Eye of the Beholder (MF, rom, bdsm, semiotics)(5/10)

X.

That was about as far as I could get before I got too tired to 
continue, but the truth was, I was getting blocked again.  I wasn't 
sure what I was supposed to do with Elizabeth besides continuing to 
spank her.  The essential element continued to elude me.

I logged on just before I went to bed.  Danielle was there and paged me 
immediately.

"Anything new?"

"Yes.  I'm sending it to you now."

"Great!  I can't wait."

"I have to go to bed, though.  See you tomorrow night?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

She answered the door wearing jeans and a black spaghetti-strap T-
shirt.

"Hi.  Come on in.  I'm almost ready."

I followed her inside, seeing the rune on her shoulder again.

"I like that tattoo.  Is that Celtic?"

"Thanks, but no.  There's no such thing as Celtic runes.  It's Norse."

"Does it mean anything?"

"Yep.  Wanna guess?"

I pondered for a moment as she got a leather jacket out of her closet.  
Then I had a sudden idea.

"Slave?"

She grinned.

"Very good.  I'm impressed."

"Sort of a secret label?"

"Right."

"Is that your only tat?"

"No.  I have a couple others.  If you behave yourself, you might get to 
see them some day."

I tried to stifle the frisson of anticipation that ran through me, with 
limited success.

"What about piercings?  Any more of those?"

Another grin.

"Ditto.  You ready?"

"Yeah.  Let's go."

* * *

We returned to the Third Street Promenade, getting a table at a sports 
bar a few doors down from the diner we'd gone to last week.

"So," she said.  "You're really working over poor Elizabeth."

"I didn't think it was all that kinky, to be honest."

"Well, it's not.  It is pretty basic.  But what impressed me is that I 
think you have the attitude down.  I really like how you've gotten into 
her head."

"I have a good instructor."

She smiled.

"Do you?  You want to chain me up like Elizabeth?"

"Would you like that?"

"You know the answer to that.  Just don't get ahead of yourself."

"Okay.  What I was trying to do was pattern it a little after the 
'Sleeping Beauty' books.  I don't have a lot of experience writing from 
a feminine perspective."

"I think you're doing fine so far.  But you know what kind of bugged me 
about those books?"

"What?"

"I think Beauty submits far too easily.  I don't know if you noticed, 
but she's just a kid when the book starts.  Rice describes her as being 
fifteen when she's cursed to sleep until the prince finds her.  And 
when he carries her off, she just submits right away, more out of fear 
than anything.  I wish she had had more sense of self when it started, 
so she could have put forth more meaningful resistance.  So that when 
she does finally submit, it would be a lot more fulfilling."

Something began tickling at my mind as she spoke.

"You know, I think we're back to the issue of life imitating art.  You 
said yourself that BDSM fiction is about the fantasy, not how people 
would act in real life.  It's about submerging yourself in this dungeon 
mentality."

"That's true."

"It's almost as if she's more like a real person, someone like you, who 
gets off on the fantasy.  She submits because she enjoys what happens--
even though she doesn't realize this immediately--and not because she's 
someone like Elizabeth, who starts off not being kinky.  If you were a 
character in a story, how would you react to what happened to Beauty?"

She looked down, thinking for a moment.

"It's hard to say, because it just begs the question of what reality 
is.  I mean, I don't want to be kidnapped in real life, but you're 
essentially asking me whether I would enjoy being immersed in one of my 
biggest fantasies."

"So it's not so easy to say how 'realistic' any BDSM fiction is.  And 
you know what else occurs to me?"

"What?"

"You seem to place a lot of emphasis on resistance, yet you don't 
really resist when you act out this fantasy, do you?  You pretend to 
resist and imagine that you're being held against your will, but in 
reality you're going along willingly.  More than willingly, really.  I 
mean, if you look at us, you're the one who's directing traffic right 
now."

She smiled.

"Good point."

* * *

When the check came about an hour later, I prepared to get up and 
leave.

"You ready to go?"

"Do you mind if we stay and watch the rest of the game?"

The Lakers were playing the Rockets that night, and the game had 
started while we were eating.

"You're into basketball?"

"Sure.  I love sports."

"Want to go sit by the bar?"

We moved to a table under the big screen TV showing the game.  I 
ordered another round of beer.

"I don't know if I would have pegged you as a sports fan," I said.

"Why not?"

"You seem to have so many other all-consuming interests."

She grinned.

"Hey, that stuff can be hard work.  Got to stay in shape."

* * *

The Lakers lost on a Drexler lay-up at the buzzer, and we headed home.

"This is bad," she said in the parking lot.  "You should have told me 
you were a Rockets fan."

"I told you I used to live in Texas."

"I may have to break this off now."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, wrong answer.  You're supposed to say, 'You will learn the 
proper respect for my basketball team, girl.'"

I laughed, and she grinned at me again.

* * *

I took her home, and she stopped at her door.

"So what's my grade tonight?" I asked.

She smiled.

"You pass.  You may proceed to the next level."

"Okay.  Because I am serious about this.  I'd like to understand more 
about it.  And you."

