" He smiled and pulled the sign off. It blocked his view. Bending down he turned the dial on the cord that was lying between her legsand turned it on to low. She flinched but didn't utter a sound. He tapped theend of the butt plug, he heard a quiet gasp but she held her pose. He stood back and noticed there was a beer waiting for him beside his favouritechair, the mug still frosted. "Oh baby." He growled. He picked it up and gulped half of it down then surveyedthe room to see what else she had prepared for him. Candles were placed incorners and on top of the stereo stand; Tubular Bells was playing in the background.On his coffee table he saw his crop, and a couple of her vibrators. Taking the crop in his hand he tapped the keeper into his palm. Now? Or later? Now! The crop landed on her ivory white ass cheek, leaving a perfect red negativeof the keeper. She flinched a little harder but didn't utter a sound. "Good girl" he crooned and then did the same to the other cheek. She heldher. Some days now, her creator, whose name she now knew to be Pygmalion, would spend all day and all night caressing her flesh, and she knew it to be flesh, looking for a single imperfection, making only a single strike with one of his finest tools to shave off a single protrusion or deepen a single curve. During this time, Galatea yearned, aching for the strike that would free her from some irritation she didn't even know she had.Then, for three days, he touched her, running his hands over her surface, his eyes closed most of the time, touching spots with his lips where his fingers were not sensitive enough to know right from wrong. In those three days, he did not find a single spot to strike. Galatea was perfected. Galatea was perfection. During these three days, Galatea knew her own glory fully, feeling it reflected in Pygmalion's mind.In those last three days, Pygmalion did not eat and drank only small sips of water. Galatea knew fear, then, worrying that he was giving her all of his.
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