Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Faye

It was just a short walk to the bank. A couple of streets in broad daylight, with plenty of passers-by for camouflage, but that made no difference to my jittery nerves. My eyes darted all around me, scouting every shadow, every doorway, every sound behind me, every set of footsteps crossing my path.

I breathed a sigh of relief once I’d crossed the bank’s threshold, taking a moment to calm my breath before joining the queue. I hardly registered the cashier’s small talk, handing over the cheques with barely a smile.

My legs didn’t want to carry me back onto the street. They balked and protested, pooling into gangly, useless excuses for limbs. Come on, Faye, get a fucking grip. I pictured Andy’s condescending expression, the roll of his eyes, and then I gritted my teeth and got the fuck on with it.

It had started to rain and I had no umbrella against the drizzle, and in my strop I’d neglected to pick up my coat. The rain pricked at me, tiny little needles, bathing me in the kind of cold sweat that makes your teeth chatter. I was scared. The kind of scared I’d felt as I’d run from Italy, the writhing pit of snakes in the bottom of my stomach, slithery and cold and full of dread.

I’d run away from one horrible mess, only to create a brand new one. I could already feel it unfurling in my gut, the urge to spin on my stilettos and bail. I’d always been a runner, cracking under the first sign of real trouble and disappearing like a whippet into the sunset. I’d never been short of people telling me as much, either. It drove my parents insane, the cycle of all-consuming passion, through disillusionment, always to end up in dramatic abandonment. I’d quit everything I’d ever started; every expensive hobby, every college class, every fledgling relationship, bailing out as soon as life didn’t live up to the pretty Faye dream.

Explicit should have been different. Venice should have been different. But they weren’t, and here I was, on the edge of bailing again, only this time I had nowhere to go, nowhere else I wanted to be.

I slipped between two buildings, ducking under an overhanging ledge to escape the rain. I wasn’t ready to go back yet, not to the bar and Topaz’s well-meaning questions, and certainly not to Andy. My heart was thumping, and my brain was already cycling through my options. A train down south, back home to Mum and Dad’s. Maybe I could head west, over to my sister Karen’s place in the Cotswolds, she’d been harping on for a visit. But everything I owned was at Andy’s place, and I always travelled light but travelled essential. I couldn’t just bail without so much as a spare pair of panties. That would be a whole new all-time low.

Vincent would still find me, regardless of what move I made. Andy probably not, I imagined he’d breathe a sigh of relief and change the locks the moment I was through the door, but Vincent was a different beast. A more persistent beast. A more invested beast.

I hate Cynthia and Richard. I hate Cynthia, specifically. The full realisation of just how much I hate them comes rarely, but when it comes it makes me feel sick, like I could lose my shit and go all batshit on them, tell them to get out of my fucking home, and my fucking life, and my fucking Vincent. Only I don’t. That would never do. That would never please Vincent, and Vincent’s word is law.

Today there is hope. It feels beautiful, like sunlight through rain. Vincent will love me today, above all others. Above them. Oh, how good that feels.

I’m not even nervous today, it matters not how crazy shit gets, or how many guests I have to entertain with my pussy, or even how brutal things can get in the name of love. Today I will be loved by him, and it won’t be in secret, and it will be fucking wonderful.

I’m ready when Vincent comes for me. He looks divine in black, like a dark God, tailored in luxury mohair with a dark glint in his eyes. He stares at me, stares at my nakedness, and I spread my legs for him so that he can appreciate my cleanly shaven slit. “My beautiful bird,” he says. “You take my breath.” His words make my pussy flutter. “Come.” He offers a hand. “Our guests have arrived.”

I press myself into his side, my arms around his waist. “I am so happy.” I smile. “It means so much. You indulge me, I know, but it means everything to me, Master.”

His expression darkens, stern, but I don’t let that ruin the moment. “Remember, pretty bird, there is always a test, always a price. We must work for what we crave above all other things, we must earn our pleasure in order that we experience it to its fullest. It is through hardship that the soul is set free. You know this, of course, don’t you?”

I nod. I do know this, he repeats it every day, repeats it in his words, in his writing. It’s everywhere in this place. It’s him.

“That’s my beautiful girl. You are my northern star, Magpie, my greatest treasure amongst all things.” He kisses my cheek and opens the doors. Cynthia and Richard are already there, and Cynthia is already tipsy on Prosecco. I hate her when she’s been drinking. She is the cruellest submissive I’ve ever known. She’s dressed in jewels, and stockings, her hair coiled up with peacock feathers.

