Mindgames

Chapter 9: Harvest

Mariah remembers

Mistress Desiree's training center was a large room with a number of kitchens against the far wall. A row of five perfectly made beds was against the wall to the right, much larger and more comfortable-looking than any Mariah had ever seen. To the left were groupings of overstuffed chairs and sofas, and two large tables.

About twenty slaves, all about the same age as Mariah, were scattered among the various spaces, cooking and cleaning. When Mistress Desiree clapped her hands twice they hurried over to her and fell to their knees. Mariah stood awkwardly, not sure what was expected of her.

Mistress Desiree pulled her forward. Without introduction she said, "This dirty girl orgasmed without permission." A murmur rose among the kneeling slaves, along with Mariah's fear. "Her punishment will begin now."

She led Mariah to a plush red armless chair, and sat down in it. "Over my knees," she said to Mariah. Mariah, unsure of what she meant, did not react immediately. Mistress Desiree pulled Mariah so that she was lying with her stomach on Mistress' Desiree's thighs, her hands dangling uselessly in front of her. Mistress Desiree grabbed her hair and pulled her forward a few inches. Mariah felt nauseous with her head hung so low.

Mistress Desiree smacked Mariah's butt with her palm. It stung, but was nothing compared to the whip. Mistress Desiree struck her again, in exactly the same spot. Then again, and again, and again. On the fifth hit Mariah gasped. It still wasn't as bad as the whip but it hurt.

Mistress Desiree moved her hand lower, to the crease between Mariah's butt and her thigh, and hit her there until Mariah whimpered. A harder smack made Mariah grunt. Mistress Desiree began to hit her rapidly all over her rear end.

Mariah had been smacked before, on the face, on the butt. But she had never been spanked before, not like this, drawn out, deliberate, terrible. It was so much more personal than the whip, her mistress aware of every squirm and sound. With the whip she could hide inside her head, but that was impossible now. Even worse, she could feel the warmth and the movement of her mistress's thighs beneath her, of her stomach at her side. This was a

person

who was hurting her, not a disembodied strip of leather.

"Spread your legs," her mistress ordered Mariah. As soon as Mariah obeyed she felt the inevitable fingering of her asshole, her mistress pushing her finger only so slightly into her. Of course Master Jonas had broken her in there, but this was different. The surcease from the spanking combined with her Mistress's gentle teasing made Mariah's pussy gush.

Mistress Desiree continued to finger her for a few minutes. Mariah tried to block out the sensation. Mistress Desiree pulled her head up by her hair and said to her, "Look at them." Mariah was forced to look at the slaves who watched her, some mockingly, some pityingly, some merely bored. Her eyes stung.

Mistress Desiree returned to spanking her. The blows were not harder than before but they hurt much more. Every smack reverberated inside her, in her brain, in her pussy. With each blow she grunted, making a steady "uh uh uh" sound.

Mistress Desiree returned to Mariah's butthole, gently pushing her finger all the way in before Mariah was even aware that she had stopped spanking her. Mariah was so aroused, it was as if her mistress were fingering her sex, not her ass. And then Mistress Desiree pulled her finger slowly out of Mariah's butt and traced a slow path lower. She entered Mariah's pussy ever so slightly, but then pulled out.

The spanking began again. Although Mistress Desiree used only her hand, every blow felt like a paddle. Mariah's soft grunts changed to groans. The slaves in front of her swam in her tears. It was awful. It went on and on.

Now her groans turned to half screams. And then Mistress Desiree was pushing her finger into Mariah's pussy. By the time Mariah stopped screaming she was gasping. Mistress Desiree withdrew her finger, and this time trailed it lower still, to her slit.

Mariah held herself rigid. Mistress Desiree would not touch her clit. She could not. She must not.

"Naughty," Mistress Desiree said to her. "In the midst of punishment, you just want to come, don't you?"

Mariah could only groan.

"Answer me," Mistress Desiree said, and she did touch Mariah's clit, but so lightly, like the tip of a feather. "Yes, Mistress," Mariah said, and her voice was a squeak. If only she could close her legs.

Then Mistress Desiree was spanking her, and then she was touching her. The pain, the pleasure. She must not come, she could not.

Mistress Desiree was stroking her slit, her pubes, her lips. And even though she was not touching her clit, Mariah could feel the orgasm building.

