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“So, where are the chains?” Alex immediately asked when she presented him with the rope. He didn’t look at all grateful for her effort, and that displeasure showed in his scowl. He did remove the rope from her mouth so she could speak.
“I was afraid my teeth wouldn’t be able to handle the chains, sir.”
“Well then fix them to your waist.” He took one end of the rope and tossed it over her head, letting it drop to her waist. From there, he began to pull the stretched out rope so it ran along her back and her right side. Slowly dragged across her flesh, it scratched her skin and her body heated from the friction with every nerve heightening f
rom the prickly feeling of the hemp. Once it was all coiled again and in his lap, he began to wrap the rope around her waist, two, three, four, five times, until there was only six feet left. He secured the coils at her middle with the remaining rope and put the end in her mouth. She understood now what he wanted her to do.
Laney’s palpitating heart could hardly stand the stress these awkward moments of submission produced, for every second was sharp and slow across her consciousness, moving like the edge of a blade drawn slowly along sweating skin. And now another painful crawl to retrieve the fisherman’s chains.
Laney returned to the library, her crawl less provocative now and more labored, but still a sexy sight for the waiting Alex. She moved to the library cabinet as she had before with a little spittle dripping from her mouth and collecting on the rope. Again she opened the cabinet and pulled the heavy bag of chains from inside, this time knowing that she would have to drag them from one room to the other. She’d never be able to crawl with them dangling from her body. She looped the end of rope though the cords on the bag, allowing enough slack for the sack to slide against the floor as she crawled. Returning, she moved more slowly, for the weight kept pulling her back. At first, the bag dragged along at her side, but after about ten feet, she realized that the only way she could crawl was to let the bag drag from her belly, between her knees and between her legs. She adjusted the chains, moving them into position and started out again, feeling the rope press taut against her stomach. As it thread through her naked crotch, the hemp was drawn in tightly against her labia, then disappeared into that soft cleavage of her sex. Considering how much the rope cut, she might have corrected the positioning, but that rough rubbing against her sensitive sex bud seemed to intensify her mounting desire. Her desire was ruthless and biting by that time, furious, demanding. She dragged the chains as self-inflicted punishment, which sprung from grief and longing she’d held on to far too long.
She thought of her labor as penance, although she had no real clue what she must atone for.
The fisherman watched as she emerged from the library, dragging the bag of chains between her legs. Her body found a new, more arduous, but nonetheless sensuous rhythm, in this appalling act of humble service. When she was at his feet again, exhausted and hurting, she fell into a deep crouch, a degrading bow that raised her ass, as if she were preparing her body for the punishment she expected.
“Geez, Laney, you’re getting so good at this, I should have you tote and fetch the rest of it for me,” Alex said. “Pretty good for just pretending.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, where are my chains, huh?”
Laney pulled up and dragged the bag out from under her body and lifted it into his hands like an offering of some great value.
In the minutes that followed, the fisherman unwound the rope from her waist and used it to bind Laney’s breasts into a rope harness, which made the fleshy mounds protrude obscenely from her body. Inside the bag were manacles for her wrists and ankles, a chain to link one ankle to the other, and another to link her shackled wrists together.
“You won’t walk much,” he said, as he finished her restraints. “I wouldn’t want to strain that ankle anymore than it is already.”
She hardly remembered that it was hurting; that the pain had subsided in the hour of crawling submission, and she imagined if she walked now, she’d hardly feel a thing. Some things don’t matter when fulfilling her dreams.
Now awkwardly bound, her body in chains, her desire was thick enough to taste, and the sour stench of her crotch seemed to fill the air around her.
The daylight was waning fast, the light in the room a soft afternoon glow that settled all around them, making everything gleam with the rich, golden color of a 16th century painting. Once there’d been naked statues in the room that conveyed that kind of Old World ambience. Although without them, the room still took on the aura of the decaying and ancient, a world of magic and enchantment; chicanery and the diabolical. The darker elements of nature bloomed…the fisherman and lawyer squaring off in an ancient game…of pretend. There would be no pretending in the way he punished her; that was something they both understood.
Alex rose from the chair, his sub bound, manacled and humble at his feet. Her dark hair brushed the hard wood floor, locks of it clumped together like writhing snakes.
“Over the sofa,” he ordered her.
Laney looked up to see what he wanted, and study what remained of the sagging old couch. The wooden frame was practically stripped of fabric and much of the stuffing had disappeared, but there was enough of the structure to serve as a make-shift rack. Certainly it would suffice as a means to further humble a woe begotten widow.
Laney struggled for some time trying to pull herself to her feet, then she shuffled to the back of the couch. Her body already ached fiercely from her tightly bound breasts and the heavy chains and manacles. In one spot along the six foot length of the old sofa, there was still some soft cushion to lessen her discomfort as she bent over. She let her crotch rest against the top beam, while Alex grabbed for her chained hands and, after pulling them tight, attached them to the front foot rail of the sofa. Then he moved around behind her, and anchored her ankle cuffs to eyebolts in the floor—remains of the Marquis’ bondage parties—her feet positioned as far as the chain between them would allow—about two feet. Posed this way, her upper torso with its bound breasts dangled in the air, while her hips balanced on the top of the couch, and her ass was high, well within striking distance of the fisherman’s leather strap.
Teaming moments of waiting wonder followed. She closed her eyes, her body clenching as she prepared herself for the cruelty her body remembered with such fondness. The strict tightness of the bondage made every nerve fervently ache.
The implement came crashing down against her backside in its initial blow, then continued moving back and forth, as Alex moved his aim from side to side, from one ass cheek to the other. The strength and iron will behind his repeated blows sent pleasure immediately scurrying to the sidelines. Pain rifled through agitated nerves. Again and again the strikes arrived with unrelenting volition, and her taut body felt the pain increase with each one.
“Ah… uhm….yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!” she soon vented. “Ooo, please… pleasepleaseplease!” the torment made her beg. “Nooooooooo, yyeeeeeeeeeeeash!” Her wails increased in volume, until Alex suddenly stopped. Though not a moment later, one vicious cut landed across her brightly stripped hind end, this one deliberately striking through the rising welts already there.
“Cut the noise, Ms. Priestly!” Alex snapped.
She knew she’d gone too far and clamped her mouth shut tight, embarrassed that she’d been so vocal; those kinds of screams were not allowed, not from a simple beating like this one.
Instead of voicing her protest, she squirmed violently as the punishment continued, as Alex switched from beating her ass with the strap, to flailing on her lowered shoulders. The change was welcome; these body blows were so very different from those leveled on her ass, like an aphrodisiac to start, sensuous and sometimes biting but they rarely cut into her flesh so viciously. Her open crotch ached all the more, while her hips began writhe in an erotic rhythm that revealed her increasing arousal.
“Gawd, yeessssssssssssss,” she seethed under her breath, knowing she could climax this way. Nothing Alex could do to her now would affect the outcome. Just as it had been before, her raunchy body relished every strike of the leather and the impending orgasm rose with each fresh burst of pain.
Suddenly, the air crackled, a deafening sound pierced the air.
Then a bolt of fire burst across Laney’s writhing body.
