton's to see their Labrador Fritz." Her finger directed my attention to a watercolor of an SUV. "And I went to the Bernbaum's to examine their Lexus." My forming erection withered. "So you're telling me you need to look at my -" "You have a simple choice, Mr. Marcus. Allow me to examine the subject of Anna's portrait, or I will fail her on the assignment. That will reduce her grade so that she will no longer be a scholarship candidate." "Not to be dramatic, but what if I can't get it up? That hard, I mean?" My dick was thick in my pants, but nowhere near what Annie had drawn. It must have been when I was with her, Janie and Jake. Janie's bare pussy had me hard as nails. "Precisely my point." She tapped the illustration with her brush. "A cock of this magnitude must be Anna's fantasy. In which case, she fails." No art teacher was going to call my Annie a liar. I stood, unbuckled my belt, popped the snap on my pants and unzipped. "Come now. It's been a long day, I really must be getting to bed." She uncrossed her legs as she stretched and yawned. I could now see both silk stockings and both garters. A few inches more, and I'd have direct view of her cunt. I grabbed my pants and jockeys, then pulled them to my knees with one swift tug. My semi-flaccid penis waved in front of her. "Perhaps Anna does not have such a vivid imagination as I thought. The vein is there." She ran the paintbrush along my dick. The bristles tickled, and I started to grow firmer. "My goodness, this is quite amazing! Please, sit on the desk so I can get a better comparison." We swapped places, me sitting on the edge of the desk, Ms. Bourgeois crouching in front of me, face at crotch level, legs spread. I got even harder at the display of bare thighs. Now her black lace panties were in view. Either they were unraveling at the edges, or her pubic hair was sticking out. I didn't get much harder than this, precisely as Annie had drawn. "Let me see." She turned and twisted her head, getting ever so close to the object under consideration. Her breath was warm, and my prick lurched with each exhale. "Yes indeed. Tell me, under what circumstances did Anna see this formidable organ?" "I don't know." My pulse raced. "Maybe when I got out of the shower -" "For this level of precision, Anna must have had a good, hard look." She tapped my erection with her paintbrush with the word "hard." "Perhaps she has seen you in bed?" My face was burning. "Or been in your bed, hmm?" She stood, hands on her hips, legs slightly spread and mostly covered by her long skirt. "None of my business if you enjoy the company of young girls. Even your daughter." "Are we done here?" I stood and reached to pull up my underwear and pants. Ms. Bourgeois held them down with her brush. "Not yet. If Anna is to have the scholarship, I must assess her artistic pedigree." It sounded like Ms. Bourgeois was asking about some dog. "Are you or your wife artistic? Does Anna get her talent genetically, or is it some random accident?" "Annie's mom isn't much for art. I used to draw cartoons back in college." Not real art, but perhaps enough to convince Ms Bourgeois that Annie met her genetic criteria. "Show me your skills, Mr. Marcus. You have a fine tool there. Let's do something non-traditional." Fuck in other than missionary position? She waddled to the cabinet and brought back a palette, a smock, some paint tubes, and a blank canvass. "Remove the rest of your clothes. You wouldn't want to get them stained, would you?" "What is this? You confirmed the drawing." "This will be the final verification, I assure you. Please cooperate or you jeopardize Anna's future. She is so close." I got completely naked, while Ms. Bourgeois donned the smock. It barely covered her blouse and most of her long skirt was uncovered. "Oh my, this will never do. I hope you'll excuse me." She placed the smock on her desk, then calmly unbuttoned her blouse and unwrapped the skirt from her hips. She left her necklace chains on. The flimsy black bra was barely necessary, with breasts that small. Those fabulous legs were better, fully exposed. The garter belt and stockings made this otherwise skinny woman very hot. My prick bobbed in anticipation of something wicked. Ms. Bourgeois squeezed blobs of color onto the palette, red and blue, and a touch of yellow. "Now, paint me something." "Uh, could I please have a brush?" "No, no, use the tool with which God in Heaven has blessed you." She tapped on my dick with her brush. "Dip it into the paint, and use your hips to make broad strokes." This was the wackiest thing I'd ever done with my dick, but it seemed harmless. "Okay." I followed her instructions, dipping my dick into the pant, and then twitching my hips back and forth, dragging the head of my prick across the white canvass. "Good. Good. With more feeling." She took my prick with her thumb and forefinger, like she was picking up an hor'dourve, and pressed my prick hard against the taut surface. One curve, then another. She was drawing a pussy! Over and over, she pressed the head against the material, as if she wanted me to bust through the painting's maidenhead. I couldn't help it, and spurted cum onto the canvas. A thread of semen dangled from my prick as she pulled it back. "There, it is your masterpiece." I examined the results. Not