Max looked around Stella's apartment. It was refined, but restrained. Most of the furniture was just good quality high street brands, well treated and maintained. But here and there, carefully selected, were a few pieces that showed the wealth she had from her family.
Egon Schiele's "Seated Nude Girl" reclined on one wall, grotesque and erotic, showing her interests clearly. It sat between pictures of a cat lounging on a rocking chair and the sun on a lake seen through dappled leaves, both by local artists. Like her, it was hiding in plain sight... but not from him.
As he admired them, he made his way to a polished pine minibar standing against one wall. There was a variety of spirits and wines there, from Grey Goose to Bacardi. If it wasn't for the single bottle of Yamazaki 18 sitting unopened among them you'd think it was just a regular bar. That wasn't for her to drink. It was something to own, to enjoy knowing was yours.
He opened it and poured himself a glass as he turned his attention to the oaken bookshelf next to the bar. The books on it covered a range of subjects from science to history to poetry. Authors from Terry Pratchett to Walt Whitman to Stephen Hawking filled the shelves. Most of the books were modern and well read. A large collection of cyber-security related books spoke of her background. The one exception was an aging but perfectly preserved copy of Venus in Furs. Max ran a finger down the perfectly pristine spine. It hadn't been read, but perhaps worshipped.
One shelf held a row of candles. He picked one up and examined it. It was a rose scented white one by Diptyque. Max wasn't familiar with such things, but got the impression this was a bit different from the Yankee Candles even he'd heard of. He thought about what he was going to do with Stella and pocketed it.
Finally, he headed towards the bedroom.
Stella was kneeling beside her bed, ready for him. She had stripped completely naked and held a riding crop between her teeth. Max suppressed a laugh. It was perfect obedience, but also overdone and too needy, too desperate. He'd been hungry for someone to slake his perversions on, but looking at Stella right then he realized she was infinitely more so.
He swirled the whisky in the glass and held out his hand. "Give!"
She grinned and passed the crop to him. Max looked over the top of the glass, enjoying the sight before him. Large breasts, thick nipples begging to be bitten, a mouth made to suck... She even kept her pussy hairy, a particular pleasure of his -- and a sharp contrast to his supposed girlfriend who had her waxed to oblivion.
Stella watched as he took a long, slow sip of his drink. Her careful mask slipped as she realized what he was drinking.
"That's the Yamazaki!" Her brows knitted, her lips formed a line. He could see she wanted to take it away from him, but she was committed to this now. "The bottle cost over a thousand!"
The riding crop came down quick and hard across her nipple, drawing a shriek.
"First," Max said. "I saw it. I wanted it. I took it."
He took another sip.
"Second, this isn't bad, but I prefer the 25 myself. It's more... full-bodied. Like you!"
It was a tease, an insult, but also a flex. Yamazaki 25 cost several times more than her treasured bottle of the lesser version. He was drinking what she couldn't afford to open.
"And third," the crop slashed across her other nipple. "Don't you ever try to top from the bottom again. I decide how you're punished, not you!"
She winced, her eyes watering in pain. Her breath was ragged for a moment as she stilled herself. She didn't cry out again though and Max felt she was daring him to go harder.
He stepped beside her and lay the candle on her bedside table. He struck a match and leaned in to light the wick. The front of his pants pressed against her face as he reached past her. Stella held her position, moving only when forced to by the movement of his body, no longer seeking to control anything herself. Max smiled. He'd claimed her and she knew it. Quickly he turned off the bedside lamp, leaving only the candle to light the room.
Max curled his hand through her hair and pushed her towards the bed. He forced her, face down, on top of it. That's when he noticed them - thin white scars across the top of her thigh, barely visible under the dim light. He leaned back.
"You're a cutter..." His voice measured, revealing more in his strict control than any judgment could.
"Look again," Stella whispered.
He did. He'd seen self-injury before on a cousin who had been severely abused. These marks were different. Not straight, not random at all. They were careful curves and arcs, even a spiral to center the piece. It wasn't an attempt to let pain out, but to welcome it in and weave it into the flesh itself as the finishing touch to her artwork.
"You're a cutter," he repeated. "But for different reasons."
His hand came down hard on top of the scars.
"You will never do this again--"
Another rough spank on top of the bodily art.
"...Without me there to help."
Under his hand, Stella sighed. Max nodded. Yes, she knew she'd found a like minded soul. Not someone who would object, but someone who would make sure she did it right. His hand stroked across her buttocks, savoring their fullness, slapping just lightly to admire the way her flesh rippled. Then he delved between her thighs, running a single finger up her slit before removing it.
"That makes you wet, huh? The thought of having to carve yourself in front of me. Well, next time you'll be showing your artwork off on my flesh too."
She tried to look back at him, but his hand fell onto her buttocks again.
"Did someone say to move? I'm telling you what will happen, not asking for your opinion."
And he spanked her. Soft at first, just enough to warm her beautiful arse. Then building in force and swiftness, each blow faster and harder than the last. First her left cheek, then the right. He played her like a drum and as the heat and pain began to build she moaned like a symphony to suffering. Max admired the look of her, yielding to what he demanded, and found himself growing harder by the second.
