Copyrighted material, not for those under 18 years of age.
Depending on the point of view, Amy was blessed, or cursed, with a vivid imagination, which seemed to have gone into overdrive the moment her handcuffs clicked shut behind her back. First there had been the fear, present fear and remembered fear. Images flashed before her eyes. Ralphís fist against her face. Glen sitting, looking at her nude body, his pants tented over his massive erection. The way Glen took away her keys. The helpless feeling, locked in steel. She locked, but only he could unlock. She came back to that again and again, savoring her bondage.
She didnít fear her bonds. Rather, she wallowed in her loss of movement, loss of control, loss of freedom, loss of dignity, loss of choice. To know that she was powerless, that a man stood between her and her once normal life, knowing that she would suffer or enjoy strictly at his whim or desire. Knowing that he could -- and would -- command her to do things whether she was willing or not. Knowing that the manís control over her made her subject to any and all punishments that he wished upon her. The images brought her heart into her throat, her breathing ragged. Pushing from below the ravening fire in her belly suffused her whole body with impending orgasm.
Glen was learning fast. Already he could detect and recognize her demanding climax, reading the flush on her upper chest and something he could only describe as a "glow" around her turgid nipples. The flush changed in moments to a blotchy red whether from a minigasm or a full megaton blast, a stage she had almost reached. He reached out and tapped her right nipple.
"No orgasms without permission."
"Yes, Mas..." She stopped, face red as she came out of her daze and realized what she was saying. Resolutely she repeated the full word, "Yes, Master."
Glen laughed. Amy almost looked hurt, but the expression was swallowed by a rush of sensations that heralded the forbidden. She almost literally said, "Down girl," as she regained control. She smiled, and then joined Glen in laughing.
"Your slave girl is learning fast, Master." She rolled the word off her tongue, almost, but not quite sarcastic. Glen picked up on it.
"You could very easily spend the night hanging from your thumbs, learning control. I told you to use Glen."
Immediately she was contrite. "Iím sorry, Glen. It just seems so much more appropriate to call you what you are -- my Master." The word carried her full respect and honor.
Glen nodded, grumbling, "All you get for your money these days are smart-assed slave girls." Even though she guessed that he was joking, she tried to cover both bases at once. "Master, your slave girl is truly a smart-ass. Please punish her and teach her proper manners when addressing her Master."
"So what do you suggest as a suitable punishment for a mouthy slave that wonít obey orders? I told you to call me Glen."
"Master, I should be gagged and bound spreadeagled on the bed while you read to me from one of your books."
Amyís heart sank. This Master wanted full involvement and the maximum sexual arousal. "Master, your order stands. I am forbidden to come until you permit it, regardless of what you do to me." The vision of his hands roaming over her naked bound body almost wrecked things before they started.
Glen nodded, forcing himself to appear reluctant. "First we -- you -- do the dishes and clean up the mess. When the kitchen is spotless you will report to the bedroom, as ordered."
"Yes, Master. Master it would be helpful if my hands were in front of me."
"All you have to do is ask, fair slave," lightening the mood. As he uncuffed her and re-cuffed her wrists he was grumbling again, "Always something you gotta do FOR these slaves. Slaves are supposed to be doing things for ME!"
"Slaves, plural? Master, do you have another slave Iím not aware of?" There was a glitter in her eyes Glen hadnít seen before.
"At the moment, no." He looked calmly into her eyes. "Would it make any difference?"
She held his eyes for a moment, dropped them and raised them to look directly at him. Her expression changed to pained, then bland. "No, Master. A slave has no choice in these matters."
He prodded, "But, you wouldnít like it." She looked into his eyes, momentarily wanting to lie, unable to, already fully controlled, unwilling to chance his wrath. "No, Master, I would not like it. As your slave I would have no choice, like it or not. I would expect to be punished for causing any problems."
"I like it when you are candid and tell the truth. However, youíve just earned a big vibrating dildo to keep you company during our reading hour. Imagine what could have happened to you if you had lied to me."
"Glen, Master, if you keep stimulating me with the things you do, and the things you promise, Iím going to blow my ovaries right through the roof. May I come now, please, Master?
"Do you think you deserve it?"
She shook her head, hair flailing, reminding him of a horse sensing trouble. "No, Master. I am too poor a slave to expect favors from my Master."
"Iíve told you that you can come anytime, if you dare."
"Master, I do not dare to disobey. You have already shown me you are a man of your word. The things you promise scare me at the same time that they excite me. I expect the whip -- full and painful punishment for my disobedience, but my misdeeds will be unintentional.
"How am I supposed to punish you if you get off on being whipped -- something I might point out that we have tried only once?"
"Master, the experiences with pain and punishment in my dreams have taught me how much a whip can hurt. I have seen† and felt the welts from a whip. If you whip me, I will suffer, even if I climax. Try me. Whip me again. See for yourself that the whip punishes me."
"Amy, youíre beginning to sound more and more like a pain slut. Youíre offering me your body to be whipped but I donít hear any restrictions. I could whip your face, your nipples, your clit, your..."
Glen was interrupted by a loud, gut-wrenching groan. Amy staggered, lost in the throes of her denied orgasm, the pictures triggered by his words overpowering her control. Glen caught her before she fell and sat her on a stool. He snared a glass with one hand and filled it with water. As she recovered he pressed the glass to her lips and she drank, gratefully.
"You saw yourself being whipped," he accused gently. She flushed, caught out.
"It was so vivid," she said softly.
"On my... ass."
Instinctively he reached beneath her. She winced and lifted off his hand. Puzzled, he gripped her firmly and turned her over. He grunted, as she peered over her shoulder and gasped. A fiery red streak started at the base of her lower left cheek and ran diagonally upward to her right hip.
He touched the line and she winced against him.
"Just how in Hell did you do that?"
"I wish I knew, so I could stop doing it. You said Ďwhipí and then started listing places you would hit me and my 3-D imagination did the rest."
"My dear slave girl, I did NOT say I was going to hit you anywhere. What I said was that you didnít put any restrictions on where you get whipped and I said I COULD whip you on those places."
"Whatever. You have a way with words, and when you say something, I get the picture in full wide-screen glory and living color."
"Well, Iíd say that you are punishing yourself for some reason. Thatís the only logical explanation for your dreams -- and this."
Amy shrugged. "Perhaps, but Iíd be much happier if you would take over the job of punishing me. When you do it with words like you just did, I get hotter than a pistol and disobey orders, while the dreams just hurt."
"Weíll see. Right now thereís a cleanup job waiting for you. Be thinking about the penalty for an unauthorized Ďeventí, and for whipping yourself."
Amy detoured to the bathroom after the kitchen sparkled, not asking for help as her hands were still locked in front. When she appeared at the bedroom door she saw Glen lying on top of the quilt, lazily stroking a fully erect cock. Amyís mouth watered and her pussy oozed at the sight. She walked into the room and knelt beside the bed, her eyes never leaving his erection.
"What did you just do?"
"Master?" She tore her eyes away from the flaring head, damp with his lubrication.
"You took a piss." A statement, not a question.
She got out "Yes, Master" before it hit her. "Ulp, I was supposed to ask permission."
She flailed her long blonde hair. It was self denial, but a very visible admission of guilt that she immediately put into words.
†"Master, I didnít ask for your help."
"First a smart-ass, now willfully disobedient. Two counts of that."
