(for d)

 

She stands at the door, wavering between knocking and running away. She glances one last time at the crumpled note in her hand:

 

If you are ready, I will be waiting

 

That’s it; no specifics, no signature, just the one sentence. She takes a deep breath, puts the note back in her coat pocket, and knocks.

 

The door opens as soon as her knuckles leave the wood. He smiles as he beckons her into the house, only one word audible to her: excellent. No other words are spoken as she follows him down the hallway; she can hear music playing though she cannot readily identify the piece.

 

Near the end of the hallway they enter a small bedroom. Without prompting, she immediately disrobes, folds her few items of clothing and places them neatly in the wardrobe. As she stands before him, shivering, she asks herself what she’s managed to get herself into this time. Immediately she knows the answer: a test of sorts, as always.

 

But am I ready?

 

She doesn’t notice she’s asked the question out loud until he responds: if you were not ready, you would not be here. As obvious as the statement is, it relaxes her to hear it. He turns from her and leaves the room. She follows, curious though no longer apprehensive.

 

He leads her into a room at the bottom of a small flight of stairs. She sees two people in the room other than herself and her Master, another man and woman. The woman comes towards them, smiling and expectant.

 

She looks at him questioningly and he nods. She drops to her knees in front of the woman, hands behind her head, eyes lowered. It's all she can do to not look at the woman as she walks around her, evaluating her.

 

The woman tilts her chin up and looks directly into her eyes and asks if she is prepared to begin. As nervous as she is, she answers the woman in a surprisingly clear voice: yes ma’am, and is rewarded by the delectable pinch of nipple clamps being applied and adjusted.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her Master walk away and settle into his favourite chair. Tonight the chair is in a corner, which allows him to see everything taking place before him, a tableau of sorts. He increases the volume of the music just a touch, enough that she finally recognizes the piece, though the title still eludes her.

 

Her hands are abruptly pulled from her neck, pulled above her so as to force her to stand on her very tiptoes. She sees the woman still in front of her, and knows the person pulling her to her feet must be the other man she saw earlier. He continues to pull her up until he is satisfied she is as elongated as possible, then binds her wrists and places them over the hook descending from the ceiling.            

 

That simple binding of her wrists is the only physical restraint in place as the man and woman take turns testing her body, testing her physical limits. She knows she cannot avoid the blows, just as she cannot identify who is using which implement, who is causing which delightfully diabolical sensation . . . she’s closed her eyes, nearly lost herself in what is being done to her when everything ceases but the music still playing in the background.

 

The man and woman converse with her Master just out of earshot, and she wiggles impatiently, selfishly wanting their attention turned back to her – that is, after all, what she is here for, is it not? A moment later her wish is their command as the man and woman return to her and talk with each other as they inspect her, ignoring her mind completely in the process. The man removes her nipple clamps and cruelly twists each nipple, savouring the quick intake of breath she produces before he tightens the clamps and re-applies them.

 

She barely adjusts to the intensified feeling in her breasts before she feels her legs being forced apart as far as possible with her hands still attached to the hook above, smaller fingers telling her the woman is stretching her, fingering her, testing her. Without thinking, she pushes against the woman’s hand only to find herself pushing against air as the woman straightens to release her from the hook.

 

The release from the hook is only a momentary respite as the stretching of her arms is replaced by the stretching of her legs as a spreader bar is moved into place. Her arms are re-tied even more tightly behind her back as she is now bent over at the waist, mere physical restraints nothing compared to the psychological ones that keep her in her bondage.

 

The woman and the man again take turns probing her, tantalizing her, beating her at their whim. She accepts their attention on their terms, craves it, and yet still jumps within her bonds as she feels her ass being lubed and a toy inserted. Two sharp slaps, one to her cunt and another across her breasts, serve as reprimand and she is again still but for the cursedly familiar music.

 

Still, that is, until the woman moves in front of her and pulls her to her pussy. She strains against the physical and mental restraints to reach the woman, and the woman laughs – not unkindly – at her predicament: in order to lick the woman, tongue the woman’s pussy she must lean far enough forward that those behind her can even more easily see, access, enjoy her ass and slit.

 

She hesitates for the merest of moments and finds herself pushed forward the man’s cock enters her cunt, the momentum giving her perfect access to the woman. Her tongue caresses the woman, teasing her. Without conscious thought, a rhythm is established: as she is being fucked by the man, she tongue-fucks the woman, all of them building towards orgasm. She can feel him stiffen slightly as he cums first, and she stops fucking the woman to concentrate on her clit and is rewarded as the woman grasps her head and shudders as she cums as well.

 

When the woman and man recover enough to move, they do, leaving her frustrated, at the brink of orgasm and yet not unsatisfied. As they walk over to her Master, one of them slaps her ass affectionately and she hears the woman tell him how much they enjoyed using his toy. The man agrees, and adds that he found the choice of music especially appropriate just as she finally, finally recalls the name of the piece herself: Pictures at an Exhibition.