The cane came down across her ass again and this time the tears the artist had demanded followed, trailing down her cheeks until she was sobbing.
Hunter stroked her back as she cried. “Good, that's good,” he soothed in her ear. “Let everything out for me. Show me everything.”
Shannon cried until she thought she had no tears left inside her. Everything that Brian had taken from her. All her fears. All her sadness. All her loneliness. All her insecurities and uncertainty and longing for things she hadn't believed she could ever have again. It all came pouring out of her in wave after wave of cathartic misery.
She didn't even notice when the furniture was brought out. Shannon allowed Lindsay and Damian to place her in a kind of bondage chair. The chair had a lubed dildo which she was pressed down on until it was firmly seated inside her. Her legs were spread open and tied down and her arms were bound over her head by long rope attached to a ring that came down from the ceiling. She was still crying, unable to stop once she'd started, but Hunter, who now stood back observing all this, didn't seem to mind.
The artist sat down behind the easel and began to paint.
Shannon realized suddenly that the sex sounds that had been going on around her had stopped. When had they stopped? Had those people already left the party? It was pretty late. They'd been down here for hours. She'd lost track of the time.
When her arms had started to hurt and she'd whimpered and begged, Lindsay had stood behind her, allowing her arms to rest against him, taking the pressure and tension off.
There was no one downstairs in the dungeon now but her, Lindsay, Hunter, and his pet who had finally fallen asleep on the pull-out sofa. Damian wasn't downstairs. Was he playing the polite host and seeing the other guests off?
Hunter cleaned up his art supplies and took them upstairs. While he was gone, Damian returned with a T-shirt and sweatpants and sat on the edge of the pull-out sofa. He stroked the woman's hair.
“Saskia, wake up,” he said gently.
“Damian?” she said. She struggled to sit, sounding sleepy and disoriented. The sheet dropped, uncovering her breasts, but she didn't seem to notice or care. “Where is he?” she said, her gaze darting around the room for Hunter.
“He's just packing things up. He'll be back for you in a few minutes. Why don't you put this on? It'll be more comfortable for the drive.” Damian indicated the T-shirt and sweatpants he'd laid next to her.
“Okay.”
He patted her hip, got up, and went to stand beside Lindsay. The two men worked to untie Shannon's arms. Once they'd freed her from the ropes, each of the men rubbed one of her wrists.
She let out a sigh, the soreness hitting her all at once. And the tiredness as well. She didn't look forward to the long drive back to the house. It must be only a couple of hours until dawn.
They untied her legs and ordered her not to move. The dildo was still inside her, and she was so exhausted but also so aroused. She'd spent hours bound and exposed and penetrated with no hope of completion while Hunter had looked right into her and painted whatever it was he found inside. But she knew she wouldn't be satisfied tonight. It was so late, and everyone was so tired.
Lindsay and Damian stood behind the canvas and stared at what Hunter had painted. Shannon watched Saskia get out of the bed, unconcerned with her nudity. As she put the T-shirt on, she moved in such a way that one of the overhead spotlights hit her right hip, illuminating a brand. The letter Q.
Shannon couldn't begin to guess at what the Q on her hip meant, but she'd been marked much like the people at the art show had. Had Hunter branded her, too?
The artist returned then with a couple of large black bags. He unpacked camera equipment and set up some lighting around the painting. Lindsay and Damian backed out of the way so he could get several shots of the work. Then he packed everything back up.
“I'll wire you the money tomorrow morning,” Lindsay said.
“Normally I don't leave the work without the money, but I know you're good for it,” Hunter said. “Don't touch or move it for a couple of weeks until it's totally dry. I can apply a varnish when it's fully cured in about a year if you'd like, just let me know. I'll leave the easel and pick it up later.”
Hunter turned his attention back to Shannon and crossed the room to her. He stroked her cheek and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Some of my best work, I think.” he said as if he'd created her instead of a painting of her.
He turned back to Saskia, “You ready, pet?”
Saskia nodded. She looked at the canvas everyone but Shannon had seen and gave Shannon a small smile, then she took Hunter's free hand and the two of them left the dungeon.
When they were gone, Lindsay and Damian helped her out of the bondage chair. Damian brought the quilted blanket from the pull-out sofa to her and wrapped her up in it.
“Are we going now, Master?” Shannon asked.
Lindsay watched her and slowly shook his head. “I'm going. You're staying here tonight.”
She turned to Damian. “But why?”
“It's late,” Damian said. “You're tired.”
Lindsay pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “Be a good girl, and I'll see you soon.”
“Are you safe to drive?” she asked.
Lindsay laughed. “I'm wide awake. I'll be fine. I'll text Damian when I get home.”
“Okay.” She wanted to argue about this arrangement, but she didn't want to displease Lindsay. She didn't want to make a dramatic scene. And she was exhausted. Not having to be in a car for so long before finally getting into bed was too good of a prospect to fight.”
Damian walked Lindsay up the stairs where they shared a private conversation in low tones.
It was strange being alone down in the dungeon when so many people had been in this space such a short while ago. Shannon crossed the room to see what was on the canvas. When she saw the painting, her breath caught in her throat.
Hunter had somehow captured every secret Shannon held within her, now naked and exposed on the canvas for anyone who happened to walk by. She couldn't even be bothered by the lewd kinky pose. All she could look at was the painted reflection of her own eyes. And suddenly she understood exactly why Lindsay had let this man do these things and take control of her. It had been worth it to him to get Shannon painted this way.
For her part, she felt like she'd been broken apart and put back together again, somehow less broken than she'd been for a very long time—because what she saw when she looked at that painting was someone who was beautiful in a tragic way, just like Hunter had said. For the first time she could see what others saw when they looked at her, and it wasn't something ugly and scarred.
Her gaze drifted to the bottom right hand corner of the painting. The artist had signed it with a Q.
69
It was eleven a.m. when Damian cracked the eggs into a bowl in the large kitchen to make breakfast for them. Maybe it was brunch. He'd been up since nine, cleaning up after his party guests and trying to bring his home back to the sleek sense of order he was used to.
Bach played over the sound system as he prepared bacon and omelets and poured juice into glasses. He couldn't believe Shannon was actually in his house. He'd been obsessed with the idea of having her for weeks now.