It was eight-thirty the next morning when Claire wandered into the kitchen wearing a terrycloth bathrobe.
Ari stood beside the table, setting up for breakfast. Three coffee mugs, three forks, three plates. He didn't look up from pouring the coffee when he spoke.
“Good, you're up. Kane will be joining us for breakfast in a few minutes. He's setting up his supplies.”
“I thought he was coming at nine?”
Ari poured the last coffee just as the kitchen timer went off. He took the coffee pot back to its spot on the counter and grabbed some oven mitts to take a breakfast casserole out of the oven. He placed the perfectly browned casserole on a trivet in the center of the kitchen table, then retrieved a serving spoon from the drawer.
This man should have his own cooking show.
“He said we start work at nine. Not that he would be here at nine. I was about to come get you. Have you showered yet?”
“Yes, Master,” she said, feeling suddenly shy.
“Did you come?”
“N-not in the shower, but yes.”
“Were you loud like I taught you?”
“Yes, Master.” Claire felt the heat rising and knew he could see the telltale pink in her cheeks.
“Good girl. Sit.”
Claire sat at the table as Ari spooned out breakfast casserole onto all their plates. She could detect eggs, cheese, sausage, onions, and mushrooms.
“I smell something delicious,” Kane said wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with paint stains on it. He didn't have shoes on. He'd made himself right at home this morning.
Kane winked at Claire as he sat across from her, and she was certain she blushed again. She knew he was talking about the food, but the way he looked at her when he said it made it seem as though he might also mean something else.
It felt strange seeing him after what had happened the previous day. But even more strange was the fact that this man didn't scare her. He was very intense, but he seemed to respect Ari. That fact alone made her feel safe near him.
Ari sat at the head of the table. “Did you put down drop cloths?” he asked, before taking a big bite of the casserole.
Kane rolled his eyes. “Of course I put down drop cloths. I wouldn't dream of getting paint on your playroom floor. Do you think I'm a barbarian?”
“A little bit, yeah,” Ari shot back, but there was no venom in it.
“Careful. You'll scare the poor girl,” Kane said, his eyes never leaving Claire's as he took a bite of the casserole. Claire had to bite back a moan when she finally tasted her own breakfast.
“Holy shit, this is amazing.”
Artisan, architect, captor, chef. So many ways to describe this man she was already half in love with even as she knew how foolish and wrong such feelings were.
Ari chuckled. Then the two men started discussing the painting. Claire quietly ate and let them talk, not understanding half the artist jargon that was bandied between them.
“Come here,” Kane said to Claire when they'd finished eating. Ari stood and began to clear the table. Claire looked to him—a question. Ari nodded in response.
She moved around the table to Kane and sat when he patted his lap, her breath coming faster now. Kane gathered her long blonde hair in his hands and piled it on top of her head, pulling a few loose wisps down to frame her face.
“Do you have a hair clip?” he asked Ari. “I think I want her hair up like this when I paint her.”
“I'm sure Holly left something. I'll go check.”
When Ari had gone, Kane's free hand began to travel under the robe, trailing up along her thigh. Claire jerked away. He removed his hand and let her hair fall freely around her face. When she chanced a glance at him, he didn't appear angry or offended. He instead seemed perplexed, a question in his gaze.
“Are you upset about what happened with the three of us yesterday?”
“No, Sir,” she said.
He seemed impressed she'd remembered to call him Sir. Or maybe that she'd chosen to do it without prompting.
“I can tell he's very happy with you,” Kane said. “Anyone would be very happy with you.”
“Really?”
He nodded. Claire tried to find the lie. Was he softening her up somehow? Was it a line? But his words seemed nothing but sincere.
“Do you not want me to touch you or are you afraid he doesn't want me to touch you?” Kane asked.
“I-I'm not sure.” It was the truth. She was afraid Ari would be bothered if she just let his friend touch her without him there. It felt somehow like cheating. Even though she was his property, not his girlfriend. So why the fuck should she care about that? And she shouldn't want this man to touch her at all, whether Ari was there or not. Her reactions to almost everything since coming here violated all the things she thought she should want. But her body wasn't prepared to listen to any of the reasons why she should recoil or run.