back for a prick of a painter. "How much do you think I could get for this on eBay?" Ms. Bourgeois pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. So much for techie humor. "I must help you clean up. Follow me." Her hips swayed and her ass jiggled a little as we went into a side room. There was a washbasin for art class clean up, surrounded on both sides by floor to ceiling cabinets. She grabbed a multi-colored washcloth and held it under a running faucet. In a flash, she was crouched in front of me, running the cloth up and down my penis. Her strokes were firm, just like the strokes she made on the canvas. I was getting cleaner but more excited by the second. "There, all done." She was right. The paint was all gone, but the erection persisted. "You'll be pleased to know that I'll be awarding the scholarship to Anna. But please make that our little secret. I want the pleasure of telling her myself, in person." I was happy but frustrated. There's one thing I never like to waste, and that's a boner. "You may get dressed now." I had been dismissed. My services were not required. I skulked back into the classroom and picked up my underwear. I raised one foot to step into my jockeys when she called out, "Help!" I ran into the side room. She was standing, bent over, long shapely legs terminating in full, round buttocks in those lacy black panties. My dick nodded in acknowledgement of the view. "Thank goodness you did not leave yet. My necklace got stuck on the faucet. I can't get untangled. Perhaps you can assist?" The washbasin was no wider than her hips. Tall cabinets on both sides surrounded it. There was no access except over the top. "Okay, let me see." I stood directly behind her. She was so tall, I had to go up on tiptoes. My groin pressed against her ass. As she described, her gold necklace chain was wound around the faucet and handles. "My neck and my back, they hurt. Can you untangle me?" "I'll try, but it's hard to reach." "Good." One of her hands snaked back to touch my penis. " Oh my! It hasn't gone down, has it?" I fumbled with the metal strand, both of my arms over her shoulders. She continued to hold my inflating member. "Your tool, it is ready for another masterpiece, no? Or perhaps, just a piece?" She maneuvered my erection between her thighs, pulling her panties to the side. Her wet outer lips greeted the head of my dick. "Demonstrate your broad strokes, Mr. Marcus. Long, deep strokes." It was almost impossible to concentrate on freeing her from her predicament, as our genitals collided, over and over. I dropped the necklace and ran my hands up under her bra. If I was going to fuck her, then I wanted to explore more of her body. Her tits were almost flat, with eraser top nipples. She began squatting at each of my thrusts, taking me all the way in. "Don't stop. Please fuck me. Oh, fuck me with your talented cock." I hung on for dear life. Somehow, I was approaching another orgasm. I was about to withdraw when I felt something at my asshole. It tickled, then stung. She'd taken a paintbrush from the sink and jabbed it up my ass. There was no opportunity for escape, so I pressed forward and tightened my loins, spurting cum deep inside her. When she withdrew the brush from my butt, I knew she'd finished. With a simple counterclockwise motion of her finger, she was untangled, necklace good as new. She stood, bra hanging from one shoulder, a bare breast visible. "Thank you so very much. I could not have done it without you." Damn right, unless you wanted to fuck that paintbrush. # # # When I got home, Harriett came down the stairs, Anna close behind. "What did Anna's teacher want that was so important?" "Anna has considerable skills with a brush." I winked at my daughter. "She must get it from my side of the family." "How nice! Perhaps we can frame her best work and hang it in the living room." I didn't think a portrait of her well-hung husband was what my wife had in mind. "I'll paint a nice landscape, Momma. One that matches the furniture." I'd save Anna's drawing of my erection for my private collection, if Ms. Bourgeois ever returns it. ### An Original H M Tale Feedback is always appreciated. Send email to the link below. Copyright © 2005, HarveyMarcus. All Rights Reserved. Pretty as a Picture (written by my lovely angel, Diana after the scene described herein) * She hung there in a state of complete depletion, the fact that the phrase itself was an oxymoron not escaping her notice. The mental exhaustion was almost harder to bear than the physical exhaustion, which was strange because she'd always considered her strong mind one of her best assets. In lots of ways, he was teaching her that she was his vessel, his alone ... and that she must come to accept it if she was ever to find true happiness. Meaning that her mind must begin to accept it as well. I know way more about ginger than I ever wanted to, she thought to herself, just as another wave of cramps clamped down on her intestines, a leftover reaction to what was just one of several indignities visited upon her body over this past night. At least it no longer felt like there was a fire burning in her gut. That had finally stopped after she'd expelled the last of the detritus from her intestines and felt it drip all the way down her legs and off