In Chains Read online

  “I struggle with it,” I admit.

  “But it’s worth it.”

  “Billy, I’ve never done anything like this. No one knows except…” I think of Holly, but how do I explain her?”

  “Except who?”

  “A woman at school, a submissive. She calls herself a sex slave to her owner.”

  He nods.

  “That takes time,” he says. “I need to love you first, and you me. We can’t do this without being sure of each other.” He reaches to my face, pressing a gentle hand on my cheek, and I know that I’ll do anything he asks. This is not like it was with Holly. He’s so beguiling, I’m oozing into him without fear, sucked inside Billy Fitzgerald as though I already belong to him. We’ve only known each other two days. He teases me all evening making-out on his lounge chair. But our intimacy ends with his one hand under my skirt lovingly caressing my ass. When he takes me home, I have a clit as hard as a rock inside my panties.

  “If I were your master, I’d tell you not to cum tonight,” he tells me as we stand on the steps of Blythe’s guesthouse saying goodnight.

  I know I’m falling in love, but I don’t think I could obey that order. I rationalize that he’s not yet my master, though I think I already know better.

  Every night for the next week Billy and I spent together becoming acquainted—talking. He tells me everything—about women he’s sexually mastered, about his various jobs—stock broker, antique dealer, linguist—he speaks German, French, Dutch and several Slavic languages fluently, and impersonates native born citizens in the countries he frequents on his trips to Europe. Makes me wonder if he’s an international spy—a regular James Bond secret agent. That wouldn’t surprise me, even though it seems so absurd.

  I tell him about Holly—the only really exciting thing that’s happened to me. When he starts digging into my fantasy life, I manage to spit out a few telling details, while I stare blankly in another direction. I can’t look at his face. One night, he forces me to look at him as I speak and I’m almost in tears.

  “Your eyes, Kirsten, I want to see your eyes. You need to look into mine when you talk.”

  “I find that hard.”

  “You’ll find a lot of other things harder,” he replies tersely. His hand on my chin feels like steel. Billy doesn’t like to be doubted or questioned or disputed. And that kind of command is everything my mind imagines for the man I love. Although I can’t believe this is happening now, that I’m caught in this tornado of desire and being swept away by the sheer force of it.

  He is so very kind, his hands gentle. I can’t believe he’ll ever use them to hurt me. Do I really need the pain I envision in my imagination when just one finger running down my spine makes me want to come?

  “Spit out the truth,” he demands. His hand glides down my neck and across my shoulder.

  “I want a sexual master,” I finally say. “You. I want you.”

  “And you have me,” he states flatly.

  “So soon? You’re sure of that?”

  “We’ll take each day one at a time. It’ll happen no faster than that.”

  By the end of the week, my body screams for his touch … the brush of his hand… the smell of his cologne… the whispered breath in my ear… his full lips on my lips… his fingers on my bare skin… his heart beating against mine when we embrace. I feel the beating in his groin as well, but he takes his time… more expectant, anxious and frightening minutes.

  “I know how you’ll spend your summer,” he finally announces ten days into our obscure affair.

  “How’s that?” I ask.

  “We’re taking a cruise to Europe, a train to Amsterdam and driving to Paris. We’ll be there a month. Bad time of year to go, but I have business. We’ll get sex figured out on the trip.”

  I’m silent for a long time.

  “I plan to marry you when the summer is over. I want you in my bed where I’ll master you sexually, and own you thoroughly by the time you step into your job at the magazine in September. You won’t have to think of anything but your creative genius. I’ll take care of everything else.”

  We’ve only known each other ten days, but I know everything he says will happen just as he’s planned.

  “What can I say?”

  “It isn’t necessary to say anything,” he replies looking down his haughty nose at me.

  I feel giddy. “This sounds like an assumption of marriage, not a proposal.”

  He laughs, looking amused, charmingly amused, dignified and haughty, knowing I’m that easily conquered. “Yes, I suppose you could consider it that,” he says. “Saves you the time spent brooding over an answer. I simply take over your choices, since you don’t like making them that shouldn’t bother you.”