“Oh look, Richard, doesn’t Vincent’s little pet look sweet today?”

Vincent doesn’t say a word in defence, but it doesn’t matter. She’ll see. I hold my smile.

Richard nods and his mouth is already watering. His bottom lip is glistening with spit I’ll have to lick up later. He slobbers when he fucks, and he likes it when it hurts enough that I squeal. He spits in my face and calls me a filthy cunt, and he always tries to fit his podgy fist in my asshole. Sometimes I fail to break enough to like it. Sometimes I can’t get enough. My pussy tightens at the thought, but tightens more at the realisation that it won’t be today. Today I will be Vincent’s only.

Vincent gives me Prosecco and I drink it down. I sit with him without being invited, and I curl my fingers around his and smile at Cynthia’s jealous glare. She wants Vincent for her own. I’d love to see how good she’d be at sharing in the way I have to.

Vincent presses a palm to my belly, runs it down between my legs, and I spread for him. He plays with my clit absentmindedly as he regales them with conversation, and it feels like Heaven.

“My pretty bird has a request,” he reveals. “She wishes me to show you how much she is loved by me. She wishes that tonight I am hers and she is mine, and we share our delicious love with your appreciative eyes.”

Cynthia’s eyes are more piggy than appreciative, but her smile is broad.

Vincent strokes my neck as he continues. “I explained to my magpie that devotion has two faces, and to earn the indulgence of her request she must first demonstrate how truly worthy she is, how dedicated. That’s right, isn’t it, my sweet?”

“Yes, Vincent, Master. That’s right.” I’m smiling so widely I can’t even contain myself. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he laughs. “First you must earn your reward.”

My stomach drops, on instinct. He rises from his seat and pulls away from me. “On the floor. I want you flat on your belly with your arms behind your back.”

I get into position without hesitation, and he drags me by my feet into the middle of the room. My tits graze against the cold tiles, and it hurts. A good hurt. He reaches for shackles and I gasp as he hogties me. My ankles are pulled tight to my wrists, and my back arches uncomfortably. I can hardly move, useless and immobile with my cheek to the floor. He pulls my knees apart and nudges my pussy with the toe of his shoe. He wriggles it until I groan. I hope he isn’t going to kick me there, but already my thighs are opening wide for him, just in case.

He moves away and resumes his seat, patting my empty space in order that Cynthia joins him. She smirks and places a hand on his thigh. I have to strain my neck to look at them, and it hurts my back, my shoulders, too. He hands Cynthia a stopwatch. “Would you be so kind?” he asks. Of course she would. She’d love to. “Two minutes,” he says. “You can be the judge. My beautiful bird has two minutes to crawl to my feet. If she makes it, I’ll love her all night long.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Cynthia asks with a sly smile.

“And if she doesn’t…” Vincent’s hands are already at his belt. He frees his hard cock and my breath catches. Cynthia’s hands are greedy, already wrapped around him. He pulls them away and kisses her knuckles. “If she doesn’t, then she will indulge us by watching me fuck your pretty cunt until you scream for more,” he laughs. “And she’ll be grateful, won’t you, Magpie?”

No. I won’t be grateful. I can already feel the tears. “Yes, Vincent, Master. I’ll be grateful.”

“Don’t look so sad, pretty bird. I have every faith in you.” He smiles. “And even if you don’t win, there is always a commiseration prize. I’m sure Richard will offer you his fist as a reward for your efforts.”

“Or me,” Cynthia hisses. “I’ll reward her.”

Please fucking no. My eyes are screwed shut, but my heart is pounding. I can do this.

“Go,” Cynthia shrieks. “Wiggle wiggle wiggle like a worm.”

She’s laughing as I start, my body a squirming useless mess of exertion, going nowhere fast as I grunt and writhe along the tiles. My shackles bite my skin with the effort, and my chin smacks the floor as I flail, but I don’t care. All that matters is reaching Vincent’s feet.

He’s laughing too, now, and so is Richard. I make slow progress, agonisingly slow, and it hurts. Not just the pain of my body, but the humiliation. It burns and it stings, making tears flow. I lurch forward in crazy jerks and close some distance. There’s a faint chance I may make it, and I try harder, grunting with determination as my breasts slam against the floor. I’m nearly there, my nose just a foot away from Vincent’s toes. Just a couple more thrusts.