her feet. She'd had lots of time to think, hanging there on the wall for the last several hours. He'd left her alone on the board, telling her she would remain just as she was until he came back for her the next day. It was into the wee hours of the morning now, although it could've been dawn and she would have had no way of knowing it, for she had been blindfolded and made to wear earplugs as well. Her mouth gaped open, another line of drool slipping from it, the ring gag doing a fine job of keeping her silent. At least I can breathe better in this than in the ball gag, the thought her only consolation. Her only indication of the passage of time was that long 10-minute period each hour when the vibrator lodged securely inside her cunt would click on and send a whole new set of shock waves through her already exhausted body. He had been angry with her, of that there was no doubt. Admittedly, she'd been distracted with the things going on in both their lives. Still, as he had told her in no uncertain terms, her job was not to worry about that but to do what he asked, when he asked her to do it, and she had been very lax about it lately. He'd also said she too often didn't address people properly when she should and, even worse, spoke when she should have remained silent. He was attempting to make her see that she was his and was, therefore, a direct reflection on him in the way she spoke, acted and presented herself. She wondered, not for the first time, nor she was sure the last, whether he had even bothered to check on her. He was aware of her panic attacks, knew how devastating they could be, the feeling of not being able to free herself even in everyday situations bringing them on suddenly. Her meds were safely in her purse, as if she could reach that now. She hadn't even considered how to set up a "safe word" when you were in this position, and he had not mentioned it, either. And he was always so careful of such things. That fact alone led her to believe that he was around ... in and out perhaps ... checking on her well-being and probably very much enjoying her silence for a change, not to mention seeing her helpless and nearly drained of all bodily fluids. Even her mind felt empty for long periods of time now. Funny, though, with everything else going on in her body and her mind, she had somehow managed to escape the crippling fear of a panic attack. It had all started when she'd failed to complete the task he had assigned to her last Friday, that being to wear her bullet all day at work and to make herself cum in four different locations. Because of something that had happened at home, she'd not even gotten to the office until 2:00 in the afternoon, and she'd been too exhausted to think about doing as he'd asked. While that may have been a forgivable situation, the fact that she'd forgotten to inform him right away of her inability to complete the task had pretty much sent him over the edge. That's when he'd brought up the rest ... all the ways she had been coming up short lately in her duties to him. He'd made her sit next to him on the couch, her back turned toward him so that he could remove the lacing from her corset-style top. Slowly, methodically, he'd unlaced each row and pulled the ribbon through before proceeding to the next row, finally reaching the top and letting the front fall off and onto the couch. He slid the ribbon around his neck and left it hanging there. His hands sliding up and down her spine had felt wonderful, and she'd almost begun to relax as his palms slid around her ribs to the front of her body, cupping her breasts and kneading them gently, her nipples responding so beautifully and hardening beneath his touch. She'd even felt her own wetness build as he teased her with his touch. Suddenly, he'd lifted her into his arms, laying his lips on her breast and sucking a nipple into his mouth, carrying her to the dungeon. She remembered arching her back in an effort to press her nipple further into his mouth, only to have him bite down hard on it, leaving broken skin behind. He had chuckled then, as she'd cried out and hissed in pain. "Oh, you like that?", he'd had the nerve to ask, as he smirked and clamped down on the other nipple with the same force, breaking the skin on it as well. She'd screamed then, using her hands in an attempt to pull his mouth away from her breasts. "Sir, please, you're hurting me!" Her reward was to be abruptly deposited on the floor in front of him, his hands slapping hers away from him. He'd handed her a set of cuffs and told her to put them on and then follow him to the board across the room on the wall. She very carefully attached the cuffs to each wrist and ankle as he had instructed. Knowing what was coming, she struggled slightly as he lifted her and began to fasten her to the wall by the restraints she had just put on. Finally deciding it was futile, she had complied almost docilely. Only later would she begin to see that this may have been her latest mistake. Once attached to the wall, she'd whimpered almost silently and watched him very closely as he walked back and forth in front of her, occasionally pausing to glance in her direction. Finally, as if making up his mind about something, he'd walked up next to her and sucked her left nipple into his mouth