Amy looked up at him, watched the movement of his hand for several seconds, debating whether to deny Ďwillfully.í Wisely, she decided against it. Sheíd read somewhere that slaves never argue with their Masters. The rebel faction in her mind snarled, wanting her to confront him, refuse his domination. Wiser thoughts prevailed and she knelt, bowing her head, losing sight of his stroking hand. She waited, the next move up to him.
Finally he sat up, his legs reaching the floor on either side of her. His rod waved over her head, flushed, but not an angry red. He reached down between his legs and clamped her nipples between thumb and finger, lifting her. He halted her rise, steering her nipples to make her body follow. She moved her legs into a squat to bring her to eye level with the waving cock. He let her look for a long moment, silent, watching her, watching the lust grow in her eyes
He too thought of Ralph, mulling several methods of painful death for a wife beater over in his mind. As his thoughts rambled his fingers unconsciously tightened, bringing a hurting sound from Amy. The sound rose in pitch and† intensity as he resumed lifting her, warning of yet another impending orgasm. Despite, or perhaps because of the pain, she smiled at him, welcoming his touch anywhere on her body.
Glen directed her onto the big bed. As she lifted her leg she saw for the first time that leather straps awaited her at the four corners of what would be her half of the bed. She felt his hardness pressing against her as she positioned herself, legs and arms spread. He hooked three of the straps, pinning her legs and one arm. As he reached across her to fasten the other arm, his lips and tongue traced up and down the sides of each breast, stopping long enough to bite the rock hard outcrops at the peaks. Amy moaned with pleasure, her arousal notching up as each bond was fastened. The chewing of her already tender nipples did not go unnoticed either, her nerve endings begging passionately for release.
Glen announced, "Iím not gagging you. I enjoy hearing you beg."
Smart-ass slave opened her mouth too fast. "Fat lot of good begging will do me."
Master glowered. Slave wished fervently she could call back her words. "You could," he gritted, "be tickled until you pass out."
Slave shivered. That was uncharted territory. She begged forgiveness, promising one of her more Ďsuitableí punishments. Glen reluctantly agreed, with a warning, "One more peep out of you, slave and you will be sitting on pillows for the rest of the month." She didnít need him to draw a picture of the cause and effect, requiring pillows.
The already opened book lay, momentarily forgotten as Glen played with his helpless captive, biting her toes, gnawing on the ticklish soles of her feet, licking behind her knees, blowing at her clit, squeezing her breasts to elongated cones as he ground his teeth again and again into her aureoles and nipples.
The object of his affection suffered, mostly in silence. She was ready to come when the last chain was tightened. Each touch of his lips, fingers or tongue pushed her to the edge, again, again and again. She thrashed and fought her chains, opening and closing her mouth as she started to beg and thought better of it, fighting to keep control, knowing that her Master had lured her into a competition she could not possibly win. She remembered her safe word, thought of using it -- but this was too much fun. If she could only hold out the reward would be overwhelming.
Her brain laughed at her and mocked her as a fool. She would have her orgasm, but on Glenís terms, not hers. She would lose. There was no way around it. She would lose, and she would be punished. She realized that the playful punishments they had started with were long gone. This was getting into some serious territory. Reluctantly she discarded several punishment ideas to offer to Glen, knowing they would be rejected because they were much too mild.
She was panting, akin to running a 100 yard dash, waiting for the big something or other that would propel her to the edge, where she would mount her last stand, forcing the errant orgasm to retreat once more. The mere fact that she was helpless, chained to her bed, was enough to keep the valleys between the peaks only a hairís breadth from the top. Every succeeding assault on her nervous system seemed to rise a little higher, last a little longer.
Suddenly everything stopped. Amy shuddered, her battered defenses crumbling. The fingers, the tongue stopped what they were doing, secure in the knowledge that her bound but willing body would be lying open for them at any time in the future. She opened her eyes. The ceiling hadnít fallen, despite her imagination. She twisted her neck. Glen was leaning back, ignoring his pink and purple staff, reading his book, ignoring her completely,
"Glen," she whispered. He gave no sign. "Master?"
Pretending annoyance he slammed the book down on the bed.
"Master, read to me please. Your slave wants to hear your voice."
"And I suppose get off on the hot bits in the book?" His tone affected both annoyance and sarcasm.
"Master, I am so hot now that a touch would set me off, against my will and all my defenses. You could read the Bible to me and have the same effect as that porn you are reading right now. You have me at the bursting point, with no hope of relief and no chance to escape your punishment."
"I wonít have you saying I am not a fair Master. I will not touch you, while I read a chapter. If you survive the chapter without popping your cork you can have as many orgasms as you want for the rest of the evening, up til midnight."
What he didnít tell her was that he was about to read from a very lengthy chapter describing the torture of a woman and a man by the Spanish Inquisition, a book he was sure she had never read. Besides, he knew that he himself would not outlast the chapter and he already knew what a handful of sperm would do to her resistance. He turned the page and began to read:
"The woman of interest was the wife† of a nobleman, Isabel Santini. The man was her lover, Pedro Tajur. Both had been arrested separately by the Inquisition and lodged in separate cells at opposite ends of the underground dungeon.
They were treated as common criminals, loaded with chains that would ensure escape would be futile
Pedro was stripped of all his clothing while Isabel was left with a see-through white shift that left none of her obvious charms hidden.
They were left to rot for a week, treated to stale food and brackish water, their fitful sleep interrupted by screams of pain and horror from other inmates.
When her turn came, she was dragged by her guards, her dangling chains clashing and rattling on the stones. She was brought into the torture chamber and roughly sent to her knees before the Chief Inquisitor. He stood behind his desk, looking down at her, a slight smile on his face. "Who is your lover?" Defiantly she looked up at him and lied. "I have no lover. I am the loving wife of Marcella Santini."
The Inquisitor thundered, "You lie!" He motioned to the guards. "Strip her!"
Two burly guards held her while a third ripped the shift from her body, her skin red where it had caught and dragged, She stood, arms twisted behind her, exposing her nude body for all to see.
"Who is your lover?"
"I have no lover."
"Liar! Put her over the beam. She will talk gladly before we are through with her."
Glen looked over at Amy. She seemed to be paying rapt attention. That is until you saw her glazed eyes. She was lost in the Inquisition dungeon, preparing to be tortured, seeing and watching the word picture that Glen was weaving. She didnít know that he had stopped until he cleared his throat and drank from a glass on the night table.
He picked up the book again, about to resume. A hoarse whisper seemed to fill the room. The husky voice said, "Fuck me. Please fuck me. Please Master, fuck your slave cunt."
He started to reach for her, stopped, remembering his promise. He would not touch her. Without comment he began to read again.
"She resisted every step, the guards lifting her nude body until her feet were inches above the floor, the dangling chains ringing on the stones again.
Another guard tied ropes around her ankles. The ends were tossed up to a man standing on a beam. He in turn fed them through a pulley and began to haul on the ropes, dragging the screaming woman into the air.
She had no idea what they were going to do to her until her knees rose above the beam. The ankle ropes were pulled taut, folding her legs, and then tied somewhere below her. Her entire weight now was on the backs of her knees already scraped against the rough, hand hewn surface of the beam, with its sharp edges.
The man on the beam stepped between her knees, shoving them apart with his boot. Satisfied, he drove pegs into waiting holes, preventing her legs from closing. Even without the pegs her legs were helpless to move unless somehow her weight was removed from them.
Two men mounted ladders, one in front, one in back of her hanging body. She shrieked when a brutal guard grabbed her hair and raised her head to watch what was happening to her.