If it weren't for her past... if it weren't for the basement... wouldn't she want these things? Hadn't she fantasized about these things? Night after night after night, these pathologically repetitive fantasies had always been there, the background track to her private pleasure. If not for the basement... wouldn't she have jumped on this? So why shouldn't she now? Why should she let that monster take just one more thing from her?
Kane pulled a familiar white tube from his pocket and placed it on the table. His voice went low and rough, “Do you need something to drop your inhibitions a little?”
Claire bit her lip, remembering the potent effects of the cream and how she'd behaved like an insatiable slut the previous day under its influence. That cream had given her the permission to feel all the things she needed to feel, its demands so much louder than her mind's constant chattering about how wrong everything was.
She wanted to feel those things again. So badly. She wanted that blissful sexual oblivion that left no room in her mind for talking herself out of the pleasures she needed.
Without conscious thought, she pulled back the robe, letting her legs fall open. “Yes, Sir.”
He squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers and spread it over her sex which was already becoming aroused just from anticipation of what the cream could do. She gasped as his fingers pushed inside her.
“Starting without me?”
Claire looked up to find Ari standing next to the kitchen island, a transparent blue hair clip in his hand.
“Master, I'm sorry,” she said.
She tried to bring her legs together and pull the robe closed, but Kane held her still. He finally pulled his hand away slowly, deliberately—the opposite of someone caught with his hands in the cookie jar. He didn't care that they were caught.
“Did you want him to touch you?” Ari asked.
Claire looked down. She couldn't lie with Kane sitting right here to call her on it. “Yes, Master,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“Then you have nothing to apologize for. As long as you're okay, Kane has carte blanche, as I do with his pet. Kane and I share... everything.”
“Not everything,” Kane said. “He won't let me fuck him.”
Claire gasped, but Kane only chuckled. She looked up to find Ari rolling his eyes.
“I'm pretty sure Marcus would object. He doesn't seem the type who wants to share with other men.”
Kane just smiled. “Are we ready then?” He nudged Claire, and she got off his lap, pulling the bathrobe around her, going shy again. She was grateful that wouldn't be a problem much longer. If yesterday was any indication, in a few minutes she wouldn't care what anybody thought about anything, only that they were touching her and didn't stop.
“Go to the playroom, Claire, and wait for us. We should be there before the cream kicks in, but if not, don't touch yourself until we arrive,” Ari said.
Claire nodded and left the kitchen, grateful to be allowed a short reprieve from the two of them to collect herself.
The playroom had been rearranged. Bondage furniture had been moved along one wall, allowing a large open space near the window where the bright morning light shone in. One of the large fluffy rugs had been rolled up and moved next to the furniture. A plastic drop cloth was laid out over a large section of hardwood the rug had previously covered. And on top of that was an easel that held a large canvas. There was a chair and paints and brushes and a palette—all the normal things one would expect an artist to have. A small CD player sat on the floor, plugged into an outlet nearby.
The door opened, and the two men walked in. Ari sat on the sofa at the back of the room. He laid the hair clip on the leather beside him.
Kane took a step closer to her. She took a step back.
“Claire,” he said gently. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
“If you need him to stop anything he's doing, say Red,” Ari said. “Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, Master.” Claire let out a breath. He was giving her a safeword to use with his friend. She might not have ever explored her fantasies outside her mind before Ari, but there was this magical invention called the internet, through which she'd learned all sorts of things over the years.
Lots of people acting out their kinks used weird ridiculous things for safewords like blueberry scone or firetruck. It had to be something you wouldn't otherwise yell out during sex. It couldn't be no, please no, because sometimes in play, no didn't mean no. So it had to be something stupid and unsexy that would break the mood. Red, Green, Yellow was a standard system a lot of people used.
Kane took another step toward her, and this time she didn't retreat. He held her gaze as he untied the belt on the bathrobe and slid the terrycloth off her shoulders. It hit the floor in a whoosh.
Then he closed his eyes and started to touch her, his hands memorizing each curve, and not just the naughty ones—the day-to-day G-rated ones as well. The curve at the side of her nose, the gentle curve inside her elbow. The flare of her hip. She closed her eyes, taken under by this spell until what had been merely hypnotic became cruel teasing.
“Please, Sir,” she whimpered, thrusting her hips obscenely toward him.
Kane only chuckled. “I see our special cream has kicked in. Ari,” he called over his shoulder. “Have you started training her ass yet?”