again. She squirmed, hissing in a painful breath. "Sir, please, it is very sore," she said, which merely won her a look that she clearly knew meant he did not care, and he rolled his tongue around the nipple, flicking it. She moaned again in spite of herself, feeling her nipple betray her by beginning to pucker nicely under his ministrations. He then moved to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment, flicking it with his tongue, and resting his hands lightly on her hips where her warm skin met with the silky drape of her skirt. Of their own volition, her hips bucked up from the wall and toward his warmth, the wetness between her thighs beginning to build as he continued to suckle her breasts, her breath coming in pants. Abruptly, he'd stopped and pulled a smallish box from his pocket, opening it and removing a small silver round piece, which he held in his palm, flipping it up into the air like a coin, deftly catching it in his hand again. He turned from her and walked over to the freezer, her eyes watching each movement he made, curious what he was up to with the object. He made noises, opening the cabinet to remove a glass, filling it with several ice cubes, and then returning to stand near her at the bar. Reaching over, he removed the cap from the bottle and poured himself a double scotch. She'd shivered slightly then, realizing that the scotch did not bode well for her, as his mood usually darkened when he drank. She watched closely as he took a long sip of his drink, sucking a piece of ice into his mouth from the glass, hearing the tinkling sound of the ice cubes as he set the drink down on a nearby table. Removing the ice from his mouth with his fingers, he touched it to her left nipple, already hard and red. She hissed in a breath, watching as the ice melted and the water trickled across her nipple, feeling the coldness of it. As she watched his dark fingers, he'd smiled up at her and touched her right nipple softly with the cube, then pressed down hard, forcing a gasp from between her lips as her broken skin was brutalized again. Still smiling, he stepped away from her body and squatted down to unbuckle her shoes ... first one, letting it drop to the floor, then the other. As she watched from her perch, she began to feel the tingling in her arms that signaled their getting numb. She knows the pain will soon follow, for it hurts almost as much when they fall asleep as when the sensation returns to them. He reached into his nearly empty scotch glass and retrieved another ice cube, this time trailing it along the arch of her bare left foot, watching for her reaction. She yelped, trying to pull her foot away, but her efforts prove useless in the restraints. "Please, Sir, I am very ticklish. I beg you to stop!" As she felt herself start to become moist between her legs from the sheer sensation of helplessness, her bladder responded to the tickling with a little contraction of its own. She'd always wanted to pee when she's tickled. An automatic response. He smiled up at her, reaching over for a bottle of water he'd placed on the table earlier, removed the cap and held it to her lips. At first, the water had seemed like a gift, she'd been so thirsty. He held it for her, her greedy lips wrapping around the opening and sucking the water down in big gulps. He allowed her to drink her fill, then placed the empty bottle on the table. "Thank you, Sir. I was so very thirsty." Little did she know, that was just the first of seven bottles of water she would be forced to drink. Continuing to smile at her, he reached into his glass, taking another ice cube in hand, this time running it along the arch of her right foot. Again she tried to move her foot away, but her position on the wall makes the attempt futile. She feels the gooseflesh crawl up the right side of her body, and she shivers. He watches her flesh quiver and her nipples harden even more, then shows her the small scalpel that she recognizes from their last session. Her heart begins to beat faster, as he rolls the cold circle of metal along one of her nipples. She tries to look at his face, but he will not look at her, just stares intently at his own hand tracing her nipple. "You remember how sharp this is, don't you?" he asks her. Feeling her mouth tremble slightly, she answers him, "Yes, Sir, I remember." She hangs her head and watches him very intently now. He nods, placing the instrument sideways between her teeth and telling her to clamp down on it. Smirking, he tells her, "I really suggest that you don't drop that, for it you do, it will surely slice yourself or me. And that would be most unpleasant." She looks at him with wild eyes and nods her head slowly, gripping the scalpel not only with her teeth but with her lips as well. