In Chains Read online

  She’s submissively reposed over the end of mattress, as I carefully undo the chain at her neck and remove the dildo. When I press my erection inside that opened channel, she’s ready for the invasion, willingly allowing the full length of it to penetrate her ass. This is almost more than she can consciously take, but the pummeling action of my dick only lasts a few moments. I’m far too aroused to draw this out any further. My semen flooding that dark interior claims this last piece of her as my dominion to command and control. There will be nothing about my bride that I will not own.

  Sensations wracks me for a time and make me weak, as we fall down to the cushion of the mattress beneath us. Kirsten wants to speak, to tell me how she loves me. She wants to stare into my eyes gratefully—I’m grateful to her as well. But silencing her with my expression and a finger to her lips, we simply nod off to sleep for a while, as our bodies restore themselves, lying against each other in this priceless solace.

  When we’re ready to pull inside the covers to spend the night, I make her sleep with the thick metal collar around her neck and her hands still bound together in their cuffs.

  Chapter Five

  Derek

  It’s fair to say that Billy Fitzgerald is a kinder man than I am. But I’m sure I don’t have his finesse either. It’s quite alarming the way he dangles satisfaction before the eyes of his submissive women. And nothing so alarming as the way he torments his future wife—one minute gentle as a lamb, wooing her with his dangerously haunting bedroom eyes, the next, those eyes snapping at her brutally, his cutting words biting her to the quick with a delightfully crafted cunning. I see the imperceptible twinge, a shudder of caution and expectation. I’m awed.

  I’m a lot more even in temperament, need and style than Billy Fitzgerald. Hope gets pretty much the same man whether I’m chiding her in public, wooing her in private, heatedly punishing her ass, or making love. I pride myself on being even-handed.

  I must give Kirsten credit, though, she laps up Billy’s divers treatment of her like a playful puppy dancing about a leash. She tugs and nips, but she’s always brought back into his control—sometimes with a gentle tug, and, when she’s most reluctant to give up her battle, with a forceful yank. She’s learning submissiveness. I watch him challenge her, seeing her sometimes forget her place and defy him. Often, he kindly whispers a gentle reproof in her ear, at other times his voice snares her icily. That’s normally all it takes. Her most witless floundering, however, has made for one amazing scenario none of us is likely to forget any time soon.

  After disembarking the ship, we’ve been staying at a hotel in Amsterdam as Billy and I tend to the mundane aspects of our mutual business. Even this seems to intrigue my friend—as though the machinations we indulge in for money are as intriguing as the schemes to keep our conquered women submissively happy. For me, it’s simply the way I earn the bucks to maintain my privileged lifestyle. I might be happier if I had a less perilous occupation, but then too, this one takes me to strange cities and unusual arenas where I can so easily indulge in my favorite pastime. The clubs in Amsterdam are matchless places for the practice of the dominant arts, providing inspiration unsurpassed except, perhaps, by Billy Fitzgerald. But Billy has no plans for introducing his future bride to these establishments right now—if at all. I assume the environments are not controlled enough to suit him. It would seem each step he makes with Kirsten is cleverly orchestrated, and he can’t allow one chancy miscue to alter the delicate master/submissive balance between them.

  Tony Flynn seems to be one maverick thorn in his side—though even that he decides to play to his advantage. Just when Billy thought he’d rid himself of the man, he ends up staying in the same hotel with us, trying his best to woo Kirsten Cates from her fiancé. He won’t succeed, because Billy knows he has something that this man cannot offer her. Though, give him credit, Flynn’s damned charming. I don’t know how some men have such a knack for collecting the affections of women, even when those women avowedly don’t want them.

  I think, in Flynn’s case, it must be the cavalier, boyish charm, the way he seems to ride in like Sir Lancelot, sweeping this fair floundering maid away from the harsh battle she wages with her acknowledged lord and master. When he sees her, he graciously fawns on her—something she has a hard time not responding to, especially when she’s alone. I’ve seen them run into each other in the lobby and dining room. Sitting back, hidden from their view, I observe her try to remain gracious but aloof. She certainly doesn’t want to inspire Billy’s wrath. I questioned him on this a few days ago.

