Page 50 of Make Me Scream

“It means I’m pretty tired. I’ll get out of your way.”

“No, it’s okay,” Martin says. “You can turn around now.”

He’s put on his clothes while Joel turned the canvas to the wall. I had no idea Martin was so shy.

“Come on,” Joel says. “Tell us about it.”

Martin makes us mint tea while I tell them both as much as I can. For Joel’s sake, I leave out the bit about Mundell threatening my scholarship. For Lane’s, I obviously don’t mention that he’s Alistair Rat. I do tell them that he drew several sketches of me in some compromising positions.

“Oh I’d love to see them,” Joel says. “I’ve seen some of his work at school. He’s really good.”

The thought of having people see those drawings makes me squirm. It would be kinda hot… but maybe too much exposure for the time being. If anywhere, they’d have to be shown in Galleria Carnale; they’d fit right in there.

Perhaps I should have had a talk with Lane about what will happen to his drawings. I trust him not to show them to anyone, but still. I should also be firm with him about my limits. If all the crazy shit we did today was just the beginning, who knows what he has planned next? I can think of a few things that are a hard no.

Another idea: I should establish a time frame for conceptualizing, planning and executing my first artwork as Lane’s protégé. Whether he means to or not, I won’t let him string me along. If Enmity Jane has to disappear until I’m done with school, I can’t accept just waiting around. A good project will take time to figure out, but I ought to be making progress soon — even if I am enjoying our “lessons” in the meantime.

As Joel, Martin and I talk, I try not to move around too much — the pressure from the rope between my legs never goes away, but staying still helps. The temptation to take it off grows the more I think about it, so I need to keep myself distracted.

Eventually, Joel makes it clear to me he’d like to finish his painting of Martin, so I excuse myself. Every step of the way to my room the rope rubs against me. By the time I get there, my pussy smolders, and all I can think about are Lane’s cock and his drawings.

Stripping down carefully, I lie down in bed and spread my arms out at my sides. I could use the rope to get myself off, but should I? Would Lane approve? If he asks me tomorrow, I don’t want to lie. But it’s all I can think of.

I know what to do.

If I’m going to be horny and fixated on Lane, I may as well be productive. Grabbing a pen and a blank journal, I let my mind go wild. If I want Lane to give me all the orgasms I can handle, instead of just one, why not give him a few fun ideas?

I throw on a pair of headphones, play some Olivia Rodrigo and get cracking. Like Lane, I don’t spend too long on any one sketch — I have a lot of ground to cover.

Lane kissing me and teasing my clit while I’m tied to a chair, arms and legs pulled wide, totally exposed…

Lane holding my leash as I crawl on all fours behind him…

Lane spanking me with a ruler as I’m bent over his knee…

Lane drilling me from behind while I attempt to draw…

My pussy quakes, soaking the tight rope within, but I don’t stop working until my hand tires. I’m far from out of ideas, though, and when the day’s exhaustion catches up with me at last, I dream some very pleasant dreams.

—

Joel gets me up twenty minutes earlier than usual in the morning.

“What the hell?” I mutter, cringing at my alarm clock.

“How late were you up last night?” he asks, opening my drawers and throwing me my clothes.

“Late. Let me go back to sleep, I’ll get up in a bit.”

“Gwen, are you going to want to get a bagel and coffee on the way to work?”

Fuck, that does sound really good.

“Yeah…”

“Do you want to have to sprint and eat, like last time?”

I’m still under the covers — Joel hasn’t seen the rope. If he had, he’d know running is not an option.

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