Tessa’s Dilemma (8 page)

She could feel Him move behind her; curiosity piqued her interest even further now, but she couldn’t see what He was doing. A familiar sound reached her ears as a light
ripping
sounded from the far side of the room: a sound very similar to the vet wrap He always used to blindfold her; would He do so again? It was not long before she had her answer. Lost in thought, she had not noticed Him move behind her again, and she felt something soft and warm pressed to her lower back, and then as He passed His hands in front of her stomach, she could see what He was wrapping around her. He was wrapping her in saran wrap. Moving quickly, he had tightly wrapped her stomach and abdomen in the film, and started to move up her body. She wasn’t a very claustrophobic person, but dull panic made itself known in the pit of her stomach as she desperately tried to hold herself calm and still.

Layer after layer. He bound her breasts tightly, so tightly in fact that it restricted her breathing, not enough to be uncomfortable, but just enough to make the panic increase perceptibly. Was He going to stop at her neck and then pass down her body to her legs again? Or the thought that held the most dread for her – was He going to wrap her head as well? Her arms were held straight up, so the only way to wrap them would be to wrap over her face first. As she contemplated such fears, He provided the answer she most dreaded. With one pass in front of her, she finally glimpsed Masters’ face, only to be obscured as He pulled the saran wrap tightly over her eyes. Thankfully her raised arms acted as a chamber so that the plastic spanned across the front of her face rather than clung to it. She should be grateful for little mercies she thought, but the issue remained of how she would breathe. Once He had wrapped around her mouth and up over her arms, how was she to get air?

Tessa could feel herself starting to hyperventilate as she struggled to inhale, the heat of being wrapped in the film raising perspiration on her skin, the restriction on her breasts feeling increasingly uncomfortable. It was no use; she could feel the beginning of panic consuming her, her consciousness starting to swim, and not just from the effect of viewing everything through the distortion of the wrap. Just as she thought she could take no more, He ripped a hole just below her nose and pulled her panties from her mouth. Gasping and gulping, the cold fresh air flowed through the hole, seeming so sweet; she hadn’t realized how quickly the air within her confinement had become so stale. He had stopped wrapping her momentarily and was standing in front of her, intently watching her reactions. She was grateful He was checking her. She was confident that He would take care of her; maintaining that connection, observation, ensuring she was still ok, gradually calmed her and she felt her breathing return to almost normal. Seemingly satisfied with her recovery, He continued to wrap her in the saran wrap. Completely wrapping her arms above her head, then wrapping back down her body, piercing the hole at her mouth once more when He wrapped another layer over her face.

The constriction of her upper body was now very tight, her breathing had calmed; anything more would have caused problems with her remaining conscious. She could not move her arms other than to wriggle her fingers, and it was becoming apparent that the effort of holding her arms above her head in this position was going to become very uncomfortable very quickly. Continuing to bind over her hips, down her thighs and eventually her calves, she was glad that He had left her thigh high stockings on as they acted as a little respite from the hot, sticky plastic that now covered her from head to foot. Strangely, now that she was completely swaddled, unable to move, unable to do anything, a feeling of utter peace washed over her. She had never thought herself claustrophobic, but remembered back to times when she had removed herself from enclosed areas for feeling trapped and hemmed in. However, the experience now was the complete opposite. Calm, content – burgeoning arousal – safe, peaceful. So many times He had tested her boundaries, proved her wrong in her own beliefs. Closing her eyes, she stood there and lavished in the emotions that coursed through her; time stood still and all she could hear was the rush of air moving in and out of her own lungs.

Within seconds, her peaceful state was shattered as she felt something sharp poke her right breast, very close to her nipple. Yelping, her eyes flew open and she looked down in horror to watch Him cutting the film around her nipple. The reaction to its freedom was shocking as it almost leaped through the hole that had been made for it, protruding proudly from its previous confinement. Taking the yearning bud between his thumb and forefinger, He rolled it roughly, pulling and tugging it completely out of the tiny hole. She watched with awe and amazement as it seemed to grow larger, wanting the freedom it had been offered. Lowering Himself to receive it to His lips, He sucked it into His mouth, eliciting a low moan from her as His skilled tongue and teeth teased and caressed and nipped. The combination of sensations from His warm mouth working on the only uncovered sensitive part of her body sent electrical impulses shooting to every nerve ending trapped beneath the clear veil. Looking up at her with a smile so wicked her heart jumped into her mouth, He waved the scissors at her and set to work cutting her left nipple free. Terrified that she might be cut in such a delicate place, Tessa held very still. She daren’t move a millimeter for the consequence that might ensue; she had no choice but to trust Him, and it was not a task that she found so difficult. She did trust Him. If He had held the scissors to her throat, she would have trusted Him regardless.