  “Are you going to overlook these little meetings?”

  “And what should I do? Clobber her when she doesn’t initiate them?”

  “But the way she looks at him could be breeding something dangerous.”

  “I don’t think so. Kirsten knows what I give, and she’s wise enough to see through Mr. Flynn. We’ve discussed his regard for her as good practice in keeping herself in check.”

  “You discuss this with her?”

  “Of course.”

  “You have more openness that I’ve ever had with Hope. She does what I say or she has my belt on her behind, ‘nuf said.”

  “Just the threat is enough for Kirsten,” he replied to me.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, I’m not. But she has a few more times off the leash before I tether her in for good. I imagine we’ll have a major lapse to deal with. And if that happens with Tony Flynn, all the better. Let him be the object of her inane fantasies for an hour, or even a day.”

  “You tread in dangerous waters, friend,” I said.

  “Yes, and I’ll have a wife that will be glued to me forever, I’ll bank on that.”

  He knows that Hope and I are sometimes a tenuous two, that Hope is one step from bolting. But I don’t try to get too close to her moods—that’s womanly stuff she has to handle on her own. As a submissive, that’s what she’s supposed to do.

  I guess both Billy and I live in precarious worlds, but I could never take the tension of his. If Hope splits, I’ll have another woman in a month. Sure, I’d miss her… she’s certainly been the best.

  The night of Kirsten’s rudest awakening to date was just last night—and a fine piece of theatre it was. Began in the afternoon, Tony Flynn accosting Billy’s fiancé in the lobby, whisking her off to the coffee shop to show her some pictures he’d taken. I witnessed this from afar, and followed the pair, staying hidden on the sidelines. Flynn’s on her the whole time, giving her affectionate glances and winning smiles, putting his hands on her every occasion he can. Oh, yes, she pulls back, demurely smiles, but you can tell she’s liking it—batting her lashes like a virgin coquette. Yet, every few minutes she’s glancing off, hoping she won’t be seeing Billy or me anywhere nearby. I let them get more engrossed in their conversation, Kirsten not as nervous as she once was. Flynn’s hands get far too familiar. I can see one move under her skirt high on her thigh. Her lilting laughter reaches me, and I can feel this pain in my gut for Billy. This sub’s gone too far.

  After getting my belly full of her flirtatiousness, I finally come out from hiding and stride into the coffee shop giving her a meaningful nod. I say nothing as I sit down, order a cup of coffee, and then bury my face in a newspaper. Of course, her little tête-à-tête ends there. The snared little rabbit guiltily flees the coffee shop, knowing I’ll be ratting on her to Billy. All she can do is wait to find out if this latest indiscretion will warrant some kind admonition or a heavy-handed adventure with a strap to her behind. The possibilities feed my lusty appetite for nearly a half hour until I meet my jilted friend in the lobby before our next meeting.

  Billy is expectedly cool when I give him the low down on this last dalliance between Kirsten and her suitor. In fact, he almost smiles to me. All he says is, “wait for my signal tonight, Derek.” Then I remember, the cocktail party. Ah, what a stroke of luck! And what that devil is planning I guess, remembering how his mind works.

  “Are
you going to tell her in advance?” I ask.

  “Of course not. We’ll probably have a few words before we arrive at the hospitality suite, but she’ll think it’s over.”

  Poor girl, I say to myself. Hope would relish a moment like that, but I’m not so clever at creating this kind of fun.

  When Hope and I get to the party a few hours later, Billy is already there with a strained but smiling Kirsten on his arm. By the look on both their faces, I imagine there were quite a few words, and if I didn’t believe he had something else in mind, I’d think he’d already punished her. Just to add to the foul brew of things, Tony Flynn is in the room, taking pictures. My friend and his fiancé remain noticeably removed from the man. Even Hope—who observes much but says little—whispers to me, “My, I’d hate to deal with the tension between the three of them.”