  I am scooped up in his arms again, his hands running along the outside of my dress as he feels the black lace corset he bought me the day before. He hasn’t seen it on me yet, but he appreciates the way it cradles my breasts. Though I’m desperate for more, he doesn’t seem to want me sexually in anything more than these carefully measured increments.

  Chapter Three

  There’s an azure blue sky above my head, the round orb of the sun beating down on the deck of the boat. I cruise on this ship carefully tucked away from the sunshine under my umbrella so not to burn my skin. Still, I’m happily drifting.

  I see little of Billy for two days—mostly at meals, where I’m a brisk accompaniment to his food—dessert perhaps, enough of a confection of kisses to inspire the ongoing meetings that keep him cooped up in his stateroom. I thought by now we’d be sharing our quarters and his bed, but so far, he maintains the same seductive distance he maintained while I was at Blythe’s estate. Meanwhile, my body haunts me with memories of real sex and my fantastical masturbations.

  The mesmerizing Tony Flynn, a photojournalist from New Zealand and Colorado, helps me pass my time alone. Yes, I agree his nationality is unusual—although easily explained. His mother was from the exotic world at bottom of the globe, his father a cowboy from the American West. They met in New York, and split their time between the two countries, raising their three boys to know each culture well. From both places, Tony’s got cowboy blood, and witty, penetrating eyes. He hardly grooms his longish, tawny colored hair, and wears unstructured clothes that suggest the man’s unstructured life.

  The first day on this cruise, he found me reading in my lounge chair. We began an ongoing conversation that’s covered everything from the documentaries he’s filming, to my new magazine, to food and travel, and even sex—though we handle that subject carefully. I tell him I’m taken, and somehow spit out the fact that I’ve become engaged to a man I hardly know in just three-week’s time. He finds this astounding. On the one hand, I think he admires me for taking the adventure, but as he notes the tenor of my relationship with Billy, that I’m willingly submissive, he doesn’t understand. He’s the kind of hot sexy man that, before my agreement with my fiancé, I would die to sleep with. Maybe I’m even dying to now, with the sexual results of my love affair with Billy just so much tease—so much remarkably arousing tease.

  On the third day, Billy finds us together, laughing at some silly joke. Tony’s hand is on mine, a rare affectionate gesture for a man that respects the fact that I’m taken. Still, that gesture catches Billy’s eye and wins me a stern reproach.

  “I haven’t had the pleasure,” he says, coming on us, his gaze like freshly cut ice, so severe it seems to cut right through my skin.

  Tony backs off, with a “hey man, she’s innocent”, look on his face. “Tony Flynn,” he reaches out with his hand, which Billy shakes curtly. “I’ve been keeping your fiancée company, boring her with my travelogue. Too bad you’re stuck inside. This is gorgeous, don’t you think?” He looks around in wide-eyed wonder at the sun-filled blue sky and the endless ocean beyond, trying unsuccessfully to disperse the tension between the three of us.

  “Yes, it’s lovely,” Billy replies. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ste
al my bride-to-be away from you.” He nods formally, and taking my hand, pulls me to my feet.

  Billy’s hot. He’s even sexier when he’s angry than when he’s affectionate. There’s confusion in Tony’s eyes because he doesn’t understand, and to soften the cruelty of the scene, I smile as we leave, hoping he’ll realize that all this pleases me.

  I am trembling. Petrified. I imagine blows against my ass, the beginning of the physical bondage. My heart beats rapidly as we descend to our stateroom.

  “Get ready for dinner, love,” Billy says, as he leaves me at my door. Apparently, my dalliance with Tony no longer matters. His anger has disappeared and I can breathe easier. “We’re having dinner at the Captain’s table with Hope and Derek,” he goes on to explain. “We’ll have drinks afterwards in Derek’s stateroom.”

  This married couple is traveling with us, but though we were briefly introduced when we first boarded the ship, I’ve seen no sign of either one of them since. Derek would appear to be in meetings with Billy. That would leave Hope to keep me company, but she’s been noticeably absent.

  I have to assume that their relationship is like the one that Billy has designed for us. A contract of ownership. He’s made allusions to that fact, but not directly confirmed the truth about them.