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two very sharp, long-pointed silver push pins and holds them out in his hand for her to see. Her eyes widen a bit and, as she watches each movement of his hand, he inserts the push pins on either side of her. She breathes a deep sigh of relief that she did not feel them pierce her skin. The scalpel is becoming a bit slippery, saliva gathering in the corners of her mouth as she continues to watch him very warily. Seemingly enjoying her uneasiness, he smiles and takes another long sip of his drink, sucking in another ice cube and putting his lips at her throat, letting the scotch pool in the hollows of her clavicle and letting the ice slip between her breasts, where it falls into the waistband of her skirt, then slides down over her mound. She shivers, moaning deep in her throat, and closes her eyes, her hips beginning to rock back and forth in a very natural rhythm. He takes the scalpel from her mouth, slits her skirt from an inch below the waistband to the hem on both sides of her body. then places the scalpel on the floor. Her skirt hangs from her hipbones now, loose front and back. Without a word, he puts his hands through both sides of the fabric edges and clamps them on her upper thighs, letting his thumbs plunge between the lips of her wet sex. She mumbles incoherently now, "Yesss, Sir, please," not even sure what it is she's asking for, just knowing that his hands on her aching, wet sex are a soothing balm compared to what she has already experienced this night. Reaching for the near-empty bottle of water, he holds it to her lips again. "Drink girl, drink it all," he says, and she opens her mouth and gulps the remainder of the water, the last few drops of it trailing out of her mouth to slide down across her chilled skin. Feeling the ache in her arms and thighs from hanging there, she now feels the added discomfort of a fullness in her midsection, her bladder now very full. Despite the discomfort, her hips move back and forth now of their own volition, the need to feel his fingers growing more urgent with each passing minute. Tossing the empty bottle aside, he walks over to the refrigerator again, bringing back more water, a six-pack this time. He opens the cap, tossing it aside, and holds it up to her mouth, forcing her lips around it and pushing the neck of the bottle deep into her mouth. The icy water pours down her throat, choking her if she doesn't swallow fast enough. She gags, trying desperately to swallow all of it but not succeeding, feeling the cold wetness as it overflows her mouth and washes down both sides of her body, until finally the bottle is empty. He slaps her face then, tossing the bottle aside. Placing a piece of ice in each of her hands, he closes her nearly numb fingers around them, then opens another bottle of water and brings it to her lips. "Don't waste any time time." He watches her throat contract as each gulp goes down, and slides two fingers in her warm sex, stroking her softly as she drinks. "That's it, girl. Drink up." Gripping the ice in both hands, she gulps the water as quickly as she can, but it's still not fast enough. He knew it wouldn't be, she thinks to herself, as the cold water once again overflows her mouth and washes down over her body, causing her to shiver uncontrollably. Suddenly, with the invasion of his big fingers inside her open wet cunt, her body releases a flood of hot wetness that had been held back by her swollen pussy lips. She can barely believe herself able to cum under these conditions, but her body does not lie. She needs his touch and the invasion of her body. And it responds accordingly. He shakes his head, looking at her and making a tsking sound. "We'll just have to practice until you get it right," and with that he drops the empty bottle, withdrawing his hand from her sex and then opening another one. Tasting his fingers with an evil smile, he places another bottle to her lips and shoves three fingers into her dripping wet pussy this time. Her stomach convulses and her mind reels at the thought of having to down even more water, but she tries very hard this time to take it all without any spillage. Her pussy clenches hard around his fingers as she swallows as quickly as she can, barely able to keep up with the flow of the water into her mouth. He smiles then, watching her try to take the water in great gulps, and begins to slide his fingers in and out of her pussy in time with her swallows. Her chest is heaving now, trying to drink the water and also take in enough air to breathe. When she finishes the water, with only a little spilled this time, he kisses her lips but then once again takes his fingers from her and picks up another bottle. He looks up at her, massaging her belly and thighs, licking and kissing her soft damp skin. She can barely stand the feel of his hand on her belly now ... she is so full of water that she's desperate to use the bathroom, but knows it would be a waste of her time to even ask if she can. The driving of his fingers, plunging deeper inside her pussy with each stroke, seems to jab directly into her bladder with each thrust, causing it to tighten as she tries to hold in her urine. She feels it will shortly become a losing battle. Walking to the freezer again, he returns with a small brown bag, frosty in the air from being in the freezer. He stands in front of her and uncaps another watter bottle, bring it to her lips. "Just this last one, baby, and then I have a treat for you." Watching her face carefully, he slides four icy fingers deep inside her, curling his hand this time. She almost screams from the contact ... it feels as if her bladder is resting on top of her cervix, so full of water and so in need of release. She moans loudly, her body making every attempt to expel his icy fingers, but it