The man at her front took a box from his pocket. He opened it and gingerly removed a long cactus thorn. With his gloved fist he drove it deep into the flesh at the top of her cunt. She screamed and begged for the torture to stop, begged to be let down.
Despite her begging the next thorn went in, a little lower. The next lower still. The last went straight down her clit into the nerve mass below. The woman fainted, only to be doused with a bucket of water that ran into her nose and caused her to choke and sputter.
Her torture was only beginning. When the two men began to feed chains into both her holes she shouted out the name of her lover. The Inquisitor walked up to her, laughing. "But we already knew that." He turned at pointed to the door. She twisted her head and fainted again when she saw Pedro crawling on the floor between his guards. Each guard was holding a heavy chain like an oversize dog leash, attached to a solid steel collar around his neck. They poured water on her again, making her watch as her lover was put on his knees before a massive wooden block.
His cock and balls were laid out on the flat surface of the wood. A workman placed a strap of iron across the sack, behind his balls and drove home two nails pinning him to the block."
"Glen, Master, Iím going to come. I canít stop it. The torture. The torture! Ohhh, fuck me, Master." She sounded like a robot, far from reality.
"You can hold it. Thereís only one page left. Hang on." With that admonition he resumed reading. Amy cringed as a pitched battle erupted in her brain. One side was screaming "Go for it! Take your pleasure while you can. The other side barricaded the path from her body. "Orders are orders. You donít want to let your new Master down two days after you meet him.
He said, ĎOne page.í You can hold out that long."
"A masked figure appeared next to the trapped man. He held a huge mallet, more than a foot across the head.
Pedro didnít need to be told why the mallet was waiting, but they told him anyway.
"You will have the task of pulling the chain out of your adulterous loverís cunt. You will have one minute to hold the end in your hand, or the mallet will flatten you beyond hope of repair."
Then, walking to where both of them could see him, the Inquisitor added, "By the way, the links have been sharpened. I hope you are not affected by the sight of blood."
The woman screamed, yelling Pedroís name, begging him not to pull the chain. The man with the mallet prepared to strike. Pedro gripped the chain tightly, thinking only of his precious cock and began to pull..."
The groan was ear shattering. The orgasm on a scale of 1 to 10 was at least a 25, perhaps even 30. Amy gasped for enough air to groan with every exhale, arching her body as if her spine was impaled on a big spike. When she came down she gasped, "What time is it?"
He showed her his watch but she was too dazed to read it.
"Five minutes to 12."
"Master, please lick me."
She came twice in four minutes flat. Glen stopped her with a minute on the watch. "You havenít enough time for another one. Weíll save your minute for next time. Besides, you are about to collapse." She nodded once and was asleep. Glen checked her bonds and still shaking his head in wonderment laid down beside his beautiful slave and slept, one hand cupping a breast that was still capped with a rigid nipple.
The batteries died at dawn. Amy woke as the last fitful vibration ended in midair. Her mind was blank. She recognized the feeling of the big vibrating dildo inside her, but if her life had depended on it she could not remember when Glen... Glen! Sheíd called him Master! She raised her head and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him lying beside her, still asleep, one hand Ďstillí cupping her breast. She had no memory of that hand, since she was asleep before he touched her, but somehow she remembered the comforting feeling of her Master touching her, even in sleep.
She wanted to reach over and touch -- caress -- this new domineering man in her life, but her slight movement ended in frustration. She was bound, helpless, unable to move. That knowledge set off her first mini-orgasm of the day. That in turn unlocked repressed memories of the evening before. She stared unseeing at the ceiling as the voice -- Glenís voice --† reverberated in her mind, reading that story.
As the words came, she saw everything he was describing. First the leering face of the Chief Inquisitor. Then the guards manhandling her. Suddenly, her, not the woman in the story. She, Amy, was dragged in chains to the beam. She was tied upside down over the beam. She felt the cactus spines as they one by one were pressed into her flesh. She knew the horror to come as the chains were dropped into her body cavities.
She woke from her doze, her bladder sending terrorized messages warning of an immanent explosion and flood. Glen stirred beside her, his grip tightening momentarily on her breast.
He looked at her, grinning. She grinned back, but she was still immersed in the story. He loomed over her, kissing her lips, his tongue searching her mouth. She met him half way, but let him conquer her mouth. "Good morning, slave. "
"Good morning, Master. Ineedtopisssssss" The last hurried word came out as a hiss, underscoring her urgency. He had already loosened her arms and bending down he unhooked her ankles. She bounded off the bed and headed for the bathroom.
"Hey!" She stopped in mid-bounce and looked back at him, her body shivering with her need to go. She thought of crossing her legs, but decided against it.
"Slaves do not wander loose in the house. Come back here and get your cuffs on."
"Yes, Master." She didnít cross her legs, but her thighs were rubbing hard as she returned to the bed. He locked her cuffs, behind her. She gave in to the inevitable. "Please, Master, will you assist me?" She was already squatting before Glen got both legs out of bed.
As she was being toweled to a rosy finish, Glen stopped and peered at her mound. "What are all these red spots?"
Amy, startled, peered down at herself. One glance at the rows of dots and she had the answer. "Master, the cactus spines. I relived the story this morning, before you woke up. They were sticking the spines in her -- my -- mound.
"Hmmn, if thatís the case, then there should be one in your clit. He moved his head closer and touched the bud of flesh that was swelling between her lips. She winced, confirming that the red dot in the center of her clit was especially sore. Amy, in a typical reaction to pain, was panting, well up the slope to a major orgasm. Glen raised his head and looked at her face, grinning with the knowledge that she was hot again, or still.
"Hold that thought." He rummaged in the night stand and found a tube of ointment. "This is going to make you come. You are welcome to as many orgasms as you can produce while Iím massaging your pussy. No asking permission, one time only."
Amy lost count. She vaguely remembered being picked up and laid on the bed. Glen touched and massaged everything in a two foot radius of her pussy, except her clit, which he reserved for last. That set off a multi-orgasm that drained her strength.
Glen lay beside her, caressing the nearest breast, tweaking the nipple, keeping Amy Ďprimed.í Suppressing a grin he whispered, "Would you like me to read to you?"
Amy groaned, almost in pain. "Glen, you bastard, youíll turn me into a wet spot on the bed!"
"Tsk, tsk. Such unladylike language. What happened to Ďdarlingí?"
She turned toward him, moving carefully so he wouldnít lose his grip on her breast. She locked his eyes with hers.
"Glen... darling... I think Iím falling in love with you."
"So soon? Usually girls wait a month or two for an announcement like that. Are you sure it isnít the orgasms talking?" he teased.
"Master, the orgasms are a bonus. Iíve read enough to know that most masters restrict their slaves. You encourage me to have them, like just now. No, what Iím falling in love with is the man who controls me. Youíve had me in restraints since you first got here and I havenít had any clothes on my back for days!"
"But I like having a nude, naked woman in chains around the house. It adds to the atmosphere, gives the place a lived in look."
"Glen, youíre teasing me. Iím serious. Iíll say it. I love you."
Glen frowned. "That can really complicate a Master/slave relationship. Itís pretty tough putting someone you love through the wringer of being a slave. It means every time I punish you I have to remember, she loves me, so am I hitting her too hard?"
"Oh. I see what you mean. In other words, a slave can Ďloveí her Master, but she canít express it to him in words."
