Chapter 13

Zoe

There's something about a quickie. Not that I didn't enjoy hours of passionate and hot, slow and tender or rough and wild sex with Ann, or, even better, all of that and in no particular order. But quick hot sex means you get to drink your coffee while it's still hot. Win-win all around.

No wonder we both had wide smiles on our faces as we sipped, the scent of coffee and tea mingling with the musky scent from our lovemaking. Me, I wouldn't have minded to remain in bed for the rest of the day, maybe with a few little interruptions by a quick trip to plunder the fridge. But today was the day. Dee's show. And mine, too, in a way.

By then I had gotten quite used to being shaved by Mistress, almost didn't flinch anymore when the blade touched my sex. But I still flushed whenever she spread my buttcheeks to make sure that it was a total shave, a blush that never failed to put a smile on Ann's face. Perfectly groomed and lotioned and scented she changed the pendant on the chain around my waist. Bigger than the other. Heavier, too. But just as much drawing attention to my sex. Just as much reminding me with every step I took that Ann was the only one who had it in her power to remove it or swap the pendant. Just as sure teasing me whenever it bounced off my clit. I loved it. I loved the effect it had on me. I loved Ann.

The shoes I loved less. The heels were at least an inch higher than I was comfy with. But not high enough to make a fuss about it. Ann wanted me to wear them and so I would wear them. Her eyes burnt holes in my ass as I staggered to the kitchen, still wobbly on the heels. Would have to practice every minute I could if I didn't want to look like a duck. Which, of course, wouldn't do. I wanted her to be proud of me even more than I wanted to be proud of me. But, are slaves supposed to proud of themselves after all? Shouldn't a good slave's goal, her only goal, be her Mistress' or Master's satisfaction? I pondered that while I fixed breakfast, then I walked up and down the living room until Ann finished her preparations. Making a mental note to ask her about that I joined her at the table, not really hungry, just picking at things, slowly getting nervous.

Once again I was seriously aroused by the time Ann was done with braiding my hair. Dunno how or why, really, but there seems to be a direct link between the roots of each and every hair and my pussy and so whenever Mistress pulled on it, or simply held it, my pussy began to tingle like mad. I loved that, too. Of course I did.

But that, too, was done eventually and it was time to get into the attire Mistress had chosen for me. It wasn't much of an attire, though. Not covering any of the body parts I'd like to have covered most. Once complete and looking at myself in the mirror, I saw that it did exactly the opposite of covering anything. I wasn't just naked, my nakedness was actually accentuated. Something new learned there and then: There's naked and then there's nakeder. Sort of.

When I finally turned again and looked at Ann I felt myself instantly getting even more naked when my pussy covered itself in a sheen of glistening juices. She was, well, just beautiful. Gorgeous. She always was, of course, but now, all dressed in black and white, even more so. If she hadn't broken the spell with a single word I'd probably still be standing there looking at her.

But Mistress did break the spell. "Come," was all she said and it was all that needed to be said to rip me out of my reverie and tie my stomach in a knot.

This was it. The moment. My heart missed a beat, then, before I felt the tug of the leash on the collar, I followed her, stopping only shortly in the hall where Ann laid a cloak over my shoulders and reached for the leash again to lead me out on the street.

Although covered from neck to ankles by the cloak I still blushed at the feeling that everybody who saw me would immediately know that I was naked underneath. No, not true. I wasn't just naked. I was nakeder. Nakeder, restrained, shoes locked to my feet and on a leash. I was a slave. Ann's slave.

Ann

The venue was not that far away and so we soon arrived at the entrance. Stepping from the taxi I paused to allow my slave to join me, then leash in hand I led her across the wide pavement and up the steps to the venue, the doormen recognising me, nodding hello as we paused whilst I released the three clasps on the front of my slave's cloak, then we passed inside and up the staircase onto the function floor and into the crowd.

I expected my girl to hesitate when first faced with so many strangers, but she did not falter at all, though I could see the blush spreading up her neck, but that was not a problem, after all, 'blush' is my favourite colour. A voice called out to me and I turned to find Mistress Veronica and her pet moving to join us. Kat absolutely naked but for a stunning opera mask of a stylised cat and of course her collar and leash.

Whilst Roni and I exchanged greetings and news, a flick of her leash released Kat to join my slave, I smiled as Kat slipped a hand inside my slave's cloak. Although we had arrived early many others were already circulating around the room, a few stopped to greet me, and of course to get a look at my slave. It had been a very long time since I'd attended a brunch with a leashed submissive and it did not take long for the grapevine to swing into action.

Then Dee found us.

I've never met anyone else quite like Dee. I have described her as running the gallery with a careless efficiency, smoothly transforming from introverted artist to effervescent sales girl quicker than ... But that hardly scratches the surface. In her still short life she has experienced a great deal, a lot bad, some very bad and she is the only girl ever to get into my life, my studio, my bed and my heart in one day. That does not mean we are close, at least not in relationship terms, we've never lacked opportunity, just the desire. Dee is special.

