Authors: Roxy Harte
Cries of Penance (35 page)
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Cries of Penance – Roxy Harte
“No, that’s my brother, Gregar Leschova. He lives with us. I told you that. He teaches at the university.” I smile secretively. It is stil very hard to cal him my brother. He is my lover, my Master, but this sweet old woman wouldn’t understand our lifestyle, our life.
“Oh! A professor. My husband was an educated man. Poor thing died five winters ago. You say your brother’s single?”
“Sophia?” Thankful y, my brother cal s my name from the front porch. “Lunch is ready.”
I turn and wave at him. “Coming!”
Excusing myself from Mrs. Karasavas is never easy, but I manage to get back across the road. Eventual y. Hurrying inside, I am grabbed and pul ed against a solid body with enough force to knock the wind out of me. The foyer is dark, and although I might have screamed given the last few months, I don’t. A rough hand covers my mouth, but I remain calm. My pussy tightens, knowing.
“The boys are asleep,” Master whispers against my ear. “Nissos and Atso are out in the studio with their daddy.”
Even though the hold he has on me is painful, his voice holds promise of fun to come. “I’l take the twins to him. Go to the basement.”
He releases me and I fal backward a step. He is already pushing the strol er toward the studio at the back of the house. I think I hear him humming. Our life is so very different here than what we had before, and I worried that of al of us Master would have the hardest time adjusting. He has, and hasn’t. It was strange at first, a foreign world, with new rules of behavior, but once he started teaching 331
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at the university things improved. He seems happier and more relaxed than he’s been in years.
I don’t dawdle, knowing what is expected of me, and hurry through a smal door and down a dark stairwel . I hate the dark, but don’t dare turn on a light. I tread careful y, not risking fal ing, and when I reach level ground I feel my way to the center of the room.
It is pitch black and chil y.
I shiver, both cold and afraid of what hides in the darkness. Sil y. Childish. As I undress, letting the damp underground air caress my skin, I imagine eyes watching me.
I. Hate. The. Dark.
I drop my sweater and undershirt on the ground. I unbutton and unzip my pants, hearing every sound. Creaking floorboards above, hissing and pinging pipes below. I pul my pants down as I step out of my shoes, then hop on one foot to remove my socks. I hear a tiny squeak. No, no, no. I know we have mice, I hope we don’t have rats. What is taking Master so long?
Squeak.
My ass clenches in fear, and it is al I can do to pul down my panties and kneel on the cold, damp concrete floor. I lean forward, presenting myself in complete obeisance. Hurry, Master.
My ass is in the air and I feel horribly exposed as a cool breeze teases over my labia. I’m wet, ready, growing wetter with every passing apprehensive second.
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Drip, drip, drip. The sound is from a leaking water pipe. Old house. Old problems. The dripping doesn’t make me fret. The scurry of little mice size toenails on cement does. I whimper, I can’t help it.
I jerk at the sound of a striking match, not realizing Master has joined me. I was too focused on my fear. He lights a smal glass domed oil lantern and brings it near, casting a circle of light over my naked body. Squatting, he draws his finger down my bare arm. The touch makes me realize I am shaking. Cold?
Fear? I think he guesses fear because he says, “I like it when you tremble.”
“Master?”
“Sh-h, relax.” He sits the flickering lamp on a low table and walks a slow circle around me. “Whatever should I do to amuse myself this afternoon?”
I let out a slow breath, only slightly less nervous now that he is here. I could think of a few things we could do, but he doesn’t ask my opinion.
“Stand up.”
I obey, moving quickly, glad to be off the cool concrete. He takes hold of my elbow and leads me to one of the floor beam supports. “Lay, with your head next to the beam.”
Great, on the floor again. I lie down on my back.
“Pul your knees up.”
I do, tucking so that my knees are close to my shoulders.
He produces a length of rope and, working by the light of the single flame, ties my ankles high and tight, pul ing them toward the beam. My knees are pressed to my shoulders.
“Hands.”
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I stretch toward him, and he wraps my wrists similarly and ties them to the beam as wel . I feel like a crab stuck on my back, opened, exposed. I watch as he gathers four sections of metal wire grid and attaches the sections around me on the floor, boxing me in. The hair stands up on the nape of my neck. I don’t like where this scene is going at al .
He disappears into the shadows and returns with a smal cage that holds four white mice. Oh no. No, no, no!
He lifts one of the mice out of the cage by its tail and dangles it over my stomach, letting me see it up close and personal as it struggles for freedom. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“No.”
“You don’t think its little, red beady eyes are cute?” He brings the mouse close to my face so that I can get a good look at the mouse’s eyes.
I shriek a little. “I don’t like this.”
“You wil ,” he promises and lowers the mouse onto my bare stomach.
“Ahhh! No. P-please. D-don’t do this.” I am verging on total y freaking out. I try to relax and rational y tel myself it’s only a single mouse. It isn’t going to bite me.
I am so close to safe wording right now—but I won’t—and Master is counting on me not. We agreed, Lord Ice would only come out to play if I didn’t safe-word and if I do…
“Oh God, oh God. Oh God!”
Master lowers the three remaining mice onto my chest and stomach. One of them sits between my breasts, looking at me, stroking his whiskers with his paw.
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The other three scurry around, running back and forth on my stomach. I am not sure who is more afraid—them or me.
Chuckling, Master blows out the flame.
