Editor's note: this submission contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sexual situations.
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Chapter 18: The artist
Present day
After Gabriel and Mariah left, Animal clung to Rose. Thinking his grip might be too tight, he lowered his arms. His fingers went to her lower back and he accidently brushed her wounds. She stiffened. Animal felt sick. He had done that. He had done that to Rose.
He shuddered and stepped back. "I still have some comfrey from Gabriel. I'll get it," he said hoarsely. He practically ran to his bedroom and fumbled through his top bureau drawer looking for the balm, dumping his socks on the floor as he did so. Finding the right tin at last, he hurried back to the living room.
He put the container into Rose's hand. "Here," he said. "Use this, Gabriel said last time . . ." Last time Rose had been whipped by some stupid strangers having a laugh. This time, he had done it.
"Master, please, it's all right," Rose said softly.
It was too much. Animal slid to the floor, to his knees. "I was so blind."
"Please, get up," Rose begged.
She started to fall to her own knees in front of him, but Animal shook his head. "You promised Gabriel you'd never kneel before me again," he said.
"Then stand up, please, Master. You don't belong down there." She shifted so she was sitting on the footstool where he had whipped her.
Animal shook his head again, and said, hoarsely, "I do belong down here, until you forgive me."
"I will if you get up," Rose said desperately.
A gleam of hope lit in Animal's eyes. He put his hands on her knees. "A bargain, yes, a trade. Tell me something I can do for you, to make up for what I did today."
Rose sat mutely, staring at him. "Anything," Animal prompted. "Anything in my power."
Rose was absolutely still for a minute. Finally, she spoke so softly that Animal barely heard her. "Master, will you let me . . . "
She stopped.
"Anything," Animal said, hoarsely.
"Will you let me draw?" Animal stared at her. "Just once, please?" She covered her face with her hands.
Animal took a deep breath. "If I let you draw, you'll forgive me?"
Rose shook her head behind her hand. "I already forgave you," she said. "Before you began. I knew I deserved it."
"No!" Animal said abruptly. But he added, quieter, "This is no mindgame, Rose. But I know it will take time to convince you of that." He stood up and gently pried her hand from her face. "Come," he said. He led her out the door and through the courtyard to his studio.
Mariah remembers
When Master Cassender almost tripped on Mariah she took no notice. When he said hello to her she took no notice. When he squatted down next to her she took no notice. When he ordered her to stand up, standard position, she counted to five before she slowly stood up, spread her legs only a few inches, and put her hands by her shoulders instead of behind her neck.
He didn't bother ordering her to turn. Instead he walked around her. When he touched the fading whipmarks on her breasts, he asked, "What did you do to deserve these?"
Mariah counted to five before non-answering, "A slave always deserves punishment, Master."
Master Cassender sighed. "How long were you with your last human?"
Mariah forced herself to wait before answering. "A few weeks, Master."
Master Cassender sighed again. Without warning he grabbed her nipples and pulled and twisted them. Mariah willed herself not to cry out, to make no movement, but she couldn't keep her eyes from watering. It seemed to go on and on, the pain crashing in her brain.
At last he stopped. He turned to the group of slaves not far away and pointed to one who was not shackled. "You, there," he said. "Come here." When the slaveboy came over Master Cassender said to him, "I want you to fuck her. You can come, but not until after she does."
"May I use the bench, Master?"
Master Cassender nodded. The slaveboy led Mariah to the bench. Mariah was grateful that Master Victor had had her serviced a couple of hours earlier, so she was not desperate. She lay lump-like where the slaveboy had placed her.
On the pretext of blowing in her ear, the boy whispered to her, "What are you doing?"
He turned his own ear to her mouth. Mariah whispered back, "Help me. Don't make this too good."
The slaveboy rutted against the top of Mariah's leg, gradually moving his body over until he was moving his penis up and down on her abdomen. She was barely slick when he entered her. He put his thumb on her clit and pressed while he pumped inside her. He was tireless and Mariah gradually became aroused. She came with a grunt, and the slaveboy came just after her. He rested for a moment, climbed off her, and fell to his knees before Master Cassender.
Master Cassender dismissed him and turned to Mariah. "You'll do, I guess," he said.