“Good girl!” Vincent laughs. “That’s my pretty bird. You’re almost there.”

But no. Cynthia’s face says it all. “Time up,” she snaps. “You lose.” She’s lying, I know it. She tosses the stopwatch aside and smiles at Vincent. “Such a shame,” she hisses, and her hands are already on his cock.

My eyes beg his, but his say it all. He knows it, too. He knows she’s lying. I wait for his protestation, but it doesn’t arrive.

“Good effort,” he says. “But effort isn’t enough, Magpie. Rules are rules, and they are there to challenge and sculpt us.”

“No,” I whisper. “Please.”

My words infuriate him and his eyes turn cold. “Know your place, pretty bird,” he snaps. “Don’t I treat you kindly? Didn’t I give you a chance? You will be a good loser, and you will congratulate Cynthia.”

“Congratulations.” My words are weak and numb.

“Such a beautiful big cock,” she groans. “Look at me, little slut, you will enjoy watching this.”

Tears fall, and I don’t care. It hurts so fucking bad that I’m beyond giving a shit.

“Why are you crying?” Vincent asks, but I have no answer for him. “Magpie, why are you crying?”

I shake my head. “I’m sad.”

“Why are you sad? What do you have to be sad about? You had a test and you failed. Be happy and grateful that you were given the opportunity.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Now, watch Cynthia’s pretty cunt milk my dick. She feels so good, you know.”

I force my eyes onto them, and more tears spill as I watch her mount his lap. She moans like a whore as she lowers herself, arching her back against his chest and wriggling her hips. “Yes, fuck, sir, you feel so fucking big inside me.” He kisses her neck and watches me over her shoulder, and it’s too much. I writhe in frustration, trying to turn away.

“No,” he snaps. “Jealousy has no place in our lives, Magpie, you know this.”

Oh God, oh fuck. Jealousy fucking burns. I have to force my eyes back, and my mouth curls upwards. “Yes, Vincent, Master. I know.”

“Ask me to kiss her, ask me to touch her beautiful ripe tits, ask me to squeeze them, love them. Ask me to make her come.”

My stomach is on fire. “Please, Vincent, Master, please do all those things.”

“Say them, pretty bird.”

My breath is ragged. “Please kiss her.”

“And?”

“Please touch her beautiful tits, Vincent, please touch them. Squeeze them.”

“And?”

“Love her, Master, make her come.”

She’s riding him hard now, the slap of her flesh against his makes me feel sick. I can see his balls bouncing up against her ass, his cock slick with her juices, her dirty cunt sucking outwards like an elasticated sock. God how I hate her. “Beg me, pretty bird. Beg!”

“Please, Master!” I cry. “Please love her, please, please kiss her pretty mouth, please squeeze her beautiful tits! Please!”

“Good girl. Fuck, her cunt feels so tight, Magpie. She almost makes me happy you failed.” His laughter cuts deep, and I’m lost. Silent tears stream, and my spirit is broken. I listen to the noises, soak in the expression on his face, on her face, the glee as his tongue finds her mouth. She flicks hers back at his, her eyes on mine. How she fucking rides him, she rides him like he’s hers, and he lets her. He wants it. Bastard.

He comes inside her, bucking and hissing and grabbing at her hair, and she comes too, squealing like a pig and gripping her hands to her bouncing fucking tits. She dismounts, and his cream spills out of her. She smiles at me. “My gift,” she says, scooping it from her filthy cunt with a finger. She sucks it off. “I’m so lucky. Don’t worry, slut, you’ll get what’s owed.”

“Please, Master,” I say. “I am not worthy, I need no gift.”

“On the contrary,” he replies. “You are very worthy of this gift, pretty bird. I can’t wait to see you receive it.” He gestures Cynthia to the back wall, and my insides twist at the prospect of what she will choose.

“This one,” she says, but I don’t look around. Vincent nods his approval, and I wait for it. I wait. But even I don’t expect what comes.

It burns like hot coals, spitting embers inside me, red hot pain, like razorblade kisses. She tuts in annoyance when she can’t force the thing all the way inside me, as she jams and twists it again against my pussy lips. I know which one it is. The big black strap-on. They call it the Emperor. I’ve never been given the Emperor, not until now. It’s always scared me and I’ve managed to fall lucky with people’s choices. She’s not wearing it, I can tell. She’s holding it in her hands, both of them at once, slamming it against my sore cunt. It thumps. Oh God, it’s so weighty it fucking thumps.