  After I dress, I wait some time for Billy to pick me up. The plain black sheath is one I bought for the trip and I’m nervous since my fiancé hasn’t seen it. I don’t really know Billy well enough to be sure what pleases him, so this was purchased for its simplicity—a style that should fit his temperament. The front drapes my breasts, and because the dress is basically backless, I wear no bra. This leaves my tits to float against the fabric, the nipples free to poke the sleek silk crepe. I imagine him drawing his finger down my back, and the ticklish feel of his hand as it comes to rest on my ass, and how I spasm as he gives one mound a gentle squeeze. He does this often when we’re in public, a playful gesture that reminds me of my submissive place with him. He’ll note the slit in the side of the skirt that rises to mid thigh. Without him saying so, I know he loves my legs since he admires them whenever I approach. My feet tucked inside high heels enhance a statuesque appearance, so I’ve been told.

  Billy has never mentioned any of this to me, in fact, I can’t remember him mentioning anything about my appearance. I know he adores me physically, just seeing the look in his appreciative eyes. Since the day we met, I’ve been bewildered by the awe in his expression. No man has ever honored me so. I wonder if I’m actually as attractive to him as he leads me to believe. But regardless of my self-doubt, I’d never question him.

  It’s been nearly an hour since Billy left and I finally decide to knock on the door of his adjoining room. Am I out of place being that bold? I worry the instant the rapping sound reverberates between our two staterooms, and am relieved to see a broad smile on his face as he opens the door.

  “Ah, ready,” he says, offering me entrance to his sacred place.

  “I have been.”

  “I’ll bet you have. I had a business call.” His room is twice the size of mine, large enough for a conference table where he’s conducted his business the last three days. Both of our staterooms are furnished with the same elegance, with dark mahogany finishes to the polished woodwork and textured brocades on the upholstered pieces. We could be stepping back in time on this ship, to an era of sensuality our recent ancestors refined. I’m sure Billy realizes that this mood fits my submissive sensibilities and the fantasies they spawn. It seems appropriate to practice sadomasochism in these luxurious, antique surroundings—if that’s truly where our relationship is moving.

  Billy turns to the bed, to his suitcase lying open. Seeing plainly what’s inside the leather luggage, I freeze in my feet. I doubt that Billy notes my startled look, or even hears my barely audible gasp with his back turned. Spotting a cane and a leather paddle among the other things inside the suitcase, reality forcefully grabs me in the gut. I watch in awe as his hand adroitly searches for something underneath these items, while the prominent implements beckon me like a dangerous female siren luring me into her lair. I can already feel the pain of them sting my skin.

  My stare is unceasing, only broken when Billy finds what he’s looking for and closes the suitcase.

  “Kirsten,” I hear my name. “You look like you’ve seen ghost.”

  I come to, stumbling into him. “No, I’m just…” I have to think up something… “hungry, I think.”

  He has his hand on my bare back, stroking the flesh just as I imagined he would. As his hand moves down to my bottom, I feel his fingers slip inside the dress as far as they will go. With his palm on my naked ass, this squeeze is a torturous tease.

  “You’re making me limp,” I tell him.

  “Good,” he pushes me off happily. “All the better for me.”

  Liquid drips between my thighs, this pre-cum becoming so common, it doesn’t surprise me, but I worry that with no panties, it will leave me embarrassed if someone should see the spot of wetness on my dress.

  Dinner passes pleasantly, and afterwards we retire to Derek Lundgren’s stateroom, his pretty wife, Hope, in tow.

  She and I have hardly talked and I feel nervous around her. Seeing the blue velvet collar that matches her dress, I assume the accessory is an intentional statement of her subservient sexual choice. She leans on her husband’s arm, speaks only when she’s addressed, and often looks longingly at his face. Am I becoming that cloying? Or is it just sheer admiration.

  Derek Lundgren is a Nordic clone of Billy Fitzgerald’s dark version of manliness. Though they look quite different, their essence is stunningly the same. Stern, elegant, demanding, and, at times, exceedingly affectionate. However, Derek’s affection for his wife seems muted at the moment. I watch the man carefully as he deposits his wife in a chair, and with me taking a seat on the opposite side of his stateroom, he confers quietly with Billy. He’s taller than my fiancé, somewhat less robust in build, with flaxen colored hair as neatly trimmed as Billy’s, and biting blue eyes. He frightens me when he looks my way and I wish him back on Hope. Noting his hands especially, the large palms suggest strength and a commandeering attitude.