The day we met it was pouring with rain, I had been alone in the gallery all day, no staff, no customers. At five minutes to five the door opened and 5'6" of drenched misery entered, closed the door, looked around slowly and spoke. "You need me ... and I fucking need you ... where's the kettle?" I would of thrown her out, but she smelt that bad I didn't want to get that close to her. By way of explanation she took a soggy wad of paper from her Jean Jacket pocket and unfolded it before passing it to me. The photo had been taken three months earlier, a private commission, there were only three prints in existence and one was framed in my studio. "That's your work." It was not a question. She unfolded a second soggy mass. "This is mine." It was a pencil sketch of the exact same photo, except the viewpoint was 180 degrees out. The detail incredible, really incredible.

The conversation that followed ended in Dee taking a shower whilst I put the kettle on. Anyone who hitch-hiked the length of England's second longest motorway without a penny in their pocket just because of a photo I'd taken deserved a shower and a coffee. I never actually offered her a job, I never got the chance, Dee simply told me I needed her to run the gallery and she was here to start work. No mention of money, in fact I wasn't sure she cared if I paid her. Showered and wearing clothes I'd fetched from the studio stock, Dee sat at the counter, one hand clutching a steaming mug of instant coffee, the other holding a pencil that seemingly had a mind of it's own as it flew over the paper. In less time than it took to drink her coffee she had sketched the gallery, not as it was, but as it ought to be. She was right, I did need her.

With no money and no place to go, I took Dee home with me, fed her, watched her decimate my stock of instant coffee then put her to bed in the spare room. Later in the night I awoke to find a slim figure standing by my bed, she spoke just one word. "Please... ?" One word that spoke volumes, reaching out to her I drew her into my bed, held her tight as she spooned up against me and felt her shaking as we both tried to sleep.

It wasn't her scream that awoke me, it was her elbow striking my face. "BITCH... !!!" Her voice high pitched, distraught, the elbow again, but this time I rolled away, out of range, reaching out for the bedside light as Dee thrashed around in the grip of her nightmare. It took a while to wake her, longer for the nightmare's grasp to loosen, "I'm sorry, so sorry." Her tears running down her face, dripping onto the too-thin body, drawing attention to marks I'd not seen in the darkness. "I'll go, I'm sorry. I'll just go..." I reached out to her, at first with my heart, then with both arms, slowly Dee let herself be held, accepted my forgiveness, or so I thought. I awoke much later to find her curled up on the floor besides my bed, wrapped in two bath towels. Over morning coffee she admitted she had needed company, comfort, but was frightened of striking me again, thus the bath towels and the carpet plan. We never shared a bed again, we did share an understanding, gradually Dee opened up to me and I learnt her story, along the way she turned my struggling newly opened gallery into a thriving success and accumulated a staggering number of sketches, cartoons, caricatures and more than a few paintings. Few of which she let anyone else see, especially those she drew whilst perched quietly in a corner of the Dungeon. Until now...

Dee found us. Or rather she found me, her outfit was ... well typical Dee I suppose, Abby from NCIS meets Tank Girl is the easiest way to describe it. Her chosen method of greeting me was not in the least subtle, but then in private Dee seldom is, at least with me. Exactly how a huge room full of perverts qualified as 'private' I'm not sure, but for the first time ever Dee stopped right in front of me, knelt in the perfect slave pose, lifted her head, looked me in the eye and... "Bitch... !! They've bought them, every fucking one of them... !!" Standing up again Dee stepped forward and kissed me, "I love you, BITCH... !!" then turning aside, her posture now demure, her voice the perfect example of restrained elegance she smiled at my slave and greeted her formerly before dissolving into giggles and embracing Zoe whilst looking at Kat. "Overdressed as usual, I see..."

Roni looked at Dee. "Better you than me," she observed frostily. The smile gave her away. Her eyes following Dee as she moved back into the crowd, it seemed that her show was a success, much to her surprise, but not to mine.

Finally I could look around the show myself, a flick of the leash had my slave once more stepping carefully at my side as we began to move around the room, pausing to look at Dee's artwork. The title of the show was 'Drawn to Pain' and the theme very definitely reflected the title. As usual for Dee the detail was truly incredible, every whip-mark, every aching muscle, all depicted with absolute clarity, yet what drew the eye, what made each drawing special was the way each scene caught the feelings, they spoke, each and every one of them.

As we circulated I told Zoe a little of the various scenes and models, so far she had met very few of the girls who modelled for me and as every drawing had been done in my Dungeon I could recall every session and every girl. By now the show was no longer the main focus, though there were still people admiring Dee's work the majority of people had turned their attention to more normal brunch activities. My slave and I would soon join them, but first I wanted to complete the circuit of drawings, looking back that might not have been such a good idea.