  She feels it. Maybe everyone else in the room does too. Most of these people are business associates, but many have been associates of Billy’s and mine for some years. They know our sexual inclinations—a number of them share our tastes and have lustrously submissive trinkets on their arms too. I imagine only Kirsten and Flynn have no idea the possibilities that brew here.

  “Looks like Billy’s pissed,” Hope says. “You don’t think he’s going to do anything rash, do you?”

  “I wouldn’t bet against that.”

  “Oh, dear, I thought I was the only one that had to put up with such embarrassment.”

  “Don’t remind me, I just might add to the night’s drama with something for you.”

  “What have I done?” she objects.

  I’m gloating so her protest doesn’t offend. “Nothing, dear, but you know me, I can’t stand to remain on the sidelines when things start to heat up.”

  Hope shuts up directly. I guess she’s not up for the humiliation tonight—might not matter anyway.

  I watch as the evening moves on, Billy introducing Kirsten to his many friends. I suspect as she observes these people, she realizes that they already know things about her relationship with Billy she’d rather keep private.

  When one woman gets bold, the drama is underway.

  “You seem just like his type,” Bridget Densmore, a socialite from the States, gushes at him. She clutches Kirsten’s arm, and Kirsten startled, backs away.

  “And what is that type?” she asks. I think, by now, she’s become a little less nervous than when she first arrived, but the Densmore woman is still a challenge.

  “Why, we all know Billy Fitzgerald very well, my dear. You wouldn’t be marrying him if you weren’t planning to be—what is the proper term? His love slave.”

  Kirsten looks as if she’s just been slapped in the face.

  “She’s going to be my wife, Bridget,” Billy kindly retorts. Ah, he is a master of gentility in the face of this woman’s boorishness, and this assuages Kirsten’s misery.

  “But she does conform to your sexual inclinations,” Bridget goes on, hardly deterred.

  “Of course,” Billy answers and Kirsten flinches again.

  “How does that work?” Edward Van deMere asks, his accent thick. Oh, the man knows he’s just sparring to raise the entertainment merit of what has otherwise been a much too droll occasion. How will Billy respond? Hearing his answer, I feel Hope quake next to me. This excites her, but she’s likely as frightened as Billy’s initiate. And me? I have all the clue I need where this evening will lead.

  “The kind of relationship we have is old-fashioned,” Billy states. “She is subject to me.”

  Those of us listening feel a mutual fluttering in our groins—like the very thing that’s arousing Hope. Only Kirsten is likely to be devoid of such a response, she’s much too alarmed to find this moment sexually arousing.

  “You know, Billy,” a charming Mandy Justine oils her way next to him, “I missed that little scene at last year’s party. You wouldn’t be interested, would you …”

  “You think I’d punish my fiancé right here?”

  “Don’t play coy, we both know what you’d do.”

  Mandy should know. She was one of Billy’s pets for a short time, until she decided she preferred conquering men to being conquered herself. Last time I saw her in a club, she had some poor fool on a leash, his cock pertly banded in leather.

  “I wouldn’t do anything like that unless I had a good reason,” Billy answers Mandy.

  “Ah, of course,” she groans, sounding very disappointed.

  “You think an engaged woman that openly flirts with another man is reason enough?” I ask him directly—sounding just like I do when I come down on Hope’s transgressions. I stare Kirsten in the eye, and she can’t stop staring at me, until I deliberately turn toward Tony Flynn who’s standing not far off, confounded by our conversation.

  Billy catches his eye. “Actually I think a woman that’s been warned about such things is asking for punishment,” he says.

  “Wait a minute!” Flynn’s found his voice. “You’re not thinking…”

  “This is my party, Mr. Flynn,” Billy objects to the interruption immediately. “If I believe my fiancée deserves to be corrected for her behavior, then it is mine to choose when and where her punishment takes place. If it is in a public venue like this, then so be it.”

  “Billy, please,” Kirsten’s squirming embarrassed.