And then Mistress Desiree pulled her hand away. Mariah tried to brace herself for the spanking, but it did not come. Instead, Mistress Desiree merely rested her hand on Mariah's ass. That alone burned. The sensation traveled from her buttocks to her sex. Mariah wondered if it was possible to come from no more.

"You came before without permission," Mistress Desiree said. "Are you going to do it again?"

"I'm trying not to, Mistress," Mariah said, desperately.

"Mmm, I see that," Mistress Desiree said. "Stand up."

It was so unexpected Mariah thought she must have misheard. Mistress Desiree slapped her bruised ass once. "I said, stand up," she repeated. Mariah scrambled up, so quickly that she felt dizzy and had to steady herself on the back of her mistress's chair.

"Thank me," Mistress Desiree said.

Mariah fell to her knees. "This slave humbly thanks you for spanking her," Mariah said, careful to keep her legs spread wide.

"Beg me to allow you to come," Mistress Desiree said.

"Mistress, please, let me come," Mariah said, and she placed her forehead on the floor and inched to her mistress's feet to kiss them.

"Very well," Mistress Desiree said. "Follow me."

Mariah stood, more slowly than before, trying to remember to breathe, trying to remember to keep her feet wide. Mistress Desiree was walking past the slaves on the floor to the far corner of the room, behind the last kitchen unit. There was a large block of wood there, its height slightly lower than Mariah's waist. It was wide at the bottom and tapered to the top so that the top edge was only a dull line about a quarter inch wide.

"Hands behind your head," Mistress Desiree said. Mariah obeyed, assuming the standard position.

"Mount it," Mistress Desiree said. "As soon as you do, you can come."

Mariah stood uncertainly. Was she supposed to jump on? But Mistress Mariah led her by the elbow to the side of the slab. "Just straddle it," she said. Mariah lifted her left leg, aware of how grotesque she looked, and slid it over one side, until the top edge of the wood was scraping her inner thigh. Then she was stuck.

Mistress Desiree snapped her fingers, and a slave came over. To Mariah's horror, he lifted her by the waist and set her down so that her crotch was on the thin top edge of the wood. "Lean forward," he whispered to her, and then her clit was pressing into the wood, and she came, struggling not to topple over. And then all of her weight was on her clit, and the orgasm ended, and there was only bruising pain.

Present day

Rose led Mariah to the center of the revel hall, trying to see the room through her eyes. Sunlight streamed through the windows, making her squint a little. Easels were spaced in front of the walls, and a few scaffoldings were scattered around. Here and there was a random piece of furniture - a somewhat bedraggled sofa, a maroon armchair, an empty bathtub.

The walls had a line of molding about five feet up. Below they were freshly painted a slightly gray off-white. Above, Master Animal had begun sections of his mural.

Rose turned Mariah so that she was facing a wide panel opposite the main door. On top of a cool green background a picture was taking shape: an unkempt bed in which an unfinished figure lay, perhaps a woman, perhaps holding an infant. A group of people surrounded the bed. The picture was to such a scale that the large window in the wall seemed the size of a normal bedroom window.

Her eye was drawn to the panel to the right, this picture complete, or nearly so. In it an older slave woman sat in a rocking chair, holding a little human boy, crooning to him. A human man looked on, while a human woman's back was turned, her face not visible. Rose knew that Mariah could not appreciate the artistry required to depict the tenderness in the slave's face, the placidity in the child's, the satisfaction in the man's.

"Master Animal won't let anyone else work on the first two panels," Rose told Mariah. "But the apprentices are allowed to help with the next one."

The third panel showed a party in a courtyard, humans dancing and slaves serving. The focal point was a little girl, watching the festivities, wide-eyed as she held the hand of a slave.

"Each apprentice gets to paint one person," Rose said. "Master Animal says that creates variety." She paused, twirling a strand of her hair, and added with a quiet laugh, "But he hovers over them so much it's really all his work."

"Where are the apprentices, then?" asked Mariah, looking around. Most of the crowd that had surrounded Master Animal when Mariah and Rose came into the room had left. Master Animal was on the far side of the room, chatting with the couple who remained while he loaded material onto a scaffold.

Rose shrugged. "They come and go. But mostly they go. I think Master Animal gave them the third panel to entice them to stay, but . . ." She sighed. "Master Gabriel has the same problem. People who say they want to learn healing from him, but wander off after a few days." She looked over at her master. "I wish . . ." she said, but she didn't continue.