Continuing to pull and tug and roll and nibble and suck her freed nipples, they appeared to become larger and harder than she had ever seen them before. Perhaps it was the constriction of the rest of the breast, tight to her rib cage that made them appear so large, but she couldn’t fathom how perfect they looked. She wished they would look like that continually; she didn’t care if they looked obvious through any clothing; if He was happy, then she would be happy, and if her nipples would look like that permanently, she was sure that Master would be happy. Fascinated, she could not help but stare and admire them, fixated with how beautiful they looked: perfect round orbs, topped with hard, red cherries, so engorged and proud, demanding attention. Her peaceful daydream was rudely shattered within seconds as a wave of panic gripped her chest. He had moved closer to her, and she was watching in almost slow motion horror as He raised His right hand and moved it slowly over the hole in the plastic wrap at her mouth. Reaching inside, He pinched His thumb and forefinger over her nose, and then completely covered her mouth with the palm of His hand.

The look of terror and panic in her eyes was delectable. He could feel her inner struggle, the surprise at having her airway so calmly and deliberately taken from her. Confusion and what looked like pleading flickered in her eyes as her reflexive breathing instinct kicked in. Little hiccups formed in her throat as she struggled against his hand, desperation beginning to emerge through the pleading. Charles couldn’t stop a smile from forming on his lips as he admired how valiantly she endured; she didn’t move, she just silently screamed in her mind, facing down every fight or flight instinct that was clamoring for escape. Her trust in him made him so proud,
there is no Dom luckier than me
he thought as he held for just a few more seconds before allowing her to breathe again. She gasped loudly as he released her but still held position, and as he considered her predicament thoughtfully, he noted that her arms must surely be starting to ache by now. Another task for her to endure, he did like to pile task upon task; it was always interesting to see which task she prioritized during his testing. Judging by her recent reactions, her arms may have been aching indeed, but not significantly enough to take her thoughts away from impending suffocation. Good. He had certainly hit the level. She was definitely now in the zone of fear that would test her loyalty to him more than any pain could penetrate.

He watched his submissive quietly collecting herself and decided it was perhaps time to tease her with something more pleasurable for handling herself so well. Satisfied that she was safe, he turned and searched through his bag for the item he had in mind. Picking out a small, sable tipped artist’s paintbrush, he turned back to her and stood in her line of view. Running his thumb over the tip, he splayed the hairs and flicked them back and forth. Watching her reactions, the terror that had been displayed so evidently before had rematerialized quite clearly; the thought of what he could do with that brush was almost as horrific as suffocation. He chuckled as he wondered at the simple fact of which things struck horror in the hearts of people. The paintbrush was a logical choice for Charles, as he was an artist. Art was his first love and when he was younger, he had dreamed of becoming a painter, to document the beautiful and elegant things in life with the stroke of a brush. Such things were not to be for him however,
Real men aren’t artists
his parents had told him;
get a real job or get used to living on the street.
He had been cut to the core by their words, deeply ashamed and embarrassed by their constant rebuttals about his desired career, but he finally capitulated and followed the path that was considered
acceptable
and had ended up where he was now. He had no regrets in all honesty, and if he had followed his dreams, he had no doubt that he would not be standing in front of this lovely trembling creature now. With money and position came power; his parents were definitely right about that. Assessing her silently, he thought that she would be a beautiful subject to paint, and thumbing the brush once more, he decided that he would do a nude portrait of her one day. But today his brush would be used for more obviously sensual means.

Reaching out in front of him he lightly touched the brush to her right nipple, twisting it around with a small flick of his wrist. She squirmed involuntarily within her bondage, but held as still as she could despite the fact he knew that her skin would be crawling. Teasing both of her nipples, flicking between the two, brushing and sweeping and oh so lightly tickling her engorged buds, her struggles to remain still were dissolving quickly as impulse forcefully wrested any self control she might have had from her grasp. Looking off to the left in thought, the silver glint of the blunt ended safety scissors he had used to release her nipples earlier caught his eye. Observing her carefully, he nodded to himself as he decided and reached out to apply them to her body for more mischief. Raising them to her left armpit, he thought he heard her whimpering as he made a quick stabbing movement, more for effect than any intent as the rounded end of the scissors actually made any first cut difficult. But he knew none of that mattered, she would not be able to discern any such detail through film-shrouded eyes. He smiled again and ripped a hole in the film with his fingernail and inserted the paintbrush to make contact with her delicate underarm. Swirling it around in a clockwise fashion, her whimpering turned to suppressed giggles, a sound that was music to his ears. Her gleeful laughter aroused him considerably; though he enjoyed all of her reactions, he particularly relished the deep, resonant laughter that flowed richly from her, unfettered and natural.

The difference between the exposure and the confinement of her delicate skin must have been absolute torture for her, and no doubt it would be getting quite warm in the numerous layers wrapped around her, so Charles set aside his brush and ran his hands over the taut plastic wrap. This simple everyday kitchen accessory enhanced her curves wonderfully. The cinch of her waist was just that tiny bit smaller than the average womanly shape and it added such ripeness to her hips that he couldn’t help but squeeze the soft fullness there. Inspecting her, exploring her, his hands searching her as if trying to find the answer to the ultimate question. It seemed that his hands on her were making her unsteady, as with each sweep across her, she swayed; her knees perhaps becoming weak? It had been long enough for her standing there now. Her arms would definitely be aching, and it would be kind to lay her down. Circling behind her, he gave her a light push in the small of her back and she tumbled face first onto the bed.