only serves to make her bladder contract painfully again. She is so full of water and so full of his fingers, and the ice in her hands has numbed them, but small slivers of ice still remain. "Just a little more baby, you can do it. Do it for me." Removing his fingers from her pussy, he strokes her from her clit to her puckered hole, massaging her wetness from front to back. Panting now, desperate for release, her mind races. I can't take any more, she thinks to herself, then begs him, "Please, Sir, I don't think I can drink any more without having an accident. Please, I beg of you, let me down now so that I can pee." He merely looks at her and smiles again, "But I have something special for you, dear one, and I know that you are going to like it so very much." Gasping for breath, every muscle in her body seemingly clenched against the release of her bladder, her body betrays her once again, her sex rubbing against his hand in a rhythm matching that of his fingers. "Yes, Sir, you know I want to please you," she moans loudly as his hand travels the full length of her now sopping wet slit. "No accidents now, baby. Just drink this last one and tell me how you feel after that." He kisses her deeply, his tongue invading the depths of her mouth, before unscrewing the bottle cap. "Yes, Sir, I will ... for you." Opening her mouth yet again, she lets him pour the icy cold water down her throat, her throat muscles almost cramping from the coldness, but she manages to swallow all of it for him this time, much to her amazement. As she drinks, he puts three fingers inside her and begins to fuck her with them slowly ... in and out, a repetitive motion that exascerbates the contractions from her bladder, as it works hard to contain the urine that so wants to escape between her legs. The cold water sits like lead in her bladder now, weighing it down, making her shiver with the need to urinate here and now. She feels the slickness between her thighs from the finger-fucking and, oh God, she hopes not from urine. She's so wet now, and needs to pee so badly, that she cannot tell if some is escaping or not. Smiling, he finally withdraws his hands from her and tosses the bottle aside, then reaches into the brown bag and takes something out of it, slipping it under her skirt before she can see exactly what it is. She feels the frosty air rising from it, and he positions it at the lips of her cunt, twirling the frozen thing into her wet juices, then dragging it back to her ass very slowly and sliding the frozen hotdog into her ass. Feeling the cold object enter her ass, she squeaks out a denial, while a look of shock crosses her face. She watches his dark eyes, so intent, so focused on bringing himself pleasure through the use of every part of her body. As she watches the look of satisfaction cross his face, she feels herself go limp, her body accepting what her mind often will not ... that everything in her wants to do what this man asks of her, that her body desires nothing more than the freedom to submit to him. For even as her mind reels from the shock of the new sensations he has visited upon her body, it lets him in ... into her psyche, into that place where the voices usually scream at her to make him stop. He has won, and she feels almost relieved not to have to fight it any more. Pretty as a Picture He watches the look of submission completely take over her features and the flash of giving up move across her eyes. At last, he thinks to himself, at last she is mine. She fights, she argues, she drives me to distraction. And now she realizes it is all because true freedom comes from having fought for it. He begins to feel his own excitement grow as he realizes what a hurdle they have crossed, that maybe now she will understand that, even while she may not understand what he does or why he does it, it is always, always for her growth and pleasure. And his pleasure comes from teaching her this hard-earned lesson. It takes just a few seconds for the coldness to seep into her intestines and begin to make her extremely uncomfortable, adding to the extreme urgency she now feels for a pee. His fingers still working her sopping wet cunt, sliding in and out in a quickened rhythm, she feels the first stirrings of an orgasm. The tiny contractions in her vagina, the "pushing" feeling she wants to use on his cock instead of his fingers. "Not yet, Angel. I need you to listen to me, my beauty," he tells her, as he slowly withdraws his fingers from her. Her breath comes in short pants now, and she does her best to focus her attention on what he is saying. Rubbing her skin softly at her ankles, he unbuckles the chain from the cuffs on one leg, then does the same with the other leg. He reaches into his coat pocket and removes a medium-size vibrator. Showing it to her, he switches a few buttons on the end. It does not go on, and he teases her sex with it, finally sliding it in before bringing her legs together and attaching them tightly to the thigh and ankle cuffs in a way that leaves the skirt covering her pulled-together legs. He carefully picks up the scalpel he used earlier, nicking at the fabric of the waistband and letting the back of her skirt fall to the floor. When he moves his hand, the front falls as well, snagging on the chain, and he rips it