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Amelia brought the cat-o’-nine-tails smartly across the woman’s backside. The tips of the whip spat at her skin like blistering fat on a griddle. If Bernice hadn’t been gagged Amelia knew the woman would have screamed. Instead, every muscle in her body stiffened against the sharp explosion of pain.
From the back of her throat Bernice released a muffled, guttural roar.
Because she didn’t know her victim particularly well, Amelia couldn’t decide if the noise was caused by ecstasy or anguish. Not that she cared now her own arousal was building. All that mattered to Amelia was the pursuit of her own pleasure. The heat between her legs was formidable as she raised the whip for a second time. Unconsciously, she caressed her breasts through the snug-fitting bodice of her leather outfit. The tips of her nipples responded to her touch, igniting a deeper thrill of pleasure.
Bernice whimpered.
The sound was muted by the gag in her mouth, but it was loud enough for Amelia to hear. Smiling cruelly at Bernice’s predicament, Amelia aimed the cat again.
She briefly contemplated Christian’s bare backside. Like Bernice, he was bound and gagged on all fours. His bare arse was being displayed for her use. From where she stood, Amelia could see the tight sac of his balls dangling beneath his anus. The rigid length of his shaft was mostly hidden from her view but she could see enough of it to know he was excited. With a fiendish grin, she considered striking the whip against the tender flesh at his scrotum. The idea had a dark appeal that heightened her longing’s fever.
After a moment’s reflection she abandoned the thought.
With a vicious sweep of her arm she brought the whip down again on Bernice’s arse.
Despite the gag, Bernice squealed. Every muscle in her body strained against her bindings. Her breath came in tortured gasps and she shivered. Beads of sweat erupted on her bare body. She pulled hard against her restraints.
From behind Amelia, Yale said, ‘Did I mention that you’re meant to be punishing both of them?’
His tone was conversational but Amelia detected ice in his words.
Glancing over her shoulder she studied him as he worked. Although they were all posing for Yale, and she was the central model for this set, she felt as though he hadn’t seen her. His interest seemed devoted to the canvas he was working on. His inscrutable dark eyes flitted sharply as he thrust his paintbrush at the image he was capturing. Occasionally he would flick his head to one side, brushing long hair away from his face so he could study the models more intently. But most of the time he kept his gaze fixed on the picture he was creating.
His paint-streaked shirt was open to the waist, revealing his sun-kissed torso and muscular chest. His tight jeans were distorted at the crotch, thrusting forward with the noticeable bulge of a sizeable erection. He glanced away from the canvas for a moment, his gaze fixing hers.
‘You do remember your instruction for this session, don’t you?’ he asked.
Amelia glared. ‘I want a cigarette.’
He rolled his eyes, ignoring her. ‘I don’t have time for temper tantrums.’ In his rich Scots brogue the words came out as Ah dinnae hae tahm fah tempah tantrams.
Amelia wished she didn’t find his forceful and challenging accent to be so arousing. But everything about Yale was a maddening switch to her desire and even his accent never failed to make her desperate for him.
‘I’m trying to be creative,’ Yale told her. ‘Now, get back to work.’
Nah gebback tah wark.
The muscles in Amelia’s inner thighs tightened in an involuntary clench. She glared at Yale for a moment and then returned her attention to the two bare backsides. She vented her anger on Christian’s exposed arse, lifting the cat and delivering a punishing blow. Ignoring his grunts and muffled protests, she hit him again and again, reddening his flesh with the punishing tips of the cat. Her arm rose and fell with athletic grace as she inflicted blow after blow.
Regardless of his protests and complaints Christian didn’t lose his erection whilst she inflicted her punishment. His cock remained stiff and, as Amelia moved in the little space that Yale had allowed for the set, she saw that the end of Christian’s length leaked a glistening string of pre-come. The thought that she was exciting him with such barbarism added fuel to the fire of her passion. She turned her attention back to Bernice.
Because Bernice reacted to every kiss of the cat, Amelia figured she would get more pleasure from watching the woman struggle beneath the punishment. Savouring the rush of vindictive fury, Amelia whipped harder and faster and threw more fury into each swipe.
‘Here,’ Yale said.
As he spoke, his hand touched her shoulder.
Amelia turned to face him. She was brandishing the whip when she felt his fingers caress her arm. Caught up in a world of euphoria, where she could excite and control anyone with a simple flick of her whip, she was on the point of striking him.
It was only the sight of the proffered cigarette in his fingers that stopped her. With a grudging murmur of thanks, she dropped her whip to the floor and took the lit smoke from his hand.
‘The intention is to punish both of them,’ Yale said. His voice was soft but firm. ‘The entire series is called Woman in Control, remember?’
Amelia sniffed. Drawing on the cigarette, she said nothing.
She knew all about the series he was currently working on. She had been the ‘woman in control’ in each of the paintings. For the first painting her image had been captured naked whilst she was sexually dominating a bound and gagged Christian. The second had shown her in a similar posture, wickedly punishing Bernice. They were now posing for the third painting in a set of four and, as Yale had just reminded her, she was supposed to be whipping both of her charges.
‘If I was going to call the series Mad Bitch Who Loses her Cool and Flays the Shit Out of Another Woman, then you’d have exactly the right posture for this session.’
She stepped past him, ignoring his sarcasm as she drew on her smoke. The sound of her stilettos striking the wooden floor of the studio echoed dully in her ears. It was her intention to be angry with him and try to defy him in some way. It was easy to get annoyed with Yale but from past experience she knew it was almost impossible to stay that way. This time, her anger was assuaged by the sight of his canvas. The picture he had been working on was going to be yet another masterpiece.
He had captured the background with his usual effortless finesse. The opaque black of the studio’s windows added a sinister air of gloom to the painting. The peach-like mounds of Bernice’s bare arse had been recreated beautifully in acrylics. He had even managed to capture the gleaming silver slivers of the metal rings that pierced her nipples and labia. The same loving care had been spent detailing the vision of Christian’s arse. Staring at the painting, Amelia couldn’t help but smile with appreciation. A small tear touched the edge of her eyelid and she blinked it away before it could spoil her mascara. Yale had placed most of her image in the picture but he had neglected to give her a face. He had captured every sleek curve of her leather-clad body, emphasising the rise of her breast and the muscular line of her thighs. He had shown her long dark hair in a cascade of auburn-tinted black, catching her in the act of cracking the whip. But the canvas tapered off to a beige wash where her face should have been.
She glanced curiously at him. ‘You haven’t painted my head,’ she told him.
‘You haven’t started posing as I want you to,’ he returned. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you still brooding about her? Is that why you’re acting like such a bitch?’
He placed enough stress on the word that they both knew who he was talking about. Amelia blushed furiously and turned away. His words struck harder than a slap to the face.
‘You