"She has to express it by obeying his commands, anticipating his needs and being available 24/7."
It was easy to read the disappointment on her face. She tried one last gambit. "But there are married couples that are Master and slave, arenít there?"
"Yes, of course. But those relationships take time to work out any differences and as I said, it puts an extra strain on both."
He turned over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Right now, you can express your slave feelings by getting us some breakfast. I will charge one kiss to change your cuffs from back to front."
She was off the bed in an instant and bending down she gave him one of her best Ďfuck meí kisses as he changed her cuffs. He laughed and slapped her butt, sending her on the way to the kitchen. When he finished his shower he could smell toast and bacon in the air.
After the last bite was consumed, Glen announced, "Today is moving day." Amy looked up at him, unsure how to react. It was inevitable that they would move from her house to his. There had been little discussion, beyond Glenís expressed need to be in his home office to handle his real estate business. Amy was renting her house and the lease was due to expire in three months. Subconsciously she latched onto that figure as a trial period for her relationship with Glen. However, she had already put the house at the bottom of her list.
Glen gathered up all his tools and the box of magazines and books. Amy contributed her small store, which just filled the box to the top. Glen grunted as he tried to lift the box, finally getting it up to carrying height. Amy helped by opening the door. He balanced it while he opened the tailgate on his pickup and then slid it in.
He stood in the doorway, keys in hand. Amy looked at him, then took an exaggerated look down her naked front, past her permanently erect nipples right down to her bare toes. "Am I supposed to go like this?"
Glen stuffed the keys in his pocket, grabbed her arm and headed for her closet. Five minutes later she emerged wearing a tight T-shirt that displayed more than it hid and a mini-skirt that was narrower than some belts. And her handcuffs. She walked demurely, knowing she was helplessly exposed, carrying a sweater in her hands to cover the cuffs, Glenís only admission of propriety.
Getting into the high seat in the pickup was fun for Glen, totally embarrassing for Amy. Despite having been nude for most of three days she blushed as the micro-mini slid up her thighs, exposing the total lack of underwear she had been allowed. She reached down to pull it forward, stopped by a "Tut, tut" from her Master. He put her position into words. "The only people who could see down into the cab would be driving an 18-wheeler and we wonít run into any of them on the residential streets. Besides, I like to have something to look at."
"Well, donít let your pussy looking interfere with your driving."
"Geez, I thought we left smartass behind. Guess weíll have to wash her mouth out when we get home. Course I could get a blow job as my payment for driving you around town."
"Oh, Glen!" she exclaimed, then was silent for the rest of the trip, not quite sure what sort of mood her new Master was in.
The trip was over almost before it began. Glen pulled into a wide drive, leading to a four car garage. She caught a glimpse of a near-mansion-sized house before one door opened in response to his controller and he drove in as the door closed behind the truck. He sat for a moment. She stayed rigid, waiting for orders. Glen reached into his pocket and drew out a leather blindfold. She looked at him, puzzled. He grinned at her. "Couple of things I donít want you to see, just yet."
He got out and came around to her side to help her out. She slid across the seat and the skirt gave up all pretense of hiding her pussy. Glen held her by the arms, deliberately peering closely at her crotch before letting her down, fanning her rosy cheeks to embarrassed red. At his nod she shed the useless skirt and the T-shirt (with momentary handcuff removal by Glen), giving him more to look at. He kissed her tenderly first on the mouth, then each nipple and then tied the blindfold over her eyes. He kissed her nipples again for luck. She thrust her nude body against him, already panting.
Gripping her shoulders he walked her ahead of him, warning of steps, turns and doors. Finally he stopped. A click announced one wrist was free. Moments later the open cuff closed on a pipe above her head. A second pair of cuffs circled the other wrist and the pipe and Amy was fixed. She found over time that she could move about three feet sideways but not forward or backward.
"You should be able to work the blindfold off by yourself. I have some things to do, so you can look the room over and plan the gadgets weíll need to make it into our own dungeon."
She heard his footsteps walk away and a door close. Quickly she found that the blindfold had been tied loosely enough so that in a couple of minutes she had rubbed it off against her arm. She found she was standing in one corner of a large, mostly bare room. She looked up to see how she was fixed and discovered that the cuffs were around a short length of pipe that came down from the floor and crossed to another riser. She could drag her cuffs anywhere along the horizontal pipe but she was stopped by the vertical pipes.
From the shadows, Glen watched, making sure she was not in trouble. After closing the door he had tiptoed back to a vantage point where he could see her, but she would have to turn completely around to see him.
As she followed Glenís order, she realized that the room had definite possibilities. The cement floor and walls gave it a prison-like atmosphere and some black paint and covers over the small windows would complete the transformation to an imposing and intimidating dungeon. She wished he would come back so that they could discuss plans, as she was unsure if her limited knowledge would satisfy him.
Glen moved back to the door, opened it and then walked toward Amy. She heard him come, a look of glad anticipation suffusing her face. His footsteps stopped and she heard the jangle of chains. She turned as far as she could to greet him, her eyes instantly focusing on the double handful of chain he was holding.
"What do you think?" She couldnít take her eyes off the chains and she thought he was asking her opinion about them. She tried to answer, but Glen realized her momentary obsession and reminded her, "The room. The room."
She dragged her eyes from the chains and regained her composure. "Oh, Master, it will make an ideal dungeon. I can make several suggestions, but we should talk about it together."
"Weíll do that later. Right now I want to take you on a tour of the house." He allowed part of the chain to fall to the floor from his hands. First he fixed a chain tightly around her waist, with dangling chains that were locked to her ankle cuffs. Bringing one arm at a time down from the pipes he locked her wrists to short chains that linked to the belly chain. He watched her reaction to the new bonds, noting that she couldnít pry her eyes off the chains the entire time. He brought her back to earth by asking, "Do you think you could pay attention now, slave?"
"Oh. Yes, Master. Iím sorry, Master. This is all so new."
"Would you come if I touched you?"
"God, yes, Master."
"Well, donít! Save it for later."
"Yes, Master. I will obey."† She made a visible effort to control her orgasm, banking the fire in her belly that the chains had fueled.
The tour of the house was an exercise in something -- perhaps frustration came as close as any other term. Glen turned a boring trip through a house into an exciting journey. Amy was instructed to hop through every doorway they came to. If the door was closed and not locked she had to hop into the room and back out and shut the door again. If locked she had to bow from the waist to the door, holding her wrist and ankle hobble chains taut
Each window got the same bow. Any appliance, no matter how small, required getting on one knee before it. Bathrooms weíll leave to the imagination.
By the time they got to the third floor balcony and Glenís bedroom Amy felt like she had either finished a ten mile hike or spent the day at a gym working out. He opened the bedroom door and she hopped in.
"This is it." Amy looked around, the bed catching her eye. It was larger than a king size. She suspected correctly that it was two queen size beds on one frame. ĎHerí side of the bed obviously was the side where the chains from the corner posts ended in manacles and shackles.
"Master is ready for a nap. How about slave?"
"Yes, Master. I would enjoy that." He busied himself unlocking her chains and a carefully aimed slap sent her scurrying to her side of the bed. She bent double and locked the shackles on her ankles. She got one of the manacles to close as Glen closed the other.
He leaned over and kissed her, bringing her arching upward from the bed. "Later," he promised. She stifled a groan, barely† maintaining control.
They slept for an hour. Amy awoke to find familiar fingers fiddling with her nipple. Instantly awake she raised up and looked over at him. He was being attentive to her nipple and took his time in looking up at her face.
