PORTRAIT OF BITTERSWEET
Published by Severin Rossetti at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Severin Rossetti
Smashword Edition, Licence Notes
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It was an invitation, a command, it might have been spoken softly but it was not to be denied: 'Come to me.'
The gallery had been in silence, a gloom had settled on it as evening fell and people left....the paying visitors, the tourists, even many of the staff. Only one person remained, standing before the painting which held him transfixed, a portrait of a dark-haired green-eyed young woman. She was sleeping, a mattress of leaves beneath her, but it somehow seemed to the man who gazed on adoringly that she was peering slyly at him from behind closed eyes, that she was aware of his presence and was about to part her lips in the slightest of smiles. Beguiled as ever, he reached out to touch the painting. It was the way he always greeted her, but this time he felt the hard glass which covered the canvas shiver and ripple, saw her smile wrap around his fingers and then lap at them as she drew them in. Her mouth was warm, her tongue slick and wet, his body shivered as the screen did and flashing pixels danced before his eyes, his whole world blurred and his being dissolved as he focussed on the enticing face which asked him to come to her.
'Come to me…. come for me,' he heard her say, her voice echoing about the deserted gallery.
It was an unfamiliar landscape which he found himself in, a brooding sky tinged sulphurous at the edges casting the forest around him into gloom. Still he made his way without hesitation, though, not questioning where he was or wondering how he came to be there; despite the lateness of the hour and the darkness of the night he strode purposefully and unerringly towards his destination, a lightness in his step and an optimism in his heart.
She had summoned him and he could not deny her.
There was no moon, though occasionally a scudding cloud might give a hint of one behind, and it took his eyes some time to accustom themselves to the gloom. As they did he was able to make out individual trees among the grey mass of the forest, a path of sorts winding its way between them, though very faint, as though not many people passed this way. And then, as he sensed the land begin to rise, he was aware of a darker bulk ahead, beyond the forest
The building which towered above him, as he exited from the forest, would have been a castle in some cultures, a palace in others, a chateau or an alcazar. However it might have been described, it was alien to his world, grim and foreboding, the windows were like the eyes of a blind person and the crenellations along the roof suggested that once a man was inside then he might relinquish any hope of ever leaving.
But still he approached, mounted the final rise where forest floor gave way to clipped lawn, followed the gravel drive which was flanked by unidentifiable topiary creatures until he reached a broad flight of stone steps. Climbing these, facing the vast wooden doors which were three times his height, he rapped the heavy brass knocker without any hesitation, heard the sound echo inside as he took a pace back to wait a minute, two. Then he heard footsteps, a slow and delicate dance, steel striking against stone.
And the door swung open.
It was not the woman from the painting who greeted him, and for a moment he hesitated. This woman was taller than he had imagined, fuller in the body, darker in complexion but lighter about the hair. There was no hint of the smile which he associated with the sleeping figure, no expression in her eyes nor inflection in her voice as she said, 'My Mistress Bittersweet is expecting you.'
At that she turned slowly on her heels, offering her back to him, assuming that he would follow.
Which he did, despite his confusion, following in the wake of her perfume, drawn by the rustling of her skirts of dark silk. She made a sound like a forest, where the forest had made none.
Along a brief vestibule, and opening two more doors, she led him into a vast hall. The floor was of chequered marble, diamond tiles of black and white, the walls of a matt grey stone which rose some thirty feet above his head. There were no furnishings, no carpets or rugs, no decorations about the wall but for the slender fluted columns whose bas relief made the space seem even higher than it was. The hall should have been a cold place but immediately he was aware of an exotic warmth, a warmth which had both fragrance and heat and seemed to caress his every sense. His cheeks blushed, his brow burned, the soft breeze as he moved felt like fingers running down his face.
A broad staircase ahead rose some dozen steps before forking to the left and right, and he followed the woman in a gentle arc, his gaze fixed on her skirts some steps above him, entranced by the movement of her body beneath them. And as gentle as was the curve they followed to the right, slowly turning back on itself, it seemed as though he was caught in the tightest of corkscrews and was being made dizzy by the sensation.
Grateful to pause at the top of the stairs at last, he then saw the woman point a tapered finger, tipped by a polished nail, marking out one of the many corridors which branched off from the balcony.
'Mistress is beyond that first door. She is waiting for you. Go to her.'
