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Darla tried to ignore the sensuous caress of silk and satin and velvet, tried to ignore the erotic thrill of her bound wrists and ankles, a novel response she was still trying to come to terms with. Every ragged breath puffed the chiffon and scraped her hypersensitive nipples against the sheer covering, maddening her.

Kon didn’t speak as he clicked off frames, a cloudy figure stepping around her, standing over her—capturing her image, her vulnerability and helpless desire.

He lifted her bound hands and moved them to her crotch. “Touch yourself,” he said.

“What?” He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant.

“I mean exactly what you think I mean.” Kon addressed her from behind the camera. “Stroke your pussy. I’ll tell you when to come.”

“No!” She started to sit up. He was on her like lightning, pushing her down and replacing the chiffon scarf.

“I thought we’d gotten past your defiance, Darla.” His tone was harsh. “You will do what I tell you to do.”

“Not that. I... I couldn’t.”

“You’re kidding, right? After everything else we’ve done?”

“This is different. It’s so...you know. It’s private.” Despite everything, Darla felt her face flame—though heaven knew she masturbated often enough when she was alone, her sex life with Brian being the snore-fest it was. “Come on, Kon. Would
you
jerk off in front of an audience?”

“An audience? This isn’t Carnegie Hall, Darla, it’s just you and me here.”

“Yeah, and a
camera
,” she added.

“This coy routine is getting old. You’re aroused as hell.” Kon returned her hands to the juncture of her thighs. “Now, do something about it.”

Darla closed her eyes and kept them closed, gathering her composure, willing herself to overcome her irrational modesty. And it was irrational—wasn’t it? Kon was right. It made no sense to draw the line about this one thing after... well, the man had had his finger in her butt, for crying out loud! How much more private could it get?

She took a shaky breath and forced her hand toward her mons.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Good, excellent,” Kon murmured.
Click.
“Show me what you do when you’re alone. You’re so wet—I know you need it. Show me how you bring yourself off.”
Click. Click.

Darla swallowed hard. She touched a lone fingertip to her needy, weeping slit.

“Open your eyes,” Kon commanded.

“Can’t I keep them—”

“No.”

Darla opened her eyes. Through the chiffon she saw him rearing over her, saw sunlight glint off the lens of his camera. “I can’t.” She jerked her hands up. “I can’t do it, Kon.”

Immediately he set aside the camera, grabbed her bound wrists and hauled her off the “love nest”.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Silence.” Kon threw her onto his shoulder, eliciting a grunt of astonishment from Darla.

“Kon!” she said, then yelped as he pinched her ass, hard.

“I said silence. You’ve forfeited the right to speak.” He strolled across the studio, holding her legs with one hand and squeezing her buttocks with the other. “I know it’s hard to relinquish control, and this is all new to you. So I’m going to make it easier for you. I’m going to soften you up a little.”

Darla didn’t like the sound of that. She wanted to ask what he meant, but didn’t dare. He picked up some object as they passed a worktable, but she couldn’t see what it was.

Kon paused before a threadbare camelback sofa, a genuine antique by the looks of it, with fringed, moss-green upholstery and sagging cushions. It was the only uncluttered space in the studio. Perhaps he took naps here—or entertained lady friends.

He set her on her feet. Before she had a chance to regain her equilibrium, he sat on the sofa and pulled her facedown over his lap, her bottom elevated, his erection nudging her belly. Automatically she tried to lever herself up, but with her wrists and ankles tied, she didn’t have a prayer of evading him, and whatever he had planned for her.

He didn’t leave her in suspense. The first sharp
thwack
seared her butt cheek like a branding iron. She shrieked, managing a quick peek over her shoulder before he shoved her back down.

A wooden ruler. He was spanking her with a goddamned ruler! “Kon—!” Her protest was cut off by another scream as the wicked thing landed five times in quick succession. Shock waves radiated through her buttocks and into her swollen pussy, which clenched in time with the blows. She hadn’t signed on for this, and she started to tell him so in no uncertain terms, only to have him snatch a bandana off a side table and stuff it into her mouth.

“So willful.” Kon rested the ruler on her thighs and caressed her stinging flesh. She shuddered, moaning under the gag. “Your pleasure will be so much more complete when you learn to let go, to surrender without reservation.”

His big hand both soothed and inflamed her as he stroked and squeezed her buttocks. He lifted the ruler. “Are you ready for more?”

Vehemently Darla shook her head, her pleas muffled by the gag. It wasn’t the pain she was afraid of, but the new and unwelcome self-awareness. Was she some kind of perverted masochist, to be stimulated by this kind of treatment?

The bandana muted her cries as Kon spanked her with the ruler, lightly at first, a string of soft slaps covering a wide swath of real estate, followed by two fierce whacks across both cheeks. Darla whimpered, feeling heat blossom in her abused flesh, in her drenched sex—feeling something else, too. The softening Kon spoke of. The surrender.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
He kept the ruler moving, raining slaps on the roundest part of her ass, then the sides, the bottom edge, the thighs, and back again.

Kon said, “The endorphins should be kicking in about now,” and he was right if what he meant was that the blows hurt less. The pain was still there, but in an altered form, making it easier to bear, easier to focus on other, more welcome sensations.