"What do you think of the house?"
"Wow! You mean I get to live in this fancy mansion?"
"Damn! I forgot to show you your cell in the sub-basement."
"Master, youíre teasing your poor slave. Itís a wonderful house and I would be proud to live in the sub-sub-basement.
Suddenly she reared up against her chains, stark terror in her eyes. "Master, does this mean I have to do all the work -- keeping this place clean? The garden? Laundry? Cooking? Mow the lawn? Like this?" She looked down her nakedness and rattled her chains for emphasis.
Glen chuckled. "No, slave. Your talents are reserved for your Master. There are maids, a housekeeper and two men to keep the outside spick and span."
"Thatís a relief, Master! But... Iíve got a mental picture of us eating breakfast on the terrace while the Ďmení dig the flowerbeds and mow the lawn."
"We could arrange that if you like to show off, but I intend to keep you out of sight while thereís someone around. The dungeon is already off limits, except ro the housekeeper, who knows more than I do about bondage."
"So, Iím a pretty prisoner by day and can only come out at night?"
"It wonít be that bad. The gardeners are only here one day a week and are usually done by noon. The maids do their thing two days a week and also are out by noon. I can schedule them together so there only would be two days out of the week for a couple of hours of Ďhiding.í Chances are youíll need a Ďtime outí session or two a week anyway."
"Iím not sure I like the sound of that, but a slave does what sheís told."
"Iím not sure that last applies to you. Seems like youíve gotten into trouble right from the start. Every time I think about that dumb stunt you pulled the first night I want to spank you all over again."
"Please, Master, spank me right now. Iíve been a baaad girl."
"Not on your life. Iíd just have to change the sheets again."
"OK, then tell me about this housekeeper who Ďknows more about bondage than you do.í"
"Not too much to tell. Sheís three times your age and spent several years working in Los Angeles as a Dominatrix. If you think Iím a tough Master, try a week with her. I havenít had time to even talk to her as she just came to work here a month ago."
"So now Iíve got a Mistress to contend with besides a Master who keeps me naked and loaded with chains."
"Naked, yes. Loaded, no. Be careful what you ask for, Miss Smartass because you might get a week or two to regret. There ARE chains around. More than you could carry, so go easy on the lip."
"Yes, Master." The tone was contrite but the eyes told a completely different story.
Glen got up and went around the bed, releasing her from the four corners. She stretched like a cat, rolling to one side, then blatantly exposing herself to him. "Arenít we..."
"Later. Iíve got some work to do."
She pretended to pout. "Why do I always pick Masters who have to work?"
One word too many. Master became upset. In a matter of seconds slave was standing in the corner, nose pressed high in the angle, her head tilted back, her hands cuffed behind her. She received her Ďstandingí orders. "You will keep that smartass nose TIGHT in the corner." He drew a line, rubbing the pen close under her nostrils. "You will receive no pleasure, no arousal, nothing but punishment. No noise and no talking."
The work in his office kept him longer than he expected, including a last minute phone caller who wanted detailed information on a property. When he hung up he remembered Amy and bounded up the stairs. He found her just as he had left her, except that she was crying. He checked the line under her nose. Still visible. She had not moved. He sat down on the bed and watched her for several moments. Finally he said, "Relax. Punishment is over."
Amy stepped back from the wall. She gingerly straightened her stiff neck. As soon as her head was back to normal she walked across the room and knelt between his legs. "Thank you, Master, for punishing me. I deserved every minute." Then she broke into loud sobs. Glen reached down and tried to comfort her but she was inconsolable. Finally he grasped her hands and pulled her up onto the bed beside him. He put one arm around her. "Whatís the matter?
She looked at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please, Master, I beg of you, please donít ever do that to me again."
"Master, you ordered me not to get any pleasure or arousal out of being punished. It was just like you cut my head off. My brain was absolutely empty. I was so scared, it felt like I was in a vacuum. I couldnít breathe. I couldnít think. I couldnít feel anything. You could have whipped the skin right off my back and I wouldnít have felt a thing. Please, Master, punish me, but not like that."
Glen listened to her, his mouth open. He knew she was submissive, but to put that much power in his hands was totally unexpected. That would take some getting used to. He hugged her close. "I canít promise that I wonít do it again, but if I do it will be a situation calling for serious punishment. You will have it to fear if you fuck up. Speaking of which, I promised you a good screwing. Would you like it now, or after you fix supper?"
"Both." The imps in her eyes played catch. She got a solid slap on her rump as his response. "Watch out, slave. There are more tools in my arsenal."
"Yes, Master." Her words wouldnít melt butter. He began playing with her body, quickly arousing her. His hand strayed to her third hole. She stiffened, resisting. Glen remembered her reaction earlier, so he pursued the matter further. His finger rimmed the soft flesh, pressing...
"Park Avenue!" She said it loudly, repeating it so there would be no mistake. "PARK AVENUE!"
Glen stopped instantly. He rolled her over and looked deep into her eyes. "Whatís going on?" Amy looked away. He grasped her chin firmly and pulled her head toward him. She looked down -- anything but to meet his eyes. Tears were flowing again.
"Whatís going on?" he repeated. The lone tears became buckets. He resisted the urge to grab her and shake her, hard. She stared at the floor, looking at something else. Finally she raised her head, still not looking at him.
"I lied to you." She shook her head back and forth thrashing her long hair. "You promised me a cage. Make it harsh, to scare me shitless before Iím even locked in it. You will need it to force me to tell the truth. I am a liar and I donít deserve your kindness."
Glen tried to console her, without success. He held her close as they sat together on the bed. She continued to cry.
Glen watched her with mixed emotions. On the one side he was completely puzzled by her admission that she had lied and her wanting to be caged to force her to reveal -- something --† apparently whatever she had lied about.
On the other hand he was violently angry with her, ready to lock her away and throw away the key. In his heart of hearts he knew that this was not the solution and that he really didnít want to punish her so severely. Punish her, yes, but within reason.
She stopped sobbing for a moment, sniffling through her nose. He pulled tissues from the box on the nightstand and handed them to her. She nodded and blew her nose. "Thank you, Master." She had no more than said it when the tears streamed down her cheeks again. She looked at him, her eyes wild behind the tears.
"Iím not worthy to be a slave. You are too nice to me. I lied to you. Whip me. Beat me. Slap my face. Burn me. Punish me for lying to you. You might as well kill me rather than keep a liar in your house."
Glen thundered, "Amy!" She stopped, almost in mid-sob. Her eyes were empty, grey, blank.
"Shut up," he growled.
She bowed her head, turning away. Her "Yes, Master" was faint and hesitant. The sobbing did stop. When he forced her face back to him there were no more tears.
"You arenít going to tell me what you lied about, even if I order you to tell me?" His tone was even, noncommittal.
Amy shook her head. "I canít tell you. You will have to force me to admit and explain my lie. Make my cage cruel and heartless or it will fail."
Glen considered his options and found there was little he could do. He could order her to talk, but her amazing reaction to his orders was still in the experimental stages. The wrong question at the wrong time could mean losing her. That was not an option he wanted to even think about.
About the only real option was to ride out the storm and try and get her back on an even keel. He could tell she was close to hysteria and he certainly didnít want that for her either.
"Without knowing what you are hiding, I am going to punish you -- just as if I knew. You have a place here, and until I hear differently, you are welcome to stay. You said that you loved me. You have a chance to prove it now, by accepting your punishment and by serving me. Do you accept that, or do I return you to your home?