"Well, you get an 'A' for effort.  I'm willing to work on it if you 
are."

"Good.  See you online?"

"Sure."

Her eyes twinkled a little, which I took as a green light, so I bent 
down and kissed her.  She let me.  When she opened her mouth, I could 
immediately feel the stud in her tongue.  I probed at it, trying to 
feel it.

She giggled, withdrawing.

"Feel weird?"

"It's going to take some getting used to."

"Okay.  Bye."

I drove home, thinking about our conversation that night.  When I got 
back, I knew what I wanted to do.

* * *

XI.

Elizabeth awoke on the floor of her cell.  How long had she been here?  
She had no sense of day or night down in this horrid dungeon.  The only 
means she had to gauge the passage of time were the visits of her 
tormentor.  He appeared, took her from her cell, and whipped her, all 
the while exhorting her to let go of her pride.  When she was exhausted 
and on the verge of collapse, he would stop and stroke between her legs 
until she erupted under his ministrations.  Each time, she would curse 
herself for her weakness in allowing him to violate her so.

No, she though to herself, that was a lie.  Bit by bit, she was 
submitting to him, though she tried to fight it.  When he chained her 
to the ceiling, she would surrender to him, going deep inside her mind 
to hide, telling herself that it was the only way.  But she had to 
admit something.  She was beginning to look forward to his visits.  All 
else was excruciating boredom, staring at the walls of her cell with 
nothing to divert her.

She realized she was touching herself as she thought of him and drew 
her hands away in embarrassment.  She sat up, leaning back against the 
wall behind her.  He had begun allowing her to bathe, leaving a bucket 
of water and a cloth while she was asleep.  She crawled over to the 
bucket he had left this time and wet the cloth.

Again she lost herself in thought, and came out of her reverie 
realizing she was rubbing the cloth against her sex.  She started, 
dropping to the cell floor in frustration and throwing the cloth 
angrily into the bucket.

How had she become so debased?  She had fallen so far from the haughty 
noblewoman she had once been.  Where was her father, and for that 
matter, the Duke?  Was no one looking for her?  Did no one care about 
her anymore?

She thought of the masked man and the way he looked at her.  It was 
never anger or lust she saw in his eyes.  What did he want from her?  
Clearly not her virginity--he could have taken that a dozen times over 
by now.  If only he would remove that mask.  If only she could have 
some inkling of what she was supposed to do.

Once again, she realized she was pleasuring herself as she thought of 
the man, and this time she did not stop.  She moved her fingers more 
deliberately as she thought of the last time she had seen him.

* * *

"Please, sir, I beg you!  Tell me what it is you want from me!  Only do 
not beat me again!"

He stared at her for a moment.

"No.  You are getting there, Elizabeth, but you are not there yet.  You 
must not submit merely because you fear the beatings.  You must let go 
of the last shreds of your pride.  You must be able to submit to me 
because you want to, even if what I want is to beat you again.  Think 
upon that."

And the beating had resumed.  Her buttocks were so swollen and sore now 
that they seemed perpetually rosy and tender.  It took but a few swats 
before she was aflame.  And of course, as the beating progressed, so 
did her arousal.  When he stopped, it took but a moment or two of 
pleasuring to have her thrashing in his grip, crying out against what 
he was doing to her.  Then he returned her to her cell and left.

* * *

She shuddered as she stroked rapidly between her legs, throwing her 
head back and gasping.  Her legs thrashed of their own accord as she 
felt the explosion within her.  Slowly then, she came back to reality, 
and opened her eyes.

He was there, and she started in surprise.  He had been watching her.

"What are you doing, Elizabeth?"

She gasped for breath, too mortified and frightened to answer him.

"Do you think me angry with you?"

She gasped again.

"Sir, I do not--I was not--"

"What you were doing is clear.  The question is why."

She whimpered.

"Answer me.  If I get an answer I like, you may be pleasantly 
surprised."

What did he mean?  What did he want her to say?  She closed her eyes, 
thinking of the things he had told her.  Perhaps the truth was best.  
But what was the truth?

"I could not help myself."

"Why not?"

"I do not know."

"Bollocks.  Do not lie to me."

She went inside herself again.  Let go of your pride.  Let go, he said 
so often.  The truth was there, but her pride was in the way.  She 
tried to shove it aside.

"I was thinking . . . of the things you have been doing to me . . . I . 
. . have begun to anticipate them . . . though I hate myself for it."

"And why is that?  What is there to hate?"

"I have become debased.  I am no longer pure . . . as I once was."

"What is purity but the pretensions of those who deny their human 
nature?"

"Are there not such things as goodness and decency?"

"What is good?  That which benefits mankind.  How is mankind harmed by 
what you have experienced?"

"I have been harmed."

"How so?"

"You beat me."

"And you are worse off for this?  Worse off for discovering a means of 
pleasure you knew not existed?"

She closed her eyes again.  His words made her head spin.

"Come.  Stand up."

She struggled to her feet, knowing by now not to resist him or plead 
for mercy.  He opened the gate to her cell, but instead of leading her 
to the torment area, he removed her collar and turned toward the 
stairs.

