1. Other Colors -- Ch.16


    Date: 12/23/2014, Categories: BDSM, Author: mascodagama, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories

    you didn’t lock up today?” “It is,” he cocked his head at me wolfishly, “Do you see something you can’t live without?” I bit down on my lip. I played his game. “There was a white palette. Porcelain,” I fumbled. “It’s not mine. I’m um… I’m only borrowing it.” He narrowed his eyes incredulously, and withdrew it from the crate. I sighed, relieved to see it unchipped, and not shattered. I had no idea whether Madame would ever want it back or not, but I sensed it might be nice to retain at least one small object from my life pre-Lacoste; a sort of talisman to protect my sanity. I ran my finger over its smooth concavities, and gazed longingly to my threadbare pajamas. He bent closer, lifting my chin. “Is there something else on your mind, Miss Foster?” I blushed, “It’s just… my flannels.” He snatched them out, and held them up. They were a pitiful sight, really. After some ten thousand washes, the fabric was so pilled and thin it was almost translucent. “These?” I clenched my jaw, and nodded. “I might have mentioned, Penny,” his eyes were strict and cool, “so long as you’re here, you’re to wear what you’re given. Was I not clear?” I shook my head, and my eyes fell to the floor. “So why don’t you tell me,” he creased the top and bottom neatly, and draped them over the palette, “why precisely I should allow you to have these,” he leaned forward, eyes flashing. “One good reason, and they’re all yours.” My eyes brightened. It was pitiful, really, that I should feel so elated, so ...
    grateful to him, at the mere possibility of being allowed what was mine. In that very moment, I could comprehend the absurdity. But I just couldn’t help myself. I wanted those damn pajamas so badly. I did not, however, have any real wish to tell him why. I took a slow breath, “They’re warm.” “So is your room,” he shrugged. “You have a fireplace. Heated floors. A steam shower. Your own thermostat. You can turn the place into the Eighth Bolgia, if you like.” My brows arched. I’d only really been aware of about half of my heating accoutrement. But then, that wasn’t the real reason for my entreaty. I tried once more, and as much as it stung me, I was honest. “I, um... I've had them,” I swallowed, “for a really, really long time.” He rubbed the stubble along his jawline, but said nothing. A bit to my chagrin, I could see I’d piqued his interest. “My dad gave me those for Christmas,” I nodded, and my nostrils flared. “I was in sixth grade. Maybe seventh.” “Your Father…” he echoed darkly. I grimaced. I knew what he what he was after, even if he didn't quite. Honestly, I doubt he really cared in the least what I wore to bed at night. The essence of his pleasure was embedded in undressing me; of making me naked—inside and out. Exposing my body to him was, in a sense, simple enough. But exposing my mind to him; my memories, and my emotions…that was another something entirely. And given a choice between the two, I’ve little doubt that he would almost always prefer the latter. I shivered, and ...
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