“Ow!” I squeal. “It hurts.”

“Don’t be pathetic,” she cackles. “It’s only a fucking dildo.”

When she manages to force entry, she pushes so hard that I lurch forward and my tits burn against the floorboards, closing that horrible fucking distance between my face and Vincent’s feet. It hurts so bad I’m groaning, horrible low noises that sound little like me. My pussy is raw and bruised, the dildo grinding in dry. It feels horrible. It feels dirty. I feel dirty, and cheap, and humiliated.

I cry. Hard.

“Don’t be like this, pretty bird,” Vincent soothes. “Remember the beauty in surrender? Remember that?”

I nod.

“You know what to do, my sweet. Stop thinking about this being over. Stop waiting for the end. There is no end, only now. Only this moment. Accept the pain, accept the suffering, and give yourself to me. Give yourself to Cynthia. Give yourself to this wonderful experience.”

“I can’t,” I cry. “It all hurts so bad.”

“The jealousy hurts worse than your sweet pussy, Magpie, trust me. Do you trust me?”

“Always,” I sob. “Always, Master.”

“Then take it for me,” he says. “Look me in the eyes and take it for me.”

Cynthia is grunting with exertion, and my pussy is stretched full around her big black cock. It hurts and she’s loving it, jamming it inside without mercy, but I’m going there, to that beautiful place. I stop wishing for it to end.

My eyes meet Vincent’s and I submit to him.

“Good girl,” he says. “That’s my perfect girl.”

“Harder,” I hiss. “Please, harder.”

Oh how Cynthia fucking hates it. She takes it all the way out and ploughs it back in, and I hiss out all my breath, but I’m still smiling.

“More!” I say. “Harder! Fuck me!”

I’m still crying, but I’m smiling, too. Smiling and delirious and lost in this place. It feels good here, it feels free. I no longer care about anything, and it’s so beautiful my heart sings.

“You are a dirty girl.” Vincent smiles, and his cock is in his hand. “Kiss my feet.”

I kiss his feet, licking at the soles of his shoes, and I don’t care if they’re dirty, I don’t care if they’re soiled. I lick his shoes and I moan and beg and cry for more as the Emperor burns my cunt.

Vincent rolls me onto my side, and he loves me so much, I can tell. He pulls out a massager and holds it to my tender clit, and I can’t stop my body, my nerves have gone crazy, and I’m bucking and crying as the orgasms rack through me. Cynthia’s pounding my cunt so hard she’s hissing in pain at her own muscle cramps, but I’m wet, so wet I can hear the squelching. I come again and again and a fucking gain, and I love it, I fucking love it.

When Vincent comes he gives it to me. I’m joyous as he pushes Cynthia away, rolling me back onto my front to spill his seed on my ass and pussy. I hope he’s going to rub it inside me, and he does, but not in the way I expected.

Vincent dribbles his cream onto my tight little asshole. It’s warm, and I clench my muscles, winking my dirty little ring at him. He sighs with pleasure and it makes me smile. He spits onto the cream for extra wetness, then pokes it inside and massages my asshole with his fingers. He’s stretching me, and I gasp at the heat.

“Now, my beautiful bird,” he whispers. “Let’s give the emperor a new home.”

I feel the thick head of it thump against my asshole, and my heart stutters.

Oh my fucking God. Oh my fucking God. Oh my fucking God.

“Don’t be scared,” he breathes into my ear. “Give yourself to me, and I promise you, my sweet bird, I’ll make this feel really fucking good.”

I’m already wincing. Already whimpering with nerves.

“Oh fuck, Magpie, yes,” he groans. “This might just hurt a little.”

He’d follow me wherever I went. Bailing this time around would be a fool’s errand.

I indulged myself in a pitiful cry, pathetic tears of woe that I really had no business spilling. I thought back to a poster I had on my wall in my teens, a typically melodramatic piece of art bearing the words ‘all hail the queen of self-inflicted drama’in swirly font. I wondered if it was still up in my old bedroom. Probably. Maybe I’d find out. But not today.

I took a deep breath and wiped my tears with my sleeve. It smelled of Andy and Topaz and sex. At least life wasn’t all bad.

Fuck this shit.

I smoothed down my dress, and coerced my messy bun into some kind of order using the reflection of a shop window, and then little Princess Drama sucked it up and went back to sort her mess out.

No more running. Not today.

***