He watched as she shifted uncomfortably; he surmised that for the relief she was now feeling in her arms, other aches and difficulties were mounting elsewhere. He tapped the paintbrush thoughtfully as he observed her trying to move so minutely that she thought he might not notice; such a charming girl. How long before she must turn her head lest the duvet close the hole in the wrap at her face? Watching and waiting, he smiled when she finally shifted to the right with an imperceptible whimper – good girl. She had taken a little while to figure it out, but the condensation from her breath on the inside of the plastic wrap belied the struggle that she had endured in those few moments of realization. His attention followed the enhanced contours of her body, bound so tightly – the clear plastic constricting here and there, and pushing flesh upwards and outwards so pleasingly, just as he had planned as he had sculpted her with his wrapping. The swell of her hips was so lusciously alluring; it increased his desire to feel himself inside her. It was becoming more and more difficult to resist this young woman, which troubled him greatly as he had always been the paragon of self-control. It was the trait that set him above so many others in his position. It always gave him the edge where his rivals became unduly passionate. He always kept his head; he always out-maneuvered them; logic and steady thinking always won over emotion. “Focus Charles,” he murmured in the recesses of his mind, “You lose yourself now and this all ends. You have no right doing this if you can’t separate your head from your cock.”

Setting his jaw, he steeled his mind to the temptation lying prone in front of him; unbuckling his belt with frustration, he quashed the urge to rip the film and just take her then and there. Doubling it over, he gripped both ends and then pulled them sharply outwards, the two strips of leather snapping loudly together as they made contact. He enjoyed how she jumped and then froze silently, obviously wondering what the hell he was doing; it almost looked like she was holding her breath. Perhaps she was – perhaps just as well to prepare for the more difficult test he had in mind for later. Resting the doubled belt on her ass, he slid it across her, leaving her no doubt what was coming next. Raising it, he could see her clench her muscles in anticipation for the strike. “Relax,” he ordered calmly, and just as she did, he brought the belt down with an almighty crack. He had doubled the belt simply because the sound of it was infinitely more terrifying than the actual pain of the act. Also, the film would act as a significant barrier to soften the blow. It was a test of trust, as all things were in his use of her.

He felt the rush of triumph as she lay there limply allowing him to thrash her, each time harder, but of course no marks would be left despite the slight reddening that had appeared. Further elation sped the beat of his heart as he noted with a painful aching that condensation had formed on the film around the top of her legs. She was dripping wet, extremely so, and he groaned as he struggled with himself yet again.
For godsake man – she’s just a woman!
he thought. But what a woman! She made him feel things he had never thought possible, and for the second time that day, he felt like he was losing control. Losing himself in the sensations of her.

The last time he had felt that pervading loss of control was many years before when his wife had bewitched him. They had started out as young lovers, his high sex drive matched by her voracious appetites. They had had a whirlwind romance and married when she was twenty-two and he was twenty-three. They had three lovely children before they were thirty, and had had a blissful life until the children left home, and then she had become depressed. Clinical depression ensued, and the medication the psychologists supplied stripped her of her sex drive. She tried many different types in the hope that one would give her back what she had lost, but instead she became almost catatonic to him. Nothing he did roused or moved her in any way, and when he had been propositioned by the young girl in the hotel so many years ago, he finally allowed himself release from the celibate torture and he strayed.

He was not in an open relationship like he had told Tessa, but he was having an affair with her. Not that it was an affair in the traditional sense. He still loved his wife very much; he made sure that he kept his real identity very safe, and only allowed knowledge to those whom he could trust. And in the Dominant/submissive lifestyle, his submissives very rarely knew who he was. They were never allowed into his world, never knew what his company was, never knew his real name in some cases. Which was why he was now struggling with the feelings that this girl elicited within him, and she was a girl to him – only a few years older than his children. He was falling for her, in fact, he already had, and today the realization of his feelings shook the foundations of his life like an earthquake.

Looking to the belt in his right hand, he was disturbed to see he was trembling. What the hell was happening to him? He was acting like a love struck teenager, not a full-grown man merely ten years from retirement. He threw the offending belt angrily to the side and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
Enough
he concluded, and clenched his self-control within his will of iron. Placing the chair at the foot of the bed, he dropped to one knee and lifted her bound legs onto it to support her lower back; it must have been sore by now, having her legs hanging awkwardly from the edge of the bed. Bending them at the knees, her nylon-clad soles pointed straight up. Reading his mind, she curled and scrunched her toes in anticipation of the next sweet torture; he would sate his frustration making her squirm and whimper by painting the designs of his heart on her sensitive soles.