19 - Drawn to the Neighbor #3
Rick looked at me admiringly. Then he came toward me slowly and circled me.
He was an artist, surveying his object. He was a man inspecting his plaything.
I felt like a doll as he twirled me around and looked at every part of me.
His hands were firm, controlling, but they were not rough.
His fingers were thick and long. They pressed into my skin deeply.
Heat crackled through my body as he touched me, and I thought I might faint.
He caressed my arms and the sides of my waist, as well as my neck.
The fine hairs on the nape of my neck rose dramatically, through a mix of fear and anticipation.
My eyes closed as he came in closer. His breath washed against my throat.
His hand moved around my back, following the trail of my spine.
I was rigid with tension. I felt as though I could snap in two at any moment, when there suddenly was the sound of something breaking.
I gasped, thinking for an instant that he had shattered my soul.
Then I realized he had deftly unclasped my bra.
It fell away and joined my dress. My breasts poured out.
A murmur of approval drifted from his mouth. I looked up at him. He was so tall. His hands were on my bare back. My nipples pointed out, erect and hard. He reached out and touched them as though they were his to touch.
I knew, in that moment, that they were.
He stepped back, and I hated the way he took his fingers with him. A small, squealing moan burst out from me, as all I wanted was to be touched by him some more.
“Take off your panties,” he said.
I ran my hands down my body. I wasn’t sure what came over me, but I knew I wanted to put on a show for him. My palms swelled over the rise of my breasts, pert, full, and feminine. My stomach flattened, and my hands found the line of my panties. I began to fold them down.
“Slowly,” he said.
I dipped my head but raised my eyes, making sure to keep my gaze level with his. I wanted to see his reaction.
He was such a disciplined man that he did not show much of a reaction, but it was enough to see his jaw clench and his eyes tighten.
I pushed them down lower and lower before I pulled them around my ankles, and then I was naked. I drew myself back up to my full height and wore a mask of composure, even though I was crumbling inside.
“Get on your knees,” he said.
I sank to the floor, slowly again, just as he’d asked.
I placed my hands on my thighs and wore a sweet smile.
I thought this was the moment when he was going to start using me, when I was going to feel the intense sweeping heat of pleasure again.
Instead, he returned to his seat and picked up the pad.
He drew quickly, his gaze flicking up and enjoying me.
I told myself I would pose for as long as he wanted.
I pressed my breasts together. I cavorted for him and swooned for him, and I felt this freedom that I had never experienced before. It was as though giving myself to him had unlocked something inside me, as though becoming this object for him had offered me liberty.
Eventually, he brushed away the flecks of graphite that stained the page and asked if I was ready to see.
He turned the pictures that he had drawn.
There were some that were closeups of my face, while others displayed my whole body.
It was a thrill seeing myself through his eyes.
I had never seen myself this way before, and I was certain that I had never been more beautiful.
Then he got to the two pictures that he had just drawn, the special ones.
He showed me the first one. He captured the contours of my body perfectly, and the way the hair fell across my shoulders.
He also managed to capture the innocent, na?ve look in my eyes, the look of a girl who wanted so much but was not sure how to get it.
It was more profound than gazing into my reflection.
His artistic ability had captured something about my soul, something that was not obvious at first glance.
I followed the trace of his pencil lines, his hands having given life to these markings that had become me.
I followed them along down past my breasts to the narrowing of my waist, before my hips swelled and the dark etchings between my legs displayed my femininity.
It was all there, the essence of me that he had captured for himself and would have forever.
Then he showed me the other drawing, the one that was more fanciful.
As he revealed it, my eyes widened. I was on the floor, on my knees, just as I had been in reality.
But in the drawing, my hands were bound together.
My mouth was gagged. My body strained against the restraints, my bust heaving.
My breasts were lined with sharp, stark marks that were raw.
The innocence had been pushed from my eyes, and now there was only pain and pleasure, and something else, something that I didn’t quite recognize, but if I had to give it a name, then I would have called it bliss.
Never in my wildest imagination would I have thought of myself in this position, but Rick had.
Never would I have thought I was capable of something like this, but Rick did.
I started to believe that this was what I was meant for.
“Shall we turn this drawing into a reality?” he asked. It was spoken in the form of a question, but I knew I had no choice. I was going to be this person.
I nodded.
He took my hand and led me into the bedroom.
It felt as though I was being led into the depths of his soul.
As we walked, he began to explain to me his desires, how pain was linked to pleasure, and how he needed someone who enjoyed taking everything he could give.
He asked me if I thought I could be that person, and I found myself nodding.
He led me to the bed and told me to kneel down. The mattress was soft.
He continued talking as he opened drawers and pulled out erotic paraphernalia.
His dulcet tone was soothing as he took my hands and tied them together, the rope biting into my flesh.
He then took a gag and wrapped it around my mouth, saying, if it was all too much for me, then I should just scream as loudly as I could and shake my head, and it would all stop.
He brought a whip out. Fear blazed in my eyes.
His wrist flicked quickly. The whip cracked through the air, and when it hit my flesh, there was a delayed reaction.
The intense pain lanced through me. Tears welled in my eyes, and the moan that poured through my mouth was inhuman.
I looked down and saw bright red welts streaked down my body, just like in the picture.
“Beautiful,” he said, and then he brought the whip up again. It cracked and spat, and my body trembled under the force of the blows. My breasts were soon covered, and he grew even more intense. The air was thick with tension, and I could see him being overcome with some animalistic desire.
He soon threw the whip away and began spanking me with his open palm.
He grew more and more intense. I whimpered and moaned, but I could do nothing to avoid the blows that he was giving me.
I loved every second of them. The pain did something to set me free.
I’m not entirely sure what, but it was glorious, and I loved each mark that he left on my body, as though each one was a warning to another man that I was already taken.