He watched the young woman then descend the staircase, wondered at the manner in which she had named this person Bittersweet as Mistress. Pausing a moment, he shook his head and smiled wryly, then went along the corridor to approach the door to which he had been directed.
When he entered the room the first thing Bittersweet said was, 'Strip!'
'Just like that?' he laughed.
Idly Bittersweet picked up a lash from the table beside her, let its supple leather strands dangle in front of his face. In her portrait she had seemed a little like a pixie, small and delicate and enticing, and though she was still as slender as he had imagined he now saw her as a much darker creature.
'Yes! Just like that!' she said, her voice menacing, and the hint of a threat sent a brief thrill of excitement rushing through him. 'Take off everything and then get on your knees before me!'
He removed his shoes and socks, thinking to play along with her for a while, removed his shirt and trousers and stood before her wearing only his shorts.
'Get those fucking things off too!' said Bittersweet, striking him across the thigh with the lash. 'I want you naked! And on your knees!'
His thigh stinging, his hands now trembling a little, quickly he stepped out of his shorts and fell to his knees before her.
Bittersweet walked slowly around him, moved behind him, slapped him hard across the cheek when he tried to turn his head to follow her. Her skirts were long like those of the young woman who had greeted him, layers of dark silk and lace, and they brushed against his bare flesh. Then he felt a firmer touch, her boot against his back, the sharp heel digging between his buttocks so that he clenched them tightly, fearing that she might force the heel in deeper. As the foot was withdrawn so the lash struck across him, first one way then the other, the blows beginning across his thighs, then climbing up his back.
He could not understand why he was permitting this to happen, the leather stung him and he should have resisted, fought back, run. He had inches in height and pounds in weight over this slender woman. But just as he had accepted the strange world he found himself in, so he accepted the punishment which came; there was something about Bittersweet which held him, he simply lowered his head and suffered the blows.
Then Bittersweet stopped, let the lash hang limp across his shoulders, and walked around him, stood before him once more. All he could see were her boots, the soles heavy, the heels so high that she seemed to teeter before him.
Or maybe his senses were already becoming dizzy.
'Lick them!' she ordered him, and lifted one foot a little from the floor so he could take the heel into his mouth.
He licked around it, closed his lips over it, began to suck it like a woman might suck a cock and felt himself becoming harder. Bittersweet laughed to see him humbling himself like this, and he knew at that moment that she could ask him to do worse things, ask him to do anything, and he would comply. He heard the rustle of silk, but didn't dare look up at Bittersweet. Then her dress fell in a dark pool about her feet, she was wearing nothing more than her boots now, and black silk stockings which stopped midway up her thighs.
Bittersweet's legs parted wide, he could smell her cunt, he trembled and said, 'Please-'
The lash struck hard across his shoulder, scored his back, then Bittersweet's fingers clenched in his hair, sharp nails scraping his scalp as she lifted his head. Slowly, tantalisingly, she rubbed his face back and forth across her body, her hips swaying against him.
'Now eat me!' she said, tugging his face into her, ramming her body against him. 'Lick me hard and make it good!'
His tongue washed between Bittersweet's legs, then sank inside as his lips kissed hers. She was hot, she was wet, he wanted to eat her until he was devoured by her cunt, until he was drowned by her juices. His cock ached, his balls were so tight that they felt they might explode, and he could not understand why he hadn't yet come.
He had never felt so aroused in all his life.
Finally Bittersweet pushed him away from her, sat in a chair facing him, her body looking as pale as a spectre's against the darkness of her stockings, against the polished black leather of her boots. She crossed her legs and the toe of one boot came up to nudge his balls, lifting them, then pressing. Her bare breasts were firm, her nipples pink and swollen, and his cock throbbed against her foot.
'Well, slave -and you are now my slave- you know that, don't you?
He nodded. 'Yes Mistress.'
'You did quite well,' Bittersweet smiled. "I suppose you deserve some reward."
She removed her foot and his cock stood out stiff and erect before her. He wanted to bury it in her cunt, in her mouth, wanted to come inside her.
But it wasn't to be.
'A little closer, on your knees before me and then wank,' Bittersweet said.
'Mistress-?' he responded, with obvious disappointment as he shuffled nearer.
'Do it! Wank!' she ordered, leaning forward to slap him hard across the face. 'Make yourself come in front of your Mistress!'
And as he began to stroke himself Bittersweet started to laugh. 'You certainly didn't expect me to do it for you, did you? Oh no, slave! Not this time! Maybe never!'