"Where are we going?"

"Upstairs."

She froze.  Now it was coming!  He would take her virginity at last!

"Sir--"

"Do not be afraid.  You have progressed enough to leave this place."

She followed him up the stairs.  When he reached the top, she suddenly 
remembered her state of nudity.  She had been nude for so long that it 
had begun to seem natural.

He noticed her agitation and smiled.

"Pride, Elizabeth.  Remember your pride."

She took a breath and tried to calm herself.  He opened the ironbound 
door and led her into the hallway.  It seemed to be nighttime, and no 
one was about.  She followed him to the main hall, and up a wide, 
ornate, stairway.  The marble of the floor was cold against her bare 
feet.  At the top of the stairs, he turned down the hallway, leading 
her to a broad set of double doors.

Inside was a sitting room, set out with plush couches and chairs.

"Kneel on that rug."

He pointed to the Turkish rug in the center of the furniture.  She 
followed his direction and dropped to her knees.

"No.  This is the proper position you must assume when kneeling.  Head 
down, eyes to the floor.  Do not raise your eyes unless so instructed.  
Spread your legs.  Your knees must be apart at all times.  Place your 
hands on your knees.  Now arch your back so that your breasts are 
thrust out."

She complied, feeling her face begin to burn in humiliation.

"Very good.  Remain here."

He passed through another set of double doors on the far wall.  She 
dared a glance through the door, seeing that beyond was his bedchamber.  
Her heart began to beat faster, and she prayed that he did not plan to 
rape her tonight.

And what if he did?  Would she resist him?  How far was she from 
surrendering that last piece of herself?

"Stand."

She almost looked up at him before remembering his instructions.  She 
stood, keeping her eyes on the floor.

"Clasp your hands behind your back.  That is the proper position when 
standing."

She did so.  He produced a leather collar, though this was softer and 
narrower than the rough restraint she had worn since arriving.  He 
strapped it around her neck.  Her cheeks burned, though she did not 
stop him.

He walked around behind her, and she felt him begin to brush her long 
blonde hair, pulling out the tangles.  His movements were slow and 
gentle, and she sighed at the unexpected tenderness.  He kept it up for 
long minutes before stopping.

"That is better.  You have very beautiful hair.  It was a shame to let 
it get so tangled."

He walked back in front of her, holding a long golden chain.  On each 
end, she saw a tiny golden clip.  He reached out, tweaking her nipples 
until they erected, and she realized what he meant to do.  But she did 
nothing.

He attached the clips to her nipples, letting the chain swing between 
her breasts.  Then he produced a tiny bell with another clip attached.  
This he affixed to the swollen bud between her legs.  She felt a tiny 
squirt of moisture inside herself as he did so, and blushed yet again.

"Come."

He took her arm and led her across the room to a long mirror.  The 
little bell tinkled as she walked.

"Look at yourself."

She forced her eyes upward, seeing herself for the first time in days 
(weeks?).  The sight almost made her gasp.  She saw the bell between 
her legs, the chain on her breasts.  Her arms were still behind her 
back, and as she turned slightly, she saw that her buttocks were still 
shiny and red.  

"What do you see?"

"I don't understand."

"What do you see?"

"Myself.  And you."

"Go on."

"Sir, I don't understand."

"Tell me what else you see."

"I see . . . that I am naked.  I see a golden chain hanging between my 
breasts.  I see a bell hanging from my . . . "

"Clitoris."

The word was unfamiliar to her.

"That is the anatomical term.  Continue."

"I don't know what else to say."

"Look beyond the surface.  What do you see?"

She tried.  Look into yourself, she thought he meant.

"I see . . . a woman who no longer knows who she is.  I see someone who 
wishes desperately to know what is desired of her."

"Good.  I will tell you what I desire of you, Elizabeth.  I want you to 
love me."

She gasped.

"Sir, I--I am betrothed, I--I know nothing of love.  Even if I were 
not, you cannot coerce such emotions from me.  I cannot force myself to 
love someone."

"Nor do I wish you to."

"Then what is it you want?"

"Think on what I have said.  That is all."

Her took her arm and led her into the bedchamber.  She lost a step in 
fear, and stumbled.

"Calm yourself, Elizabeth.  Your virginity is in no danger.  I merely 
wish you to sleep up here now.  Unless you would prefer to return to 
your cell."

"No, sir."

"Very well.  These will be your rooms for now."

She allowed herself to glance around the room, seeing a bedchamber even 
more luxurious than the one she had left behind in her father's castle.  
The bed was enormous, canopied in sheer veils.  A dressing table sat on 
the far side near a window, and more chairs and a couch sat opposite 
the bed.

He left her at the foot of the bed and reached under the canopy.  He 
drew out a long golden chain, slim like the one hanging from her 
breasts.  A tiny lock was on one end, and he attached it to her collar.  
Then he stepped back.

"Good night.  You may sleep or bathe or relax as you wish.  I will see 
you in the morning."

Before she could formulate a response, he turned and left the room.  
She watched him leave, passing through the outer doors.  He shut them 
behind him.  She heard the lock slap shut a moment later.