Chapter 2 Edward

• Edward’s P.O.V.
• I stand in the shower and the warm water cascades down my body. As my submissive lavishes me with an amazing blowjob, my moans of pleasure fill the air. I don’t recall her name, since it doesn’t matter, because she is nothing more than a slave to me, whose job it is to obey me no matter what.
• She is on her knees in front of me, her wrists bound with ankles behind her back. I take pleasure in contorting her body into uncomfortable positions.
• I push her away from me once she has satisfied me. I wash myself, shut off the shower, and then I stoop to free her limbs.
• She rises to her feet and rushes to the closet to retrieve my bathrobe. She comes up behind me and slips the bathrobe on me.
• I like how she follows every rule I make, but I’ve had enough of her now as she’s been my slave for two weeks. I can’t tolerate seeing the same girl’s face for over a week, thus I often change my submissive.
• They’re my maids, my slaves, my property, and I have the authority to do whatever I want with them. I don’t compel them; they surrender to me with pleasure. They yearn to be ruled by me or my brother, Sid.
• “I’m tired of seeing your face every day, so you’re free to go.” As she ties the knot of my robe, I shove her aside.
• “I thoroughly enjoyed serving as your submissive, Master.” She bows before me, bringing a satisfactory smile to my face.
• “I’m going to get ready. When I return to my room, I expect you to have vanished. Got it?” My fingers run through my long, wet hair as I instruct her, and then I head to my dressing room.
• I slip into a black Armani suit and pull open the drawer. I don a watch, then use the dryer to dry my tresses before fastening them with a rubber band.
• “Long hair suits me.” I stroke my beard, basking in my glory.
• After getting ready, I return to my room. A maid has already entered the room with a glass of juice for me. She keeps her eyes down on the floor because nobody can make eye contact with the Wilson brothers in this mansion without their consent.
• I lift the glass and sip some juice, then place it back.
• There is a knock on the door.
• “Come in.” As I permit, the door opens and my assistant, Paul, enters my room, having his tab in his hand to inform me of my schedule.
• “Paul, cancel all the meetings for today because I’m busy.” I command, waggling my finger at him.
• Today I’m busy because I have to find a new slave for myself.
• I ask him to leave through my eyes as he opens his mouth to speak; he nods and walks away without uttering a word.
• “Sir, breakfast is ready.” The maid also leaves after saying this.
• I step out of my room and, on my way to the dining table, my gaze draws to a stunning work of art: a divine painting.
• As an avid collector of stunning artwork, I take pride in displaying my collection throughout my luxurious residence. However, the acquisition of this painting seems to have slipped my mind.
• “I want to meet the artist of this masterpiece.” I murmur as I become absorbed in the heavenly landscape painting.
• “Rosy…” I call the mansion’s eldest maid, shouting. She must know whoever brought this painting.
• A maid working there hears me and inquires, “Do you need anything, sir?”
• “Do you know who brought this painting?” I direct my finger at the painting.
• “A maid drew this painting.” My eyes widen after finding out this because I didn’t expect that the maid of this house would be the creator of this exquisite masterpiece.
• Who is she? I want to meet her.
• “Send that maid to my room right now.” I order her, and she immediately leaves after nodding.
• I admire the painting. I love it, and it gives me some solace.
• I skip breakfast and return to my room because meeting the artist of this painting is more important to me right now than having breakfast.
• I impatiently walk across my room, waiting for her.
• As I hear a soft knock on the door, I instantly look at the door and permit, “Come in.”
• A girl walks into the room, nervously playing with her fingers. She is hot, and she is perfect to be my next slave.
• Is she an artist?
• “Did you make that painting which I saw downstairs?” I question her.
• “Yes, sir.” She timidly answers.
• “What’s your name?” My brows crease with scepticism.
• “Mi-Mia.” She stutters, glueing her eyes to the floor.
• I approach her while scrutinizing each move she makes. She has shaky hands, and I can see beads of sweat forming on her forehead.
• Is she afraid?
• Why?
• Is she lying?
• Isn’t she the artist?
• I need to figure things out, and I know precisely how to do it.
• If she is lying, no one can save her today, because I hate the fucking people who lie.
• I go to my study room and return with a file and a pencil in a jiffy.
• “Sit down.” I order her, pointing at the bed.
• She takes small and timid steps towards the bed, sits on its edge, and fumbles with the hem of her maid uniform while keeping her eyes on the floor.
• “Sketch me.” I handover the file and pencil to her.
• She opens the file and trembles as she clutches the pencil. I walk up to my high-backed chair and take a seat, my gaze fixed on her.
• She is nervously tapping her foot instead of drawing. Now I’m sure she’s lying; she’s not the artist.
• How dare she lie to me?
• My brows furrow in fury.
• “I asked you to do something. Are you deaf?” As I thunder, clenching the arms of the chair, she flinches in fright, and the pencil from her hand drops on the floor.
• “Pick up the pencil and draw.” I command in a grim tone, glaring at her.
• I won’t stop until she spits out the truth from her own fucking mouth.
• “I can’t sketch. I’m sorry, sir.” She stands up and apologises.
• “Why can’t you sketch me if you can draw that magnificent painting?” I march up to her and ask, coming extremely close to her.
• “Be-because.” Her lips quiver in fright.
• “Because you lied to me. You’re not the artist.” She raises her eyes at me in shock.
• “Move your eyes down.” As I yell, she immediately lowers her gaze and clenches the hem of her dress.
• “I’m sorry, sir.” She apologises again and tears stream down her cheeks, but it does not affect me. She erred, and now she must pay for it.
• “Bend down on the chair now.” I say in a commanding tone, pointing at the chair.
• “Sor-“
• “I said now.” As I growl, she winces and complies with my order right away.
• An evil smile spread across my face as I stand behind her.
• “Grasp the arms of the chair because I don’t want you to fall.” I order as I lift her dress to reveal her bare buttocks.
• “You have such a nice ass, and they’ll look more exquisite when they adorn with marks of my spanking.” As I erotically fondle her buttocks, an evil chuckle escapes my mouth.
• “Don’t you fucking know that I despise the people who lie to me?” As I give her buttocks a firm squeeze, she lets out a pleasurable moan and grips onto the arms of the chair.
• Smack!
• “I apologise, sir...” she screams and jerks as my hand lands on her buttocks.
• Smack! Smack!
• “I hate fucking liars.” I yell, striking her buttocks together and imprinting my fingers on them.
• Smack!
• Smack!
• I’m smacking her so hard that some hair comes off my pony and lands on my eyes. I just want to make sure that she will think twice about lying to me in the future.
• “I’m sorry, sir.” She begs for forgiveness all the time, whining while I give her firm spanks, venting my anger.
• I pull my hair away from my eyes, and as I see my artwork on her ass, my lips curve into a mischievous grin.
• “Now tell me where I can find the artist of that painting.” I grab a fistful of her hair and pull her head back, snarling, “This time, I fucking want the truth.”
• “She is in the quarter five, sir.” She answers, and I leave her hair.
• “Now get the fuck out of my room right now.” I command, and she immediately stands straight and sprints out of the room.
• It’s time to confront the artist of that captivating artwork and punish her for lying to me. But why the fuck did she lie to me?