This question caused Claire to open her eyes, though the heightening arousal between her legs softened any alarm that phrase might have normally caused.
“Not, yet,” Ari replied.
“Bring me some lube.”
She expected Ari to say no, but he got up and went to the large wooden box in the corner. He brought a tube of lube over and handed it to Kane. Claire pleaded with him with her eyes. But Ari's expression was stern.
“Use your safeword if you need it. Otherwise, enjoy the ride.” With that, he went back across the room and sat on the sofa to watch.
“And toys?” Kane asked, exasperated.
“Am I your butler?”
“I like to think of you as my art assistant today.”
Ari rolled his eyes but went back to the box again. When he returned he had two handfuls of toys—glass and metal, all sleek and smooth in a range of thickness. He laid them across a bondage bed a few feet from where Claire and Kane stood.
Claire swallowed hard as she looked at them.
Ari started to go back to the couch but Kane reached out and grabbed his arm. “Don't go. I need your assistance. Put your fingers in her pussy and stroke her... slowly enough that she can't get off. I want her desperate and begging.”
Ari held her gaze as he moved closer and started to follow Kane's instruction. A moment later, Kane was behind her, pushing a cold lubed toy into her ass. She bit back a moan, and he slowly pushed until her muscles stopped resisting him.
“Have you ever had your ass played with?” he asked, leaning close to her ear.
“N-no, Sir,” she said. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to process the sensation of the double penetration, Ari's fingers inside her pussy and Kane slowly fucking her ass with the hard lubed toy.
“Please,” she whimpered, squirming between them, trying to find an angle or speed that could get her off, the arousal cream only pushing her further.
“She's such a filthy whore,” Kane remarked.
But he said it like it was the highest praise, and she took it that way, another moan escaping her mouth as he began to squeeze her nipples into hardened painful points.
This went on for a long time, Ari seeming to know exactly how to keep her perched on the edge of pleasure.
“Okay, stop,” Kane said.
Ari withdrew his fingers. Kane put more of the arousal cream between her legs.
“No, please... no more... I have to come... please I need to.”
Kane smacked her hard on the ass, and she yelped. She was sure he'd left behind a bright red hand print as evidence of his displeasure.
“Kiss her until her lips are red and raw,” Kane growled.
Ari grabbed her and kissed her hard. It was a rough, dominating kiss as if he were punishing her because he couldn't fuck her right now. Claire reached out and stroked his hardened cock through his jeans and he groaned against her, biting her lip hard. He pulled away and licked her bottom lip, no doubt tasting blood.
Kane came back with coils of black rope and started to bind her. She almost panicked, until she realized he wasn't binding her to anything, nor was he binding her hands or her feet together. Instead he tied intricate patterns of rope across and around her torso, winding around her legs, between her breasts, creating something that seemed more like an erotic piece of clothing than bondage.
Kane ordered her to straddle the narrow bench of a nearby spanking horse that she realized now had been positioned for him to get a good view from behind the easel.
When she was where he wanted her, he tied a large round knot that sat right against her clit. She whimpered and tried to move her body in such a way so that she could grind her swollen bud against the rope. She let out a moan of relief at the friction and the hope that this might actually bring her release.
Kane smacked her thigh. Hard. “No! You will not come until I'm finished painting you. Say it.”
She whimpered. “I won't come until you finish painting me, Sir.”
“Good.”
He crossed to the sofa and retrieved the hair clip. When he returned, he piled her hair on top of her head and secured it loosely with the clip.
“There. Just like that. Don't move, Claire.” Kane pushed the power button on the CD player. Slow, dark cello music started to play. Without another word, he sat behind the easel and began to paint.
Hours passed like this. Each time the arousal cream started to wear off, Kane would motion to Ari, and he would smooth more of it between her legs. She tried moving against the large knot pressed against her clit, but whenever she did, Kane gave her a hard look that stilled her, even as the cream drove her more and more crazy. Nobody spoke. Not Kane, not Ari, and not Claire, no matter how much she wanted to beg them to let her come. She didn't. Kane was in flow, his mood too intense. And Ari wasn't much better at the moment, sitting on the edge of the sofa, his knuckles gone white from gripping the leather as his gaze moved back and forth between the work in progress and Claire.