Master Animal had caught her eye. Rose immediately started over to him, bringing Mariah with her. As they approached, the man Master Animal had been talking to shook his hand, and the woman gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Rose couldn't recall their names. When they turned to go, Master Animal said to Rose, "My model and her girl were supposed to be here half an hour ago." He frowned.

"Would you like me to take a note to them, Master?" Rose asked.

"You know it would do no good," Master Animal growled.

The door opened with a squeak. Rose bit down disappointment when Master Gabriel came in. But he was holding the door for someone behind him. A slender woman with strawberry blonde hair tumbling over a sleeveless green dress walked in, followed by three slaveboys. One of them was carrying a package.

Master Animal hurried toward her, a huge grin on his face. Rose could not recall ever seeing him so happy. "Amalie!" he boomed. "The wanderer returns!" He hugged her, then pulled back to arm's length and looked her over. "When did you get back?"

Mariah looked at Rose. She shrugged and shook her head.

"Three days ago," Mistress Amalie said. She snapped her fingers. The slaves who had followed her fell to their knees, looking at her adoringly. "Aren't they sweet?" She patted one on the head. "I put in an order for them before I left, and they were just finishing their training when I got back. Smartest thing I ever did. This is the first time I've left my quarters. I came straight to you." She smiled at Master Animal.

Master Animal gestured to Master Gabriel. "I want you to meet my friend," he said to Mistress Amalie. "This is Gabriel, a healer, from Harmony."

"So you're the one I've been hearing about," Mistress Amalie said, still smiling. "Healer and vet. A paragon."

She glanced at Mariah. "And that one must be the runaway," she said. "She's got trouble written all over her face." Mariah stiffened but stared at Mistress Amalie's feet. Master Animal started to say something but Mistress Amalie interrupted him. "Where's your current girl? You never travel alone."

Master Animal gestured to Rose. She fell to her knees immediately. "This scrawny thing?" Mistress Amalie asked. "She's hardly your type."

Master Animal shrugged. "She's good at mixing paint," he said mildly.

"You let her mix . . .?" Mistress Amalie trailed off as she turned back to Rose. "Standard position," she ordered. Rose scrambled to her feet and placed her hands behind her head, elbows pointing out, eyes down, face red.

"I see your master is still a pansy," Mistress Amalie said. "Do you like mixing his paints?"

"Yes, Mistress," Rose said, her eyes flitting to Master Animal as she answered.

Mistress Amalie reached out and touched Master Animal's arm. "I was sorry to hear about your mother. I would have come to her burial if I had been here."

Master Animal shrugged and pulled away. "You know she was no loss to me," he growled. He snapped his fingers at Rose. She lowered her arms.

In the awkward silence Master Gabriel asked, "Have you been traveling, Amalie?"

Mistress Amalie was still holding onto Master Animal's arm. "Oh, yes," she said. "I've been to the ocean. Have you ever been?"

Master Gabriel shook his head. "Harmony is in the opposite direction," he said. "We only have songs about it."

Mistress Amalie turned back to Animal. "You must go some day. The sun reflecting a million colors off the waves; the way the quality of the light changes throughout the day; the endless horizon . . ." She trailed off.

"Did you bring me a picture of it?" Master Animal asked eagerly.

"Don't be ridiculous. I could never do it justice," Mistress Amalie said.

"You've talent enough, if you'd apply yourself," Master Animal said, frowning.

"And you know I never will," Mistress Amalie responded lightly. "But I did bring you a present." She gestured to the slaveboy with the package, who carried it to her. She handed it to Master Animal. Carefully he opened the box, and brought out two wine glasses. They were identical, each with a swirl of maroon pigment traveling from the base, up the stem and around the bowl.

Master Animal handed the box to Rose and held one of the glasses up to the light, turning it. "It's beautiful," he said. "Flawless."

"And practical," Mistress Amalie said. She laughed, and Master Animal joined in, as if she had brought up an old joke between them. She continued, "The sea sand is amazing. I brought some back with me, along with enough water glasses and windowpanes to satisfy the Bearer. But I'm not sure if the forge here can do it justice." She sighed almost despondently, but then brightened. "Now, show me your mural. I want to see everything."

Master Animal led Mistress Amalie to the first panel. She nodded. "Your perspective has improved," she said. "Solis would be proud of you." She walked slowly over to the next panel, the one with the picture of the slave holding the toddler.

