Lady of Chains

by Scottie Kaye

  This is no ordinary woman. This is a prize. The most expensive prize in the world.

  "Why me," he whispered, still peering down at the coin.

  "Because we're the same," she said. "Because we were powerless."

  Then she tore at her collar. "But not anymore."

  Loren stared at her neck, at the thing she'd revealed. A leather collar, complete with a chain, which hung down into her cleavage. He traced the silver line of it, and stopped at her breasts. His knuckles caressed the edges of the dark line between them.

  "What's this?" he said, his voice changing. Sharper, more hungry. More dangerous.

  "It's for you," she breathed. Kail had gotten it for her. Kings below, she was going to explode.

  "This is a collar, Lassyne." He lifted the chain softly with one hand. She felt it trickle up her stomach, her chest.

  "Yes."

  "You want me to—"

  "Yes."

  He exhaled, then sank his face into her neck, his nose brushing the leather edge of the collar. He kissed her neck, soft, but with the promise of violence. Oh, she knew that there'd be violence.

  "Loren," she said. She could feel him vibrating under his skin. She felt his low growl against her flesh. Was she doing this right? Because it sure felt like she was doing it right.

  "You can't possibly be this perfect," he said. "You just can't—"

  "Whatever you want from me, Loren, you'll have it. Tonight, it's all yours. All the power he stole. Take it from me. I consent to it all."

  Twenty-Two

  He took her to the bed. Made her kneel at the foot of it. Tied her hands behind her back with a belt.

  Then he looped the chain around the bedpost, and twice more around her neck. He pulled tight, until she couldn't move.

  "You can still breathe?" he said roughly.

  Her neck was taut. "Yes."

  He must have done this before.

  Loren ran a hand through the hair that ringed her face, an easy caress, though his face was dark. Her eyes were at the same level as his stomach, his penis straining toward her under his layers of pants.

  "I'm going to hurt you," Loren said.

  She wondered what she should say to that. What a submissive would say.

  She settled on just saying, "Yes."

  "I'm going to use you," he went on.

  Her heart pounded. "Yes."

  His fingers lifted her chin. "You're afraid. Why?"

  Her eyes darted. "I can't move."

  "You don't like that?"

  Enclosed spaces. Bare walls. Being held down, given medicines. Sweat broke out on her chest.

  Power. Give him power.

  She closed her eyes, steadied herself. Ran the dominance essay through her head. If she could make him feel powerful, then she could control him. She would never have to be powerless ever again—only behind closed doors, like this.

  "I like that," he said. "I like your fear." He loomed closer. The walls closing in—

  "A safe word!" she blurted. She remembered the concept from the essay. "We need a safe word," she whispered.

  He cupped the back of her head. "Revenge," he said, "Revenge is the safe word. Now get my belt off with your teeth, Birthday Girl."

  Her chest gave an awkward thump, and she faced forward. His belt was still pulled tight—even tighter than her collar—

  "How can I—"

  "Do it," he growled, "or I'll make sure you regret it. Do you want my first thrust to be rough?"

  Aren't I supposed to? she thought. Wasn't that part of the dominance? She was afraid of that moment, but also not afraid. Besides, she was already wet whether he wanted her that way or not, so the first thrust wouldn't hurt as much—would it?

  She told herself she'd be fine as she closed her teeth on his buckle. He rubbed the back of her head as she worked, her tongue prodding, her teeth clicking. She felt like a dog being petted. Was she doing this right? Gradually she got a grip on the tail of his belt. With effort, she pulled it out through the loop.

  "Slow," he said. "I thought you wanted me happy?"

  She nodded, the long bulge of his erection directly in her face now. Between her legs, liquid seemed to be pooling, and she jerked the belt's tail back, popping the prongs from the leather. The belt slid out of the buckle, loose, and she tore at his tucked-in shirt, trying to clear a path down.

  "Hungry, are you?" he asked.

  She could barely breathe. "Yes."

  "Want Master to feed you?"

  She bit on his trousers, worked them off his hips. Tearing at his clothes made her forget how confined she was. Do this for him. For him....

  When she had his shirttails free, Loren took his hand off her head, leaning his weight on both hands on the bedpost above her. He bent his knees slightly, bringing himself closer. She tugged and pulled and salivated as her mouth filled with fabric, until finally, her nose brushed his flesh.

  He sighed above her, his body still. She breathed heavily on his penis, feeling the heat rolling off it. It was perfect, smooth, no veins or scars or spots, just the curl of darker flesh underneath a round head.

  This she touched with her tongue, rubbing, spreading the loose skin taut as she drew him into her mouth. For a long moment she let his head hang inside her, not touching her tongue or her cheeks. She gave him open space, where he could feel only her breath—

  Her mouth closed tentatively, and he sighed, and her vagina sent out a pulse. Her fantasies were happening, his dick in her mouth. She rolled her eyes back, savoring the salt of his flesh, inhaling the woody musk of his sex—

  He slammed into her, ramming her head back into the post, driving himself to the back of her throat. She gagged from the surprise of it, and he pulled back and thrust again, and again, rapid and deep and too fast for her to control. Her teeth raked him, her jaw locking as she held it open, her tongue struggling to protect him from hurting himself as he drove his hip bones into her face—

  Faster, angrier. Tears burned her eyes as she finally got ahold of his rhythm and sucked on him. He groaned as her cheeks tightened to his cock, groaned and slowed just slightly, gripping her head and knocking her against the wood post with his rocking.