Finally Kane cleaned out the brush he was using, rose from the chair, took a few steps back, and regarded the canvas for a moment. He looked at her, made a couple of changes, and stepped back again. When he was satisfied with the work, he began to pack up his things.
“I'll pick up the easel in a few days when the painting is dry enough to hang,” he said.
Kane approached Claire. Only now did she dare to grind her body against the ropes he'd tied. “You'll chafe if you aren't careful,” he said.
He leaned in close and kissed her on the mouth. It was a long, deep lingering kiss, that had her straining harder against the knot over her clit.
“Please, please,” she whimpered against his mouth.
Kane chuckled and stepped back, ignoring her obvious need. “You make a stunning painting. I'm very pleased. I hope to see you at Saskia's show next week.”
Ari followed him out into the hallway, their voices turning to low murmurs just outside the door. Ari returned minutes later carrying a large knife. When she saw it, her breath went shallow, her arousal fading as quickly as it had come on. She tried to push away the images that clawed at her from the back of her mind but they just wouldn't go. The fear began to flood her.
“M-Master, please... what are you doing?”
He lowered the knife and set it on one of the pieces of bondage furniture. “You know I wouldn't hurt you, little one. I'm going to cut the ropes, so I can get you out of them. I don't have the patience or the skill to untie all of Kane's fancy knot work, and I need to be inside you now. Okay?”
Claire nodded, not trusting her voice. Her mouth went dry as she watched Ari strip out of his white shirt and jeans until he stood naked, the sunlight playing over each perfectly defined muscle.
“Close your eyes. If you don't see the knife, it'll be easier.”
She closed her eyes. She couldn't argue with his logic, and she did know that he wouldn't hurt her. She wasn't sure at what point exactly in their short twisted relationship she'd know this without doubt, but she knew it.
“Good girl.”
Claire heard the ropes being cut in different places. Then Ari said, “You can open them now.”
She opened her eyes as he carefully peeled the ropes off her body. He removed the hair clip, and tossed it aside. Her hair tumbled down, framing her face. He scooped her up and carried her to the bondage bed. But he didn't tie her up.
This time when he fucked her he took her gently and carefully, sliding his hard length so slowly in and out of her the pleasure was almost painful.
In another context it would have been that boring normal sweet fucking that she couldn't get off to, but the total power he held somehow shifted the experience. He wasn't asking Is this okay? How is this? Can I touch you there? Do you like that? What do you want? Or any of a million other maddening questions that men liked to ask now to seem enlightened to the needs of women when all Claire needed was a good hard fuck from a man who knew how to light up every nerve ending.
He didn't ask her anything. He touched her like he knew what he was doing with her and to her, each touch careful but sure, precise. It was a sort of methodical lovemaking that stole her breath from her with each slow demanding thrust.
He wrapped a hand around her throat, holding her, capturing her gaze in his, taking her body like he knew it was his to take. Each thrust said I own this. This is mine. Her body opened to him and said yes.
“Do you need to come, little one?” he asked in response to the growing volume of what had started as soft stuttering whimpers.
“Yes, Master.” He knew she did. He'd watched her suffer with need for hours.
“Be a good girl and come for me, then.” He took her harder, his hand leaving her throat only to be replaced by his devouring mouth. Those two shifts were all it took. She bucked against him and came, screaming out her orgasm. Ari swallowed her scream with his kiss, and emptied himself inside her.
Afterward, he held her quietly for long minutes, stroking her hair. Finally he got up.
“I'm going to make us some lunch. Clean up and join me.”
When he'd left her alone, Claire lay there for a few more minutes. She had to will herself to move. She got out of the bed and went over to the easel. No one had shown her the painting yet, and she was curious to see if Kane was as good of an artist as his arrogance seemed to announce.
What she saw on the canvas drew a sharp gasp from her. It wasn't the lewd pose. It wasn't the sultry red lips swollen from hard kisses. It wasn't the nudity. And it wasn't all the emotion he'd somehow captured and pulled from her soul to put on the canvas for just anyone to see. A Q in the lower right-hand corner of the painting seemed to laugh at her with its mocking scrawl. But she didn't need the clue. The work spoke for itself. It wasn't possible. She had to be wrong.
This painting couldn't exist. The artist was dead.