Mistress Amalie stared at it. "You didn't," she half-choked. Master Animal shrugged, but said nothing. She shook her head. "How could you?"

"It's my painting," Master Animal said. "The Bearer gave me full rights to paint what I want."

"But . . ." Mistress Amalie sputtered. "With your mother barely in the grave . . . "

Master Animal took a step back. "Leave my mother out of it. She has nothing to do with this."

"Clearly," Mistress Amalie said. Master Animal looked stolidly ahead as she studied the panel. "That's you as a baby; I didn't know you then but you've painted your own face clear enough." Rose looked at the painted toddler's face. She had only known Animal with his long, unkempt beard that covered so much of his features; but she could see now that the color of the eyes and the shape of the nose were his.

Mistress Amalie continued, "And your father, of course. He was a sweet man." Master Animal crossed his arms in front of him. "But you're not being held by your father or your mother. That's your father's slave. What was her name?"

"Daphne," Master Animal said sullenly.

"That's right," Mistress Amalie continued. "She was older when I knew her, of course." She looked at the painting closely. Then she glanced at Rose. "Did you have your girl model for her?"

"No," said Master Animal. "I painted from memory."

Mistress Amalie looked back and forth between the painting and Rose. "Either there's a resemblance, or you've made one," she said. Rose blushed, but stared at the slave woman in the picture.

Mistress Amalie went on, "But that's not your mother. . ."

"Of course not," Master Animal snapped. "I have no intention of immortalizing her. I used a model."

Master Animal and Mistress Amalie glared at each other for a moment, and then Mistress Amalie burst out laughing. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've been away too long, and too far from civilization. Of course you painted the scene this way; you could do no other." Master Animal relaxed, and Mistress Amalie turned slowly around, examining the room.

"It's the project of a lifetime," she said. "I see that. But your pigments will fade. What are you thinking letting the sunlight stream in like this?"

"I need light to paint," Master Animal said. "At the end I'll deal with the windows."

Mistress Amalie furrowed her brow in concentration. She walked to one of the windows and tapped on it. The others followed her. "Glazed glass is what you need," she said. "It's whitish instead of clear. Lets in a certain amount of light, but it's muted. I'll make the windows for you, of course." Before Master Animal could respond she glanced out the window, and started. "Look at the time," she said. "I promised Aunt Matilda I'd meet her for tea." She looked fondly at Master Animal, and then turned to Master Gabriel. "Would you like to come by my quarters tonight?"

Master Gabriel blinked. "Why?" he asked. "Are you ill?" Master Animal snorted.

Mistress Amalie reached out to touch Master Gabriel's arm as she had touched Master Animal's before. "For comfort," she smiled. She gestured to the three slaves, who looked at her with puppy love. "For variety."

Master Gabriel blinked three times rapidly, and removed Mistress Amalie's hand from his arm. "Erm," he said. "No thanks."

Mistress Amalie shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said. "If you change your mind, Animal knows where I live." She hugged Master Animal quickly, snapped her finger for her slaves to follow, and left. Master Gabriel gazed after her as if stunned.

Mariah remembers

Mariah did not know how long she suffered on the saw horse, how long she rocked from her clit to her tailbone on the thin slice of wood, bruising, bruising, bruising. After a time the pain in her shoulders was almost as great as the pain below, as she forced herself to keep position with her hands behind her neck, her fingers swelling in their desperate grip.

At last two slaveboys assisted her down. They helped her unfold her arms, and lay her on her front on a mat on the floor, where they massaged her shoulders, back, and arms. Mariah was too exhausted to move. "You're allowed to sleep now," one of the boys said to her. They put a sheet on her. Mariah closed her eyes and fell into a sleep she could not distinguish from wakefulness.

Present day

After Amalie left, Gabriel, Rose, and Mariah as one pivoted to study the picture Animal had painted, they now knew, of himself as a toddler, held by a slave woman, his father nearby, his mother facing away. Gabriel was the first to turn, speculatively, to Animal, who stood scowling with his arms crossed and his feet wide. Mariah turned to him next, and, at last, Rose.

Into the silence Animal said, "Her name was Daphne. She was my father's slave. He was fond of her and she . . . she was devoted to him." His voice caught, and his hands clenched. "And she was always kind to me."