He loosened the knot binding her ankles and tossed aside the piece of lace. His hands parted her thighs as wide as they would go. She didn’t fight him or attempt to close them. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever came next.

Kon said, “Don’t move.”

Darla jerked as the ruler touched down high on the tender inside of her thigh. He slowed the pace of the spanking, choosing his targets with care, coming perilously close to her sex without directly striking it. Her juices bathed his thighs and his cock, which thumped like a battering ram against her belly.
Yes
, she thought. She wanted it, needed it. But this was Kon’s show. He was in charge, and he would reward her with that splendid cock when he was good and ready.

Darla realized with a start that she was arching into the punishment, tilting her ass to afford him better access. She emitted a ragged moan, feeling yet more of her will drain away. He seemed to sense this yielding. Again he set aside the ruler and touched her, soothing with delicate strokes, then squeezing and pinching the inflamed flesh.

Kon pressed his palm between her legs, and Darla cried out beneath the gag, pushing against him.

“I told you not to move,” he said.

She whimpered. He had to know he was demanding the impossible. She trembled with the effort to obey him as he spread her labia as if inspecting her.

“You’re close to coming,” he told her, as if this were news to her. “You’re not allowed to come unless I give you permission. If you come before then, I will punish you. And if you think spanking is the only kind of punishment I can inflict, let me assure you, my imagination knows no bounds.”

Kon thrust two fingers into her, and she gyrated against them, earning an open-palm slap on the tenderest part of her abused ass. He fucked her with his hand, teasing her anus with his thumb. She groaned, feeling her body grasp at the invading fingers, struggling to remain still.

“Good,” he said at last. “You’re learning. But the lesson’s not over.” He lifted the ruler and pressed the smooth wood between her widespread thighs, where his hand had just been. At the same time he pressed on the small of her back, holding her still and angling her pussy higher. She’d never felt so exposed. “Your cunt is greedy and demanding,” he said. “It needs to be punished, too.”

Darla’s breath caught. Before she could think how to stop him, the ruler landed with a
thwack
on her engorged clitoris. And again and again, a string of light smacks that electrified her. He seemed to know just how hard she could take it, right there.

She felt his long, strong fingers on her ass cheeks and between them as he spread them wide. She yelped beneath her gag as the ruler found its mark, blurring the line between pleasure and pain. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have pictured herself on the receiving end of such treatment, or guessed how close to ecstasy it could bring her.

“Stand up.” Kon tossed the ruler aside and helped Darla to her feet. Her legs felt like rubber, but she managed to keep her balance. He yanked the bandana out of her mouth. His pale eyes seemed to glow from within. “You’ve made progress. I’ve decided to let you speak. Are you ready to obey me?”

“You mean to...?”

He nodded. “To get yourself off.”

“Yes.” She was beyond embarrassment, desperate for relief. Her fingers started to slide down her belly, but he caught them before they reached their destination.

“Good to know, but I decided I’m not going to let you come. Not yet. We’ll see how much you’ve learned,” he said, as he led her by her bound wrists to the front of the studio. “Maybe I’ll change my mind.”

Darla stood under the lights, frustration gnawing at her, as Kon moved the piano bench behind the backdrop and returned carrying a...

Corinthian column? Darla knew her columns, and this one was definitely Corinthian, with a stacked base, fluted shaft and an elaborate top decorated with flowers, leaves and scrolls. It looked like weathered white marble, but Kon had little trouble carrying it. Obviously it was a lightweight prop, though the base appeared to be weighted for stability.

At that moment Kon presented the very image of a Roman god—naked masculine perfection, with curly dark hair and the strength of a legion. He centered the column on the paper backdrop in the glare of the studio lights, then circled it, considering. Darla knew better than to ask what he was planning, but she found out soon enough when he positioned her with her back to the column. He selected a long piece of rope from the coil sitting on the ladder. He pulled her arms behind the column, tying first one wrist, then the other, and connecting them by a short length of rope.

There was no slack in her bonds, no wiggle room. Her shoulders were pulled back, causing her breasts to jut forward. With every breath, they trembled. With every breath, she felt the constriction of the ropes—including the invisible one that seemed to tug at her clitoris. He secured another length of rope firmly around her waist, winding it several times before knotting it behind the column, which felt like sandpaper against her sore bottom.

Kon eyed her up and down. She pressed her thighs together, maddened by her pumping need and the trickle of moisture that escaped her. He ran his fingers over her scalp, loosening her hair and arranging it around her shoulders. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

“No.” She swallowed hard. “Maybe a little.”

Her prominent breasts drew his gaze, and his hands. Her breath escaped in a shuddering sigh as he lifted and stroked them, his thumbs grazing the sensitized tips. A wry smile crinkled the corners of his eyes as he strode away. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He was back within moments, empty-handed—or so she thought until he opened a fist. Earrings. The long, dangly kind they called “shoulder dusters”. She frowned. He wanted her to wear jewelry?

He held one up for Darla to see. Several strings of glass and brass beads hung from an inch-wide hammered brass disk backed by a spring clip—something like this was too heavy to wear pierced. He gave the earring a little shake; the beads shimmied and clacked against one another.

“Not my style,” she said.

“They are now.” He captured her right nipple and teased it into an even sharper point.