  “Don’t think you’ll weasel out of this one, my dear, you know what you’ve earned.” He looks my way. “We’ll use the anteroom, those that don’t want to watch can stay out here.” He nods to me, “Derek, will you join me?”

  Everything in the room is fired, from the loins of the lusty, to the simmering tempers of the shocked, to the minds of the inquisitive, and the hearts and souls of those for whom this kind of drama is a way of life. Even my irrepressible Hope has her desires peaking—I’m sure privately wishing she was in Kirsten’s place even though she’d hate every minute of the humiliation.

  As we adjourn to the next room, there are many that follow. Some timid ones stay behind with those very few, who like Flynn, are completely appalled. Regardless, they’ll all get their chance to voyeur one way or another. The anteroom is hardly soundproof. And Kirsten won’t be keeping quiet, of that I’m sure.

  As half the party moves to the other room, I lead the way. “She’s gonna hate him,” Hope whispers to me.

  “I think that’s his plan,” I whisper back.

  “Let’s do this over the chair,” I hear Billy behind me as soon as the door clicks closed. And, as I turn, a paddle miraculously appears which he hands to me, “Derek, if you’ll do the honors.” I see he had this one planned well in advance.

  With me taking charge, it puts Kirsten one-step removed from her master, and I see the look on her face become more horrified. “Billy, no,” she finally finds a voice to protest, and there’s enough petulance in her tone to stir everyone’s speculations. Who will win this battle?

  “No?” he looks at her questioningly. “It is your choice, of course. Have I assumed wrong? That you don’t want our relationship? Are all your vows and your desperate yearning for submission just some whimsical game to you?

  “No, no, just not here,” she whimpers.

  I can sense Hope wincing to herself, realizing the mistakes Kirsten makes.

  “I’m sorry you’re so humiliated, but you humiliated me parading your flirtations in front of the world. Too bad your admirer isn’t here to watch—maybe then he’d have more regard for you than becoming an accomplice in your thoughtlessness. Of course, he might still be outside to hear you.”

  I don’t imagine she relishes that thought.

  Billy continues in a voice replete with all the dominant charm he’s cultivated in years of practice. Each word seems to resonate throughout the room, to all the submissive ladies attending this event. Though focused directly on Kirsten, she takes the brunt of his caustic message, body quaking. “I’m coming down hard because I don’t want you to have any doubt about the point I make,” he tells her. “I’d suggest you simply submi
t and get it over with.”

  I can see the inner workings of her mind as she battles with desires and revulsion. She wants to run from the room, but she loses him if she leaves. Oh, what a risky game Billy plays! Yet, if I were to ask him now, he’d say there is no risk at all, he has her perfectly gauged, he knows when to strike with this kind of extreme measure, and when to lay low and keep matters between them private.

  She bites her lip, entertains a few tears in her downcast eyes. Her fists clench and then relax. She becomes aware of the eyes that focus on her, not knowing how much these gawkers are being entertained by her shame. Just when I think she’s about to take off, Kirsten suddenly turns her back on everyone, and takes her place draped over the back of an easy chair, hands on the arms before her. She gives me a sidelong glance, as I remain firmly planted at her side, as if to say, “let’s get on with this.”

  Clutching the two-foot paddle in my hand, I turn it agilely in my hands. My expression is at least as grim as Billy’s. A collective sigh goes around the room as they see her yield to me. But that relief lasts only seconds. Once I descend on her, the anticipation wells up again.

  It’s simple to lift her short black dress above her hips, the soft silk lying across her upper buttocks enhances the look of her behind. Her garters and nylons augment the display, beautifully framing the two swells of flesh that appear now, covered only in black panties. I’m sure her attire is a deliberate move on Billy’s part to have her aesthetically attired to please this audience of devotees and curious. There are at least twenty pairs of eyes attentively watching, plus my humbled wife and Kirsten’s master. As I carefully pull her panties away, I expose the luscious pale pink orbs of flesh I’ll punish until they’re burnished red. Standing to one side, I take aim, and with a brusque wide-sweeping stroke of my arm, I smack her behind.