Amy was calmer, but still hyper. She opened her mouth and closed it again several times, whether afraid, or uncertain what to say or how to say it.
"Master, I am so sorry that I am responsible for all this upset. I deserve to be..."
She was interrupted by a scowl from Glen. She backtracked. "I accept -- and deserve -- any and all punishments and I will serve you in all things without hesitation."
"You will begin your punishment wearing your favorites -- chains. You have earned yourself a long walk. Come with me."
He led her down the stairs to the main floor, past the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement. He opened the door next to the dungeon, showing her a storage room.
First, he fitted her with a collar. It was small and narrow. Glen didnít want his slave missing a step she couldnít see. One wall was lined with hooks, from which different sizes and lengths of chain hung in a graduated row. He selected several at the heavy end and grabbed a handful of big brass padlocks. It took several minutes to complete his plan. Amy stood, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. He noticed. "Look at me! he snapped. With great reluctance she lifted her eyes, too shamed to look at him unless ordered to.
Glen slammed the length of chain to the floor, clanging loudly on the stone. He grabbed her chin and stooped down until his eyes were inches from hers. "Slave, you are going to cooperate --† willingly and with great enthusiasm -- with every order I give you. Until I find out whatís going on, you WILL -- as you agreed --† do everything I tell you to do without hesitation. Your response and acceptance of your punishment now will greatly affect my choice of punishment and severity afterward. Do you understand?"
Amy summoned all her courage and strength. This was not going as she had planned or hoped. She had been certain that Glen would literally beat her brains out once he found she had lied to him. She accepted that he wasnít going to do that, but she was too ashamed to respond to his unexpected treatment of her.
She wanted desperately to drop her eyes, close her eyes, hide in some tiny hole, but Glenís eyes, locked to hers, refused to let her turn chicken. She was going to have to own up to her lie and suffer the consequences. "Yes, Master! I understand and I will obey. Please punish your slave for her disobedience."
"Weíll discuss that after we see if you have any energy left after your walk." He picked up the fallen chain, locked it to her collar and belt, completing her costume of chains. On the other wall hung a selection of whips and floggers. Glen chose a pencil thin buggy whip. Without warning he swung, nearly full strength. Amy yelped in pain as it seared a red line across the centers of her ass cheeks.
"One. Thank you, Master, for punishing me! Please whip me again."
"That will be saved for your first stumble. You will climb the stairs to the top floor and back down. You will continue to climb up and down until I tell you differently. If you meet me on the stairs you will beg for the whip. You will keep count of the number of strokes you receive, the number of steps and the number of times you meet me. At least some of the time I will be behind you, encouraging you to greater performance. You have a quota of steps. I am not going to tell you what your quota is, but I will advise you to waste as little time as possible. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master! I will obey."
"Then what are you waiting for?" He swung again, catching her hip.
"Two, Master. Thank you for punishing me! Please whip me again."
Even as she responded she was moving as rapidly as her chains allowed to the stairs. For safety reasons Glen had not hobbled her, so she was able to lift her foot to each new step.
In panic she counted the steps as she mounted. She could hear Glen behind her, swinging the whip past her ear so she could hear its message of pain. She reviewed her orders, memorizing them in seconds. She realized there were two elements to her punishment that could make things very difficult. There was no time limit on her walk and she had not been told what her step quota would be. She debated conserving her energy for a day-long climb or going as fast as possible at once. She took the latter course, fairly certain that Glen would relent if she collapsed.
Despite its Ďspur of the momentí aura, Glen had put a lot of thought into this particular punishment. Amy was obviously infatuated with chains of any kind, so punishing her with a load of chains would spar with her obsession, reminding her at every step that loving your chains is a great distance away from having your body draped in their jangling weight, and having to climb, endlessly, carrying the too heavy links that would sap her strength and resolve.
He also wanted to demonstrate to her that a slave does not spend the rest of her life on her back on a comfortable bed. That made him think of the ancient dog house in a back corner of the lot. The dog was long gone, but the dilapidated structure might make the perfect Ďhomeí for a luxury-loving slave.
For now he kept the dog house as a threat. He was concerned that if left alone she might harm herself, so he decided to keep as close to her as possible. Right now that meant staying with her as she climbed to the bedroom and back down to the basement. He guessed with accuracy that she wouldnít be able to complete more than three or four circuits from top to bottom, given the heavy load of chain she was bearing.
He was waiting at the bedroom door when she finished the fourth climb. He could tell easily that she was exhausted. She was sweating heavily, her naked body gleaming in the light. Glen pointed his finger at her, curling it to beckon her to him. He led her into the bedroom. She looked with longing at her side of the bed, with its waiting shackles and manacles.
"Please, Master. Bathroom," she croaked, her mouth dry.
He lifted the lid for her and helped her sit, almost overbalanced by the weight of her chains. She made a thunderous splash, bringing the usual flush to her face. Glen almost bodily lifted her to the bidet, her legs giving out on her momentarily. When he was finished with her, he assisted her back into his bedroom, where he laid her down on a heavy shag rug. She glanced at the bed, wishing, but knowing that she didnít deserve to be in her Masterís bed.
Just touching her had Glen aroused. He undressed, brought a towel from the bath and laid it under his hips. Selecting a book from the shelf he made himself comfortable on the bed, facing Amy. He began reading. At the same time his hand found his hardness and began stroking it, ignoring his audience of one.
Amy watched, her eyes hooded. She knew this was a subtle punishment and she realized that it was having exactly the desired effect on her. She was getting aroused from watching him beat his meat, from being denied his bed and her ignominious place of dishonor on the rug. She knew without even asking that she would never get permission to climax the tiny jet of flame in her gut. Her strenuous labor caught up with her about then and her eyes closed and she was instantly asleep.
Glen read on, oblivious to his slaveís sudden nap. It was only when he neared orgasm that he glanced down at her and realized she was escaping his punishments by sleeping. Grumbling to himself about slaves not having any respect for their Masters, he laid the book aside and had his own nap, welcome after following Amy up and down the stairs.
Glen woke, disoriented for a moment. He felt beside him and found empty bed. He raised up and looked down. Amy was awake, but her eyes were still blank. The bedside clock showed 3 p.m.
Glen sat on the edge of the bed and stretched, showing Amy one of the many things she couldnít do in her chains. He looked at her, expectantly. Amy caught the look and with an effort rose to her knees.
"I have to do some work in the office. Care to join me?"
It sounded like a question, but Amy accepted it as a command.
She looked at him, expectantly, but he made no move to release her from her chains. He had other plans for her. She didnít know that but she survived having her hopes dashed. Both rose at the same time, Amyís marked by the clatter of chain links. Glen dressed quickly. Amy was undressed but had no need for clothes.
She was very slightly unsteady on her feet, so Glen took her arm as they descended the stairs. He briefed her as they entered the office.
"You will lie on this bench, right beside my desk. If I am talking on the telephone you will remain absolutely silent, no matter what happens. I donít want a peep out of you, or the slightest sound from your chains. Iím sure you donít want to be whipped up each step from the basement to my bedroom."
He added, "I may touch you from time to time. You are welcome to be aroused, but you will not come. Is that clear?"
"Of course, Master."
"Get yourself arranged. I have to call a client."† He picked up the† phone and dialed the number. Looking at Amy he held his finger to his lips as a final warning.
"Cheryl! How are you?"
