In Chains

Chapter One-2

Holly turns again, this time facing me, and raising one leg so her skirt parts, she pulls my hand under the table.

“The chain. I want you to feel the chain.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I blush embarrassed as I feel her kinky pubic hair. She pushes my fingers deeper, to where the chain runs between her legs and attaches to a ring pierced through her clit. She’s as wet as I am.

“You have it bad, don’t you?” her voice purrs softly, as she strokes my thigh.

Pulling my hand away, I move back nervously. “But I’m not ready for this.”

“Hey, I’m not planning to take you to Crawford. I’d rather make love to you myself.”

“So, you are hitting on me?”

“Sure.”

“But I’m not sure. I’m not sure at all.” My bisexual desires are just in their formative stages, having, quite surprisingly, appeared in my masturbations a few times recently—probably inspired by the conversations about lesbians in my s*x class. These new desires were unexpected, and, at first, unwanted, though their appeal becomes far clearer with Holly sitting so close.

“It’s okay if it’s your first time. We’ll take it slow.”

“I don’t think so.” I’m fighting myself, all this made worse because I see she’s going to be disappointed if I turn her down. This is too absurd, and way too soon.

“Hey, you can’t expect me not to try,” she quips.

Of course. She’s amazingly bold, hardly timid the way I am. And she’s submissive? Seems like a strange combination.

“Why me?” I finally ask.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been eyeing you, and you’ve been looking at me. You’re in the class, so I figure there’s some secret desire going on in your head—even if you don’t look the type. I know you’re not a dom. You’re likely a bonafide sub, and if you’re that, I figure you’re probably bi as well. Every female sub I’ve known has wanted women too.”

That’s a lot of fancy logic all at once, but she’s likely right.

“So, it’s okay to hit on women?” I ask. She backs off the seduction and I breathe easier. “How does that figure with your master?”

“Crawford doesn’t care if I have women, but he’s very strict about s*x with men.”

“Ah.”

“You’re interested in S&M, aren’t you?” she probes further to find my dark weakness.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” I’m reluctantly admitting, though the confession doesn’t seem to carry the judgmental weight that I fear, realizing that this woman likely lives in the world I dream of every day. I think I’m more scared now because reality stares me in the face and I might actually have to make a choice about these s****l desires.

“Why don’t you come to the house and I’ll show you some of our stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Chains, leather …” she doesn’t need to say more. I’m dying of curiosity, palms sweating, as she mentions the conventional tools of our lust.

“Is Crawford there?” I ask.

“He will be, but later. You don’t have to meet him.”

I wish I had another class—a decent excuse to decline the invitation, but I can’t think of one good evasive maneuver. Any explanation I’d offer would only sound false. Either I go, or I’m a coward. I know what I want.

“Sure, why not?” My heart thumps in my chest like a drum beating in an untamed jungle—the jungle close by. As I walk the three blocks to Holly’s house, each step I take is filled with premonitions, and expectations, and gut-wrenching fear. The constant pounding at my heart leads to a steady throbbing in my groin. The dark jungle looms before me pulling me inside. These jarring spasms jolt my belly with fire. I feel my s*x press against the silk of my panties and the little cotton crotch becomes sticky. I even smell my body’s s****l aroma wafting toward my nostrils.

Holly lives in an old brick house with vines that trail up one side like the arms of an embracing lover. The steps are worn, like the path to my p***y where my hand plays. Everything is erotic—the burgeoning spring breaking forth like my s****l appetites. I’m afraid to take this to any real end, but I’m so damned curious, I can’t stop myself—this obsession no different than what I feel when the voice takes over my body. Holly skips up the steps with me following. This is not a jungle but my real world.

The old oak door swings wide as though she’s opening a vault and a blast of cool air hits my face.

Once inside, I shudder looking at the mundane surroundings of a master’s house, feeling as though I’m an intruder, or maybe even his newest initiate. I’m glad he’s not here. I’m sure I’d turn into a babbling bubblehead just taking one look at the man that owns my friend. The image of Holly in leathers and chains sparks my imagination. I see her humbled on her knees before her lover, with his riding crop about to strike her ass.

“It doesn’t show, you know,” she says.

“Doesn’t show?”

“It’s not like we keep whips in the kitchen and my leather harness hanging on the living room wall.”

“You have a harness?”

“Yes. A bit that goes through my mouth, straps that bind my arms behind me …” she notes my reaction, like she knows I’ve been dreaming of this for years.

I wonder what I expected.

“Don’t look so spooked,” she laughs. For a moment, she disappears into the back of the house and returns with two glasses of white wine. “Relax.”

I take a sip, hoping the alcohol will have some effect on my fantasy-battered brain. As I sit on the couch I try to look relaxed, but watching Holly tidying up the room, her nervous agitation seems strange.

“I told him I’d have the place cleaned up today. He’s been getting pissed lately because I’m such a lousy housekeeper.”

I smile. “What would that mean, his getting pissed?” I ask.

“That I’ll get my butt whipped,” she says, looking like a naughty kid.

I’m not sure whether she wants it or dreads it. “And you don’t like that?”