  “My wife is going to be punished tonight,” he says to me, as he slowly moves my way.

  I quickly glance at Billy who has moved to a chair next to mine, now sipping his after dinner brandy. He’s close to me, but not close enough with a table between us. I wish he had his hand on my thigh the way he did at dinner. Right now, there isn’t even a loving look on his face.

  “You know what it’s like to be punished?” Derek asks me.

  “No,” I whisper softly.

  “Hope knows very well, don’t you, my dear.” Our gaze turns to the shivering woman. Her brunette hair is swept up off her face, revealing her throat and the blue velvet collar. I can see the color of her eyes, a cinnamon brown, as dark as Billy’s. Her dress conforms to a robust shape—full breasts, broad behind, and what I believe is a cinctured waist. If she doesn’t wear a corset, I’m amazed by the naturally fine shape of her figure. I can see her eyes might bite, though now, with her lids slightly lowered and a demeanor of humility, she is thoroughly yielding. I imagine she’s been in this position many times.

  “Yes, I do,” she speaks clearly, though her voice is small.

  “I hope you’ll enjoy the audience. I think it’s time Billy’s future wife had a chance to see what she can look forward to.”

  Derek looks back at me, moving closer still. When he is on me, he leans down, placing his broad hands on either chair arm, his face so close to mine I can smell the aroma of his after dinner coffee and a trace of brandy on his breath.

  “I’d paddle you now, Kirsten Cates. Get the first one over with. I’m sure you’re creaming your panties—if you’re wearing any. Just the idea of this turns you to jelly. Seems to me you’ve even earned it, flirting with passengers on this vessel in plain sight of everyone.” He snickers, a bit of venom in his eyes. I’m backing int
o the chair, quaking. He pushes off, now standing erect towering over me. “You think that’s prudent behavior for a woman in your position? You came on this pre-nuptial journey to be trained in the fine art of masochistic sexuality. To play so loosely with your calling mocks the man you love.” He begins to stroll around the room again. “If it were me, I wouldn’t let you get away with it, not even once. I’d take a cane to your ass, after I’d blistered your fat cheeks with wood. But Billy…” he looks at his friend. “Billy is such a lover. He’s much kinder than I am. You’ll see just how kind tonight, in fact.” He says that as though he has something up his sleeve. “As much as I’ve encouraged him, he’s tempering his fury with you and letting it slide. Be grateful he has such a generous heart. But I warn you,” his eyes suddenly shoot fire my way. “Don’t take advantage of him again. Ever. Because who you believe to be a gentle soul…I’ve seen string a woman up for hours and flog with a biting crop, a single lash that leaves an incredible burn on the skin. Ah, I bet even that turns you on. But the truth is, when it’s punishment and when it’s deserved, you won’t even recognize the man that loves you.” He peers at me haughtily. “Think about it as you watch my Hope take her beating tonight.” I feel myself breathing heavily. The room is stifling hot, closed, not a porthole to open, no fan, no air. A breathless steamy jungle of accusations and truth takes away the beauty of my fantasies and replaces them with hard facts I have no idea if I can handle.

  Derek moves swiftly. Turning from me, he’s on his wife.

  “Third day in a row. Are you going to survive?” he questions her accusingly.

  She doesn’t reply. No reply was intended. Drawing her over the back of a chair, he takes a leash from his pocket, wraps the leather around her wrists, knots the end and then draws the remains down to the front of the chair, securing the looped handle under one leg.

  Billy shoots up from his seat, and takes the paddle Derek hands him. For an instant, I think it’s meant for me, Derek’s lecture turning on me. I’m quickly relieved, but nonetheless amazed to see my fiancé with stunning bravado, wrenching Hope’s dress above her ass, baring her cheeks except for a pair of thin blue panties covering them. These, he jerks away, and this submissive’s broad ass appears with a layer of sweat on the surface making it gleam in the dim yellow light of the room.