Amy listened in growing amazement as Glenís tone changed completely. It at once fueled the first pangs of jealousy. He was talking to this ĎCherylí like he talked to her in their very intimate moments. To Amy it sounded totally unbusinesslike.
She could only hear one side of the conversation but her active mind provided the other side and her jealousy grew by the minute. She had no idea what they were talking about, paying attention to the tone and not the content.
Glen ended by saying, "Good, Iíll meet you tomorrow morning at nine, in front of your office." He paused for her response and added his "Good bye."
Glenís fingers had been playing on her thigh, close to, but never touching anything but thigh. He looked down to see her reaction and almost jerked when he saw the anger in her eyes.
"What?" he asked.
"I suppose that was your girl FRIEND," she gritted through clenched teeth.
Glen reviewed his conversation and realized it might lave sounded that way. He did not apologize. Rather he told Amy her place.
"Listen to me, slave. Cheryl is not my girl ĎFRIEND,í as you put it. She is a V... I... C, a very important client. I made enough in commissions last year from this one client to buy this house twice over -- very close to seven figures. If Iím not interrupted by a jealous slave I expect to do even better this year."
"Master, I donít believe you. You talked to her like we talked in the bedroom."
Glen looked at her, staring her down. She was right, and he noted the past tense Ďwe talked.í He felt a pang, but he had to call her out on her accusation.
"Slave, you just called your Master a liar. I will not stand for that. I expect an immediate apology before you prepare for some more punishment."
Amy stared back for a long moment, then dropped her eyes. He was on her in an instant.
"Look at ME!"
Her eyes dragged up from the floor as if moving through liquid glue. She looked. She did not like what she saw. For the first time she saw blazing anger, directed at her. She blinked, twice, but could not tear away from the eyes shooting daggers at her. She saw a hint of disappointment, which hurt more than the anger. She stood it for long seconds then gave in.
Staring into his eyes she said the words he expected from her.
"Master, I am sorry, so sorry for calling you a... liar. I am guilty of jealousy. I want you for myself, not to share with some... client."
ĎClientí was a replacement for the term that cropped up in both minds at the same time. She had nearly said† "share with some floozy."
Glen was adamant, eager to nip this rebellion in the bud.
"Slaves do not call their Masters liars. For any reason. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Master. Iím sorry."
"Slaves are not allowed the luxury of being jealous. A jealous slave is a worthless slave, until the jealousy is beaten out of her. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Master. Iím sorry."
"Now, do you believe me when I say that Iíve never slept with Cheryl?
"Yes, Master. Iím sorry that I doubted you. Please punish this slave for her disobedience."
He looked into her eyes, searching for confirmation of her words. All he could see were two grey blanks. Glen sighed in frustration.
Still angry, Glen snarled at her, "You are the only acknowledged liar in this relationship!"
Stung by his true words, Amy bowed her head.† She was beating herself up over her outburst and now Glen reminding her only added to the self-recrimination. She was hopeless. The only outlet left to her was to ask again for punishment, and apologize again. Glen heard the words and knew they came from the heart but he still wasnít sure heíd gotten through with his warnings. This was not the Amy that he was beginning to love.
He made her lie there until he had made all his calls. She obeyed explicitly, not moving a hair when he was on th phone. She stared into empty space, without any expression on her face. Glen had stopped touching her. She didnít seem to miss his touch. It was cause for concern, as to Glen it appeared that she was going catatonic on him.
His anger continued through the waning afternoon. He mused over several possible punishments that might fit the crime, but was not fully satisfied by any of them. Finally he pulled his trump card, just as he finished the calls.
"Letís go. Punishment time."
Willingly she got up with the usual clatter, but her face remained blank, her stare cold as ice. He took her leash and she meekly followed as he led her down the stairs to the basement. He led her through a corridor she hadnít seen on her tour of the house, stopping at a massive steel door. Amy suddenly focused, her imagination supplying what was behind the steel.
When he spun the combination and opened the door it was not quite what she had envisioned. Once a wine cellar, it had been converted into a dungeon cell. Before letting her step through the doorway he took his key and stripped all her chains, her collar, belt and cuffs and left them on the floor.
He prodded her forward. Suddenly reluctant she hesitated. The second prod was much harder, sending her stumbling into the cell. She stood rooted as Glen dragged a massive chain to her. Three links and a padlock and she was chained to the wall.
Glen shone his flashlight into one of the darkest corners. There was a pile of chains of various sizes. He ordered,
"Go piss on that pile."
Amy looked at him as if he had lost his marbles.
Dutifully she dragged her chained ankle to the corner, and squatted and splashed.
"Get all the pile."
She swung her hips, moving her stream like a firehose. The rusty links shone wet in the beam of the flashlight.
"Do that every time you have to go."
He handed her a two-inch square of emery cloth.
"You will keep that pile rusting. You will use this to polish the chain between your ankle and the wall. When you are ready to come out, you will be covered with rust from your neck to your toes. Any spots you miss will get flogged. Understand?"
Glen eyed her up and down. "Get to work, slave."
He slammed the door, closing with a deep thud like a vault door. Amy could hear the faint sound of the combination being spun.
Suddenly she was aware that she was in near-darkness. When the door had been open the light from the corridor helped brighten the cell but now she could barely see her hand in front of her. She had three jobs, only one of which could be done in the dark. Despondent, she sat on the stone floor and started crying.
Glen listened to her sobbing. He had a microphone and an infra red camera installed in the cell so that he could monitor her. There were screens all over that could call up the cell or several other places in the house.
Figuring that the darkness was the root cause, he fished a remote out of his pocket and turned the lights up a bit. She stopped crying almost immediately. He turned them up bit more and she began working on her ankle chain at once, apparently realizing that he was watching her.
He made himself supper while he watched the monitor in the kitchen. She was working hard with the emery cloth and even on the monitor he could see that she had already polished several links. After some time she stopped and got up, spotting the water tap in the far corner. She finally had to lie on her back to get under it to get water.
Amy worked far into the evening, unaware of time. She had over a dozen links polished, but each one was harder as the cloth wore away, the abrasive falling off. She gave up for the night, wet the chains in the corner and laid down on the stone floor. The harsh surface drove all sleep from her. Every position she tried was more painful than the last, keeping her wide awake. It gave her time to think and to bitterly regret the words she had said in anger. :Penetrating her gloom was the realization that she was being punished by an expert -- true, an instant expert -- but one who was outsmarting her at every turn and reaching into her very soul to make her regret whatever she had done. He had said that "when she wanted to get out" she would have to cover herself with rust. She used her sleepless hours to try and figure out how to accomplish his wish that she be coated with rust.
Amy knew that there was only a small pile of rust from her labors on the chain. The one source was the probable rust pile under the chains in the corner. That would be wet and would stick to her body. She wrinkled her nose, smelling the stink from the corner. Could she deliberately smear herself with that overripe rust? If she wanted out, she had to.
She thought of the water tap. If she could get some of that water over to the chains, she could wash them down. She immediately discarded the idea as unworkable as the only Ďbucketí available were the palms of her hands, which didnít even hold enough to drink. She spent most of an hour trying to think of something worse to add to her misery and failed. Glen had outclassed her.
Glen stayed awake through the night, the microphone wide open to pick up the slightest sound from Amyís cell. He was dozing when a loud noise made him jump. Amy was dragging her chain to the water tap. She laid under it, drinking her fill and even as she finished the water stopped running. Amy shook her head in admiration. Glen was ahead of her again.