I’m good for two minutes, maybe two minutes, it seems like hours. I cry out each time they move…and they move around a lot, running on and off my stomach, running around and under my ass. One fal s and rol s off my stomach, its warm fur a caress I don’t enjoy. Another runs over my exposed genitals, its smal toenails feeling like a Wartenberg wheel. I shriek, scream, cry, beg. I don’t safeword. I do piss myself, not even realizing I’ve pissed myself until I feel the warm liquid pool under my ass.
“Please! Lord Ice. Stop this. Please?”
An eternity later, the flickering flame returns and I realize he has been sitting beside me the entire time. He didn’t leave. I look down, looking for the mice and find them huddled in a corner. Master col ects them one at a time and puts them back in their cage though the last one he dangles over my face. “Kiss it on the nose.”
I shake my head.
“Kiss the little mouse goodbye and thank him for playing with you today, or we’l start this game al over again.”
He lowers the mouse until its face is almost touching my mouth. As soon as I pucker, I feel it bob against my lips. Oh God. “T-thank you f-for p-playing, Mr.
Mouse.”
Lord Ice takes the mice away in their cage, disappearing into the shadows. I try to pul myself together. I shudder and shake in my bonds.
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Master returns and folds away the metal pen.
He steps closer, kneeling. He brushes his fingers over my mouth. “Did you like kissing the mouse?”
“Yes, Master,” I lie.
He presses his lips to mine, a soft kiss, a chaste kiss. From his pocket he retrieves two smal mousetraps. “I found these. Barbaric. I think we can put them to a better use than kil ing those adorable creatures, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, Master.”
He pinches my left nipple out and traps it between the wood and metal of the trap.
“Ahhh!” It hurts, radiating pain al the way back to my spine. Nursing has desensitized them some, but not enough.
He traps the other nipple.
“Oh God!” My pussy contracts with the pain, and suddenly my breasts are fil ing with milk from the stimulation. Within seconds I feel ful , and want relief, then immediately think of my sweet, beautiful babies latching onto a nipple that was tread over by a mouse. Ewww.
Master rubs his hands over my skin and cups the underside of my breasts without disturbing the mouse traps. “How beautiful.”
“I feel, dirty and disgusting.”
He taps the trap, making the metal bite tighter. “I didn’t ask.”
Standing, he walks to a cabinet and takes out a thin birch cane. I know what’s coming and brace for it as much as I can in my tied position. Returning, he doesn’t announce that he is going to punish me. He just does. Striking the back 336
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of my thighs, my ass, the sweet spot that makes me scream because it hurts so badly it feels amazing. I want him to hit me there again and again, even though I know it wil hurt to sit for a week.
* * * * *
If I said it wasn’t strange going from scene to mommy, I’d be lying.
I sit careful y, my welted bottom yet another reminder of just how odd my life has become, not because I have the welts, but because I am nursing a child and I have welts.
With Master’s help I attach each of my babies to a nipple and enjoy the sheer bliss of having them drain me. He leaves me with my sons, disappearing into the kitchen where there are shouts of, “Uncle Gar!”
Some things have changed. Some have stayed the same.
I hear the clang of pans and know that Gregar has started dinner. Most nights his nieces and nephews help—it’s becoming a family tradition. That is a change I like very, very much.
I sigh contentedly when Kyriakos joins me, sitting at my feet and watching the babies nurse. I smile at him gently when he lays his head on my knees and stares up at me.
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“What?” I ask softly, watching his face.
His hair is final y growing out. I like it long. He promises that this time he is going to let it grow so long he can sit on it, his beard too. The thought makes me smile, because he is my eccentric artist husband and that al ows me to be a little odd too.
Where my robe fel open, he kisses my bare knee and then the inside of my thigh. “I was just thinking I’d real y like to make love to my wife tonight.”
I blush, I can’t help it. My Lord Fyre in husband and father mode is quite adorable. I bite my bottom lip more than anything because Lord Ice didn’t fuck me in the basement, he only built my need to a point of agonizing ache—and then set me free. “I’d like that too.”
“I think it’s Uncle Gar’s turn to tuck al the munchkins in bed and read bedtime stories.”
“Oh, I quite agree. It’s the least he can do.”
Kyriakos smiles wickedly, making me wonder if he was aware of Master’s plans for the mice. I ask, “Did you know?”
He only smiles evil y and takes Thanos to burp. I lift Stavros to my shoulder and pat his back. I accuse, “You did.”
He laughs openly.
“I hate you both!”
He shakes his head. “No, you don’t. You love us.”
I don’t admit anything.
An hour later we are sitting at dinner and Giorgios can’t sit stil because he is so excited about his science project and his father told him he must wait until 338
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after we eat to tel me about it. The moment is final y at hand and he enthusiastical y leaves the room…and returns with a smal cage, holding four white mice. He brings them near, so I can get a very close look at them. It is al I can do to not scream.
“I’m going to teach them to run a maze!”
I gulp. “That sounds very exciting.”
He nods and over his head I see both his father and his uncle turning purple with held in laughter. Oh, the sadists I love.
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About Roxy Harte
http://www.lyricalpress.com/roxy_harte
Roxy lives in southwestern Ohio in a smal town bordered by fields and railroad tracks with her husband and teenage daughter, two boisterous dogs, Petey and Jazzi, and two independent cats, Miss Kitty and Blackie. She can be found penning her next novel almost any day of the week. Writing for her is like breathing and sex, it is requirement for survival. However, she does have a few hobbies for when she is suffering from writer’s block including gardening, hiking, and rock climbing. She loves microbreweries, Renaissance festivals, and hearing from her readers.
Roxy’s Website:
http://www.roxyharte.com/
Reader eMail:
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