Present day
The sunshine pouring in through the windows of his studio seemed incongruous to Animal. He felt as though he had lived a lifetime that day, but it was still early afternoon.
Hastily he moved the painting of the picnic to the side of the room, then attached an entire stack of precious paper to the easel where it had been. He fumbled around for a few minutes in his storage area, searching for the charcoal chalk. He found a few sticks of it, along with a newish eraser, under an old smock, and placed them on the easel's ledge. He unfolded a card table that had been leaning against the wall and left the smock on it. Going back to his storage area, he haphazardly grabbed at a watering can and a rag doll. He put the watering can in the center of the card table and leaned the doll against it. Wadding up the smock, he placed it a few inches away. He stepped back, squinted, and moved the smock slightly.
All this time Rose had stood mutely, watching, her eyes big. Animal turned to her and led her to the easel. "We'll start with black and white," he said. "You've color sense enough, that's clear from . . . " He choked for a minute, but continued, "from how you present food, from your flower arrangements." Rose blushed, and Animal continued, "But to depict the world, you have to translate your sight to your hand."
Rose nodded. Animal realized that she had heard this lecture countless times. He picked up a stick of black chalk and scribbled on the paper with it. He demonstrated how to use the eraser to make shades of gray, and the lambswool shammy to spread the shading. He must have shown her this many times before; he just hadn't realized she had been listening. He handed her the chalk, stood behind her and held her hand for her first strokes.
"Master," Rose said tentatively, "may I use my right hand?"
Animal shook his head. "You want to start with your non-dominant hand. It will help you access the creative part of your brain."
"I know, Master," Rose said. "But I'm left-handed."
Animal blinked. "Oh," he said. "Of course." He tore the first paper off the easel and wadded it up.
Reverently Rose held the charcoal in her right hand and put it to the page. Her first strokes were tentative, but that was to be expected, Animal thought. She had never even held a pencil before. He watched as the picture began to take shape, impressed that she brought in the surrounding area -- the table, the shelves against the wall -- and not just the objects he had placed.
Animal put a blank canvass on a spare easel. From behind Rose he began to paint her as she drew. Rays of light from the window shone on her head, making her look ethereal. She was so beautiful. Animal shook his head at the inadequacy of his words. But he could paint her.
They both worked silently for a time. Animal's brush flew over the canvas at first, but then he slowed to capture the light on her body. As he began to add the angry red marks he remembered he had handed her the comfrey but she hadn't used it.
He strode out to his apartment to get it from the footstool where Rose had left it and ran back with it. He said her name softly. She didn't hear him. She was lost in concentration.
He examined her picture. Not bad for a first effort. He could tell what most of the objects were, which was better than he could say for many humans' beginning pictures. Humans? Rose was human too.
Gabriel had been trying to tell him for so long. Rose had too, in her own way. Her interest in art was only the tip of it. He remembered when he first saw her, looking at his portrait of John and Rafaela's family. She had been scared and beaten down, and yet there had been something incredibly appealing about her, some essence that made its way past her circumstances. Bringing her home, he had told himself he felt sorry for her, but that wasn't so, or only partly so. He had wanted her. For the way her eyes shone, almost magically, despite her shyness, when he talked to her. For her calming presence, for her quiet but outrageous competence, for her vulnerability.
After he brought her home, as she came out of her shell, he had wanted her even more. For the way she made everything in his life prettier, even though he pretended, to her, not to care. For the way she listened to his lectures and looked at his pictures, even though he had pretended to her, to himself, that her opinion did not matter. For the way she sometimes revealed that she had thought about something deeply, even though he had pretended, to himself, to her, to Gabriel, the impossibility of it. Her boldness, so new. Her sweetness, always.
The words came without conscious thought.
"I love you," he said.
Rose turned. "Master, may I turn this paper over? I want to try contour drawing."
Animal almost laughed out loud. She hadn't heard him. "Use as much paper as you want," he said. And he went back to his easel and painted her as she drew, and he saw her, and through her he saw himself. Selfish. Willfully blind. Sometimes cruel. And yet, she had chosen to stay with him when she must know Gabriel could give her a safe haven. How could he ever be worthy of that?