Obeying orders, she wet the pile one more time. Then, literally holding her nose with one hand, she move the chains to expose the rusty slime hiding there. She scraped up a handful and slathered it on her body. She had to use both hands and move the chains twice to gather enough rust to cover her. She wished for a mirror to see her back, repeatedly wiping her hands over it to ensure she got it all. She wanted nothing to do with any of the plentiful supply of whips that Glen had waiting.
When she was satisfied that she had done her best, she stood up. She wondered if she should knock on the door. Would it even penetrate the door? She had her hand raised to knock when she heard the combination clicking. The door swung open and Glen stood before her. She went to all fours and kissed his shoes. He pointedly peered at her back looking for gaps.
"Up," he ordered. She stood, humiliated by his close inspection. She passed.
He led her to the basement shower. She stepped in at his order and watched his hand turn only the cold water on. She yelled when it hit her, certain it was on a direct line to a glacier.
Under different circumstances he would have joined her in the cold shower but she was being punished, not coddled. She grabbed the soap and hurried to clean herself, again unsure of her coverage of her back. Finished, still unsure, she shut the water off and stepped out, reaching for the towel. He stopped her.
"Inspection."† He looked her front over carefully, lifting first one breast, then the other to make sure no rust was hiding in th crease. She had to spread her legs for his probing fingers, each time wet but clean. She even had to lift one foot, then the other so he could check between her toes. She bent over at his command, suffering the indignity of a probing finger in her ass. She was allowed to use the towel, but Glen shocked her again when she was dry, carefully examining the white towel for the slightest trace of rust.
Once more she passed. She got no pleasure from her success. If Glen wanted to whip her he would find a reason, or for no reason at all.
Her chains awaited. She stood, docile, as Glen added pound after pound of chains and locks. He finished and whisked a stripe across her rear cheeks.
"One trip top to bottom, to get your blood flowing, then breakfast."
She thanked him and headed up the stairs toward his bedroom. She glanced in that direction as she turned to go back down, but in her present state she had no real interest in his bed. Sex for Amy had become an abstract word.
Glen had no idea how to handle her or what to do with her. He had his appointment at nine, which would mean a 20 minute drive to Cherylís office. That didnít leave much time. He debated putting Amy back in the cell, but he was unhappy with the idea. The last alternative was to take her with him. Now that was a problem! He couldnít put her in the back seat, naked and chained without his VIC raising the roof. The only other answer was to put her, chains and all, in the trunk. It smelled of danger, but he couldnít see any way out.
He took Amyís leash and led her to the garage. Opening the trunk he helped her get in, first laying a heavy comforter on the trunk floor. She made herself as comfortable as she could, lying on some of her chains. She looked up at Glen, or looked through him. Glen was having a last minute debate with himself but he didnít have time for an alternative. He gave her specific instructions, "You are not to move, except when the car is moving and any noise you make will be covered. I will have a client in the front with me part of the time. If you say one word or make a noise that the client hears, your ass is going to be shredded to the bone. If the car is parked, you make no noise. Clear?"
"Yes, Master." Her stare remained blank.
He closed the lid, her blank eyes the last thing he saw. He opened the door and backed the car out, making sure it closed behind him.
Cheryl was just walking out of her building as Glen drove up.
Amy, silent in the trunk heard him greet her, heard the change in his tone, heard her get in the car, the subtle change of weight. She felt jealousy once again. She knew it was forbidden. She didnít care. In an instant she switched from a slave to a loose cannon.
The two were talking , joking, laughing. Amy fumed, unable to hear the words but focusing on the tone. To her, two lovers chatting. She swore, silently, a nasty word. Glen was a liar --† worse than a liar. She vowed revenge.
Glen stepped on the gas. Deliberately Amy picked up a chain and let it fall with a clang. Glen heard it over the motor noise, but Cheryl was laughing and didnít pay any attention to it.
Amy called Cheryl a string of names that would embarrass a longshoreman. She repeated and embellished the list for Glenís benefit. Fortunately neither one heard her.
After long minutes the car pulled to a stop. Amy could hear no sound. No traffic, no children playing, Momentarily distracted from her vendetta she wished the trunk lid was open so she could look around. The two voices dimmed and disappeared in the distance.
Her orders were not to move. For some reason she followed that order even as she plotted revenge. The voices were suddenly coming back, louder. Amy heard Glen say something about being sold. She heard Cheryl get into the car, then his footsteps coming to the rear of the car. The lid popped open and Glen was looking down at her, his finger to his lips. She looked into his eyes, willing him to see the rage. He saw it, pointed a finger at her and violently shook his head, warning her once more.
He grabbed a "Sold" sign and closed the lid. She heard the sign being attached to the "For Sale" sign and then Glen got back in the car. The muted conversation began again and once more Amy was fuming as Glen drove away.
Glen had scared her. She was sure he had heard her drop the chain. She wanted desperately to hurt both of them, but she was hesitant now.
She felt the car slow, then turn into a driveway, then a parking lot. She could hear people in the distance. Glen and Cheryl got out of the car and walked to the restaurant. Amy was showing the first signs of claustrophobia from the small trunk. Twice she opened her mouth to yell, then closed it again. Even she realized that the wrong people might respond to her call for help. The time to yell would be when the two lovers came back.
It was hot and stuffy in the trunk. Amy grew bored as the two ate a slow-speed lunch and dozed off, waking suddenly when the car doors unlocked. She heard Glen helping Cheryl back in her seat and then say something to someone else. She drew a breath to yell, but Glen got into the car and she let the breath out silently.
There were "Good byes" as Cheryl was dropped off at her office and then in 20 minutes they were home. She heard the big door close behind the car.
Glen took his time getting out of the car. His anger was as potent as Amyís had been. A small corner of his mind noted that at least Amy had gotten over that blank stare. The rest said "So what?"
By the time he reached the rear of the he was raving mad. He slammed open the lid as Amy cowered back from him.
"You fucking bitch! You came within an inch of screwing a six figure deal. Get the Hell out of that trunk so that I can deal with you!"
Amy screamed with fear, almost wetting herself. She fought her chains, scrabbling to get out of the trunk, to crawl away. Glen suddenly had a whip and was lacing it across her back.
"Iím sorry, Glen!" she screamed and screamed again when the whip caught her thigh.
"You and that bitch, Youíre her lover!" she sobbed
"Youíre the bitch, you stupid fuck, you could have put me in jail for life!"
"Jail? Where was I? In a five star hotel? I agreed to be your slave, not to hold your prick while you bang some broad!"
"Amy, for the last Goddam time! Iím not sleeping with her! Sheís a client! Money in the bank!"
"You went off with her to a motel. I heard you. I wanted to yell ĎGood bye you bastardí."
Glenís face went white. "We went to a restaurant! And the car was sitting next to a police car with two officers in it -- with the windows open. You and your jealousy have nearly wrecked things for both of us. I love you, but Iíll be damned if I let you ruin our lives!
Suddenly sobered by the mention of the police, and realizing how close she had come to alerting them, she fell to the floor and crawled to Glenís feet.
"Glen, Iím sorry. Iím worthless. I opened my mouth to yell several times, including at the restaurant. Punish me, please Master. Beat the jealousy out of me inch by inch. Make me so sorry, hurt so much that I will never do this to you again. Leave me in that cell. Make me polish those chains in the day and piss on them at night. Forget Iím even there. Leave me to starve..."