off, dropping it beneath her feet with the other piece. "Are you paying attention, Angel?" he asks. She nods, "Yes, Sir, I am." "Good. Now, the way I see it is this. You are almost entirely full for me. Your belly is full, your ass is full, and your hot wet pussy is now full. He stops then, glancing at her absentmindedly, and says, "Oh. I forgot to tell you ... the hotdog in your ass was rolled in a box of suppositories and bits of sliced ginger root before being refrozen." At nearly the same instant, she begins to feel her bowels rumble and make an ominous sound, and she looks at him and can't help the tears that roll down her cheeks. "Sir, please, I beg you again to reconsider. You have me now, Sir. I am yours to do with as you wish. Why must it be this way? This harsh? I know I need punishment, but this seems so wrong." Her voice become pleading, and snot joins the tears rolling down her face and dripping onto her breasts. Ignoring her please, he sayd, "That vibrator is set to vibrate for ten minutes every hour, on the hour," then leans over to kiss her belly. "You are here because you want to be here, is that true? Because you wish to please me?" Unable to control her shivering now, she makes every effort to hold her bladder and her bowels, but can feel that she will soon lose this battle as well. "Yes, Sir, that is true," she whispers, very softly where he can barely hear it. "Good. Then what will please me will be knowing that you are here in the dark, that for me, you are going to simply let your body do what it wishes. It is I that has control of your body tonight, girl. It is I that will make it cum, make it relieve itself, make it scream or cry. You have little say in it; well, actually, you have no say in it." And then, as if to emphasize his last statement, he turns glittering eyes to her and says, "I have one last surprise for you, my dear," and with that, he reaches into his pocked and pulls out a brand new ring gag. "These are my favorite, for obvious reasons," he snickers, attaching the gag to her head and mouth and then smiling up at her again. "My but I do enjoy seeing you with you mouth open but no words coming out of it sometimes. A beautiful sight." It must seem to him a fitting punishment, this complete loss of control over any of her bodily functions, but she had yet to feel good about it. Even knowing that he would enjoy seeing her like this, in this condition, drool dripping constantly from her mouth, her body covered in her own saliva, piss and excrement, a sign that she had no control whatsoever over her body at this moment ... even that thought did not help her find a way to handle the degradation and deprivation she felt as she hung limply here on the wall like some sacrificial offering to his ego. Her mind did, indeed, have far to go to make any sort of sense out of it. She tried now, as the vibrator had it's hourly 10-minute affair with her dripping wet cunt, to imagine his pleasure at having such control over her. She understood the pleasure derived from the various sexual perversions he often enjoyed visiting upon her body ... the penetration with foreign objects, the use of various forms of sensory deprivation (blindfolds, gags, etc.), even the way he made her clean his cock after each ejaculation of his hot seed into some part of her body ... these things seemed almost ordinary to her now. Because they were usually done with such love and with at least a thought that some of them might bring her pleasure, too. But this felt like too far. As if she had crossed over into complete darkness and maybe something even more sinister. No matter his explanations for it, the actual loss of bowel and bladder control made her feel like she was less than human, almost less than animal, for even they had control over their bodily functions. She feels it inside her ... this void ... like a promise waiting to be kept. The emptiness waiting to be filled with his light. She is weak now from it all. Tired. Aching, Disoriented. Dehydrated. And almost completely numb. Her arms and legs still ache occasionally, but for the most part, she doesn't even feel them anymore. If he wanted her pride, he now had it. Her bodily fluids, splattered and smeared from her neck to her toes and still dripping occasionally onto the plastic dropcloth he had placed beneath her, had been driven out of her. Her pride was no different. It had been expunged. There was a sort of hollowness where it should have been. An emptiness. One she hoped to fill again with pride in being his perfect girl. In doing everything he asked of her. Being all that he wanted and needed. Maybe in this way she could begin to fill the gaping wound left by this complete loss of control over her own body. Maybe one day she would begin to understand the thoughts that drove him to this in the first place. Until then she would remain hurt and confused by it. And who in their right mind would allow another human being to treat them this way? He must have a special kind of contempt for her, despite all his protestations to the contrary. How could degrading her in such a way make him proud of her? It didn't make sense in any kind of logical way, but it wasn't the first time she had not understood a lesson he meant to teach her, and she was sure it would not be the last.