  "There's a good girl. Eat your fill...."

  She mumbled around him as he picked up speed again. She'd never done it this way. She was a tool. Her hands were bound, her neck unable to move, it was a struggle even to breathe. Yet her fears of confinement only made her heart race. Lassyne could focus on nothing beyond his raw expectation.

  You're going to pleasure me, he was saying, with each pound of his flesh, and I don't even care if you like it....

  Loren pulled out with a slick pop, and she fought to take a deep breath as he got his fists on both sides of her hasha and pulled. Her buttons sheared clean off as he spread the cloth open, throwing the torn collar of the dress off her shoulders. She wore an Olfactory breast covering, a band tight around her midsection. He tugged it down, exposing her breasts.

  "Look at that," he exhaled. "Five gods, look at that." He pressed his penis between her breasts, closed his eyes. His heat hardened her nipples. He attacked one of his jacket pockets with one of his hands, nearly dropping the glass vial as he upended it over her.

  Something cold and wet dribbled onto her chest, running down into the cracks and along the shaft of his penis. He thrust the glass vial across the room and started to thrust again, forging a path between her breasts on the slick, scented liquid.

  "Tighter," he said.

  "I can't," she replied. Her hands were bound, and she had no leverage.

  Can't move, can't move, can't move—

  He gripped her hair, his fingers closing on her curls as he forced her face down. Within moments, her mouth met the tip of his penis as it popped up between her breasts. With his other hand, he gripped one breast for leverage, fingers closing on the nipple as he slid against her, faster, stronger, tighter now, the taste of rose oil in her mouth as he thrust—

  "Gods, yes," he g
runted, his forehead braced on the post. "You slut, you filthy slut."

  She sucked on him harder. It wasn't easy. He was going so fast, and most of his penis didn't reach past her lips, and the collar and chain were so tight on her neck—

  "Look at you," he said. "Lassyne True. With her whore mouth on my dick. Like you know what you're doing. How many dicks have you sucked? Why would I want you, when I'm so late to the party?"

  Lassyne snapped her head back, gasping. She couldn't breathe when she was blowing him. The angle was wrong; the collar had her in a choke hold. But her body was alive. So alive. And he didn't mean this, not a word of it. It was all a game. She'd read it in the essay—a game.

  "Not so rich now, are you?" he said. "Not so beautiful with dick all over your face. Why should I even want you? You're just a mouth, just a pussy. No better than a common barmaid."

  She tried to speak, her voice grating. "Get inside me," she improvised. "I'll show you a real pussy—"

  The chain closed on her neck until she gaped for air.

  "Shut up," he hissed, kneeling, his face in front of hers now. There was no air. No space. Closing in—

  He smiled at her, darkly, her panic rising. Was this how it was supposed to be? Half her plans had gone out of her head—but wasn't that the point? To give him complete control?

  Loren jerked his arm again, his fist pulling the chain until her neck felt like it could break. Then he yanked upward, forcing her to rise with the collar. Again, again, he forced her up the bedpost to her feet. Her vision darkened at the edges.

  The chain released.

  She heaved a horrible, terrified breath, but he caught her halfway by the collar again, hauling her backward and thrusting her onto his mattress. She struggled for air, rolling, her arms straining at her bindings. Breathe, I need to breathe—

  His claws closed on her bent arms and he rolled her onto her stomach, pressing his weight between her shoulder blades. The chain fell loose and she heaved a new breath, then another, choking on the air, sobbing as he raised her rear end up and flipped the hem of coins up over her back. But she could breathe now, could reorient, could feel his fingernails leaving scratches as he tore off her panties.

  Seconds. She had seconds left. Did she want it like this?

  He held her down again.

  No.

  "Revenge," she cried. "Loren! Please!"

  Silence, loud breathing. Her vagina was open to the world. Open to him. She couldn't move.

  And then, softly, his finger flicked her labia. She shuddered, awash in the fear.

  "Do you want it rough, Lassyne?" he asked softly.

  No, no, no....

  "You know I don't mean this, right?"

  She squeezed her eyes shut. He rubbed her. Not gentle, but not rough. Expectant.

  He drew closer, his penis trailing up her leg, his hand sliding up her spine to the back of her neck. Soon they were pressed together, at the place she had dreamed of. His lips by her ear, his weight on her back, his penis ready to do its rough work.

  She quivered, and he breathed out, shuddering along the full length of her body. He kept rubbing. The panic subsided slowly. His penis took the place of his fingers, and he put his weight on the hand that he'd freed. She couldn't move, couldn't get out from under him.

  He controlled her. He absolutely controlled her.

  "I need your consent again," he whispered, thrusting only barely, not enough to break the seal inside her, but enough for her body to know what was coming. The moisture came finally, smoothing the friction between them. Inching him ever closer to crossing that line.

  "I want you," he said. "I want my wife."

  Her heart remembered itself, her pulse started to throb. He saved Zaina. He lived in pain....

  Her body relaxed, legs spreading wider. She closed her eyes.

  "I consent."

  Loren nodded against her hair. "There's a good girl."

  His hand tensed on her neck, and he thrust.

  Twenty-Three

  She screamed, more from surprise than anything. Loren went in rougher than she had expected, although it didn't hurt at first. He pushed as far as he could, buried to his full length inside her. She'd been wet, but not wet enough. Her