“Oh, I love it. But not when Crawford’s angry, because then, he’s not going for pleasure. If I’m not careful, I’ll find myself strung up against the wall for an hour or two. That’s only fun for about a half hour. After that, I start to ache and my arms scream with pain. I don’t like my S&M alone. He’s got to be there, and he knows leaving me is the worst thing he can do. Here,” she suddenly offers me her hand, “you want to see our room? That’s where all the good stuff is.”

I’m led into the back of the house, to a small bedroom with a king-size bed pushed against one wall. There are thick blue velvet drapes at the window, a brocade comforter on the bed, and a small highboy in the corner. So far nothing unusual, until Holly opens what looks like a closet door, and we walk into a room that must be 8 x 8—hardly a closet at all. The walls, except one papered one, are painted the color of wine, like the color of blood. Like all the other rooms in the house, crown molding encircles the circumference, and runs along the base of the floor. Embedded into the plaster walls are eyehooks, a tangle of leather ropes dangle from the ceiling, an odd-looking rack-like structure sits in the corner, and against the wall papered with enormous roses are an array of S&M implements. My mind suddenly goes on vacation, thoughts end and my body turns weak. I take just one glance, wanting more, but choose to leave this dangerous territory when the fear clutches me by the throat. I’m in the jungle again, afraid any moment I’ll be dragged into the swampy quicksand oozing around my unsure feet. What the hell am I doing here with a woman I hardly know?

“You’re spooked, aren’t you?” Holly says as she closes the dungeon door behind her and leans against it as though she’s protecting me from it leaping out and drawing me back inside.

“Yeah, this is really weird,” I say.

“But maybe you learned something.”

I nod my head, standing frozen in my shoes, trying to find some excuse to leave her. But as she saunters toward me, the burning in my groin becomes more shrill. When she places her hand at my crotch, I start—an instinctive response—and try to pull away, but her soothing fingers massage me so tenderly I find myself refusing to leave. She kisses me. We are the same height, and kissing seems odd with a person of my size. I have to crane my neck in a different way than when I’m with a man. Her dainty lips move sweetly, feeling like flower petals against mine. As my lips part, we share each other’s breath. I respond to her nomadic hands as they journey over my clothes, and finally make their way under my sweater. There, her soft palm grazes the bare skin of my breasts. As she pushes me back against the bed, she goes down on me, exploring my body with such avid zeal, I’m overwhelmed and try pushing her away.

“Kiss me back,” she purrs, lips at my ear, breath on my neck.

I tentatively reach for her arms, feeling awkward; though I find my face at her cheek, enjoying the soft feel of skin perfumed with the scent of flowers. What she does to my crotch with her hand keeps me on her bed. I think I might climax with no bare skin contact at all. The heat’s too high to wait. Grinding my p***y against her palm, the desire in me swells. But then she backs off, going for the snap of my jeans, letting her fingers search the messy wetness between my legs. She struggles for a moment freeing me of the heavy denim. And once it’s discarded on the floor, Holly goes after me with her mouth at my snatch.

“Ah, ah yessss.” I climax quickly, feeling her tongue flutter my clit. The sensation in my vulva mounts as my breathing deepens and my head falls back, and I arch my shoulders against the brocade-covered mattress. She has fingers tweaking a n****e, generating a long and steady line of pain that shoots to my c******s. And then I float… dip myself in pleasure, and escape into this senseless vacuum where my spasms shudder their way through me until my surrender is complete.

“Ooo, damn! You’re a randy b***h,” Holly seethes as she kisses my mouth, laughing delightfully in my face.

I’m shaking my head bewildered by my lust.

“See, I told you!” She is triumphant.

I think this obligates me to reciprocate. “You want me to…” She jumps from the bed before I can finish.

“No. I mean, yes, I’d love you to bring me off, but Crawford’s orders.”

“His orders?”

“Can’t have it without him.”

“You can give but not receive?”

“Yep.” She seems perfectly pleased. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll tell him all about you and he’ll be so horny he’ll screw the climax right out of my crotch.”

I watch as Holly takes off her sweater. With my first look at her small naked t**s and the chain running through her cunt, my tummy’s grinding again. I realize that I want more of her—and I want a chain bisecting my crotch the way hers does.

“You know you could stay for Crawford,” she suggests. She’s wary of saying it, but not so wary that she doesn’t try.

“No,” I shake my head as I sit up and reach for my jeans.

“He’ll like you, I’m sure of it.”

I’m shaking my head no, “I can’t.”

“Okay,” she shrugs like it’s no big deal. “There’s always another day.” Her languid eyes seem to brighten even after my rejection.

I don’t think so. Not now, not any time soon. I need to go.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

I’m embarrassed as I put on my jeans—still feeling as though I’ve let her down. But then I wonder if this wasn’t some sort of scheme between she and her dom, to woo an unsuspecting woman into their blood-colored bondage boudoir. She doesn’t seem that conniving or that shallow, but I don’t think she’ll ask me to join her again. We’re obviously not from the same world—at least I don’t think we are. Sure, I’ll be cool with her, friendly, but chilly to any plan she has to seduce me.

I already know I’ll regret being so cautious, especially when my fantasies turn dark, and I remember that I could have had my dreams come true if I’d been brave enough to step boldly into Holly’s world.