Monday, May 30, 2011

Bedtime stories

"You have your instructions girl."

"Yes, master."

And that's how I find myself at Home Depot, running my fingers over the chain in the display.  Nothing sharp, per the instructions.  A small carabineer so that it can be attached to a D ring in the collar.  Then five feet seven inches of heavy, smooth chain. 

Of course with a length like that, it has to be cut by the guy that works here.  Shit, fuck, damn.   He’s eyeing me.  And of course I’m wearing a little mini skirt and a plain white t-shirt with no bra under it.  And high heeled ankle boots.  He’s going to ask.  I see it.  And I have to tell him if he asks.  Damn.

“So, whatcha getting this for?”  There it is, I knew it was coming too.

“My master wants it to chain up his slave girl.”  Yes, I’m beet red.  The guy is grinning like an idiot.  You know he was hoping for an answer like that.  He’d probably have made one up and shared it with the guys in the break room no matter what I said.  Now he wouldn’t have to bother, he had it straight from the slave girl’s mouth.

He believes it.

“Really?  You’re into that huh?”


“You like it huh?”

“Love it.  Uh, you done with that?”

“Oh sure, here you go.”

All I need now are the locks.  Master locks (of course, right?), keyed the same.  Got it.  Now thankfully home again with the supplies.  Nothing to do but wait for his call.

It came that evening, just before 6pm.  Master was 3000 miles away, but still in charge.  I wasn’t to forget it either. 

“Are you naked and kneeling for me, waiting by the phone?”

“Yes, master.”

“Excellent.  Is your collar on?  And your wrist and ankle cuffs?”

“Yes, master.”

“Take a carabineer and attach it to the front of your collar.”  The snap seemed so loud in my ears. 

“Did you attach the end of the chain to the foot of the bed?”

“Yes, I used the hasp you told me about and there are six big long screws holding it in place.” 

“And did you use a lock to attach it to the hasp?”

“Yes master.”

“Put the phone on speaker and lay flat on your naked back on the bed.”

I settled into position.   

“Are you wet?”

“I’m always wet for you master.”

“As you should be.  Put the vibe in but don’t turn the remote on yet.”  I slide the vibe as far in as it would go, feeling it fill me and rub against my g-spot, the other end settled on my clit.

“Lock your ankle cuffs to the chain.”  It clicked once for the right, again for the left, bringing my feet together and locking the vibe in place between my thighs.

“Did anyone ask what the chain was for?”

“Yes, master.  I told them that my master wanted it for his sex slave.”  He laughed, yes, of course he found it amusing.  It would be from where he sat.

“Poor baby.  If I was there, I’d beat your tits to make you feel better.”  I shuddered imagining it, both relieved and disappointed he wasn’t here to do it.

“Pinch your nipples for me, work them like I’d work them if I was there.  Pull them, twist, release, then again.”  I followed his commands, not even considering cheating, do it just like he would, feeling the pinch, gasping with it, unable to do anything other than his bidding.  It went on and on, minute after minute, the nipples hard and at strict attention.

“Lay the chain over your skin.  Is it cold?” 

“Freezing!”  It settled over my skin from my tethered ankles to my neck.  I held my breath while it warmed against me, the weight settling on me, his presence by proxy. 

“Hook it to the carabineer on your collar.”  Done, I am chained.

“You have the key on the string, attached to your wrist cuff?  You’ve tested and you can reach it with your hands together?”

“Yes master.”

“Turn the vibe on high and then lock your wrists to the chain.  You can turn the vibe off at 6am.  Good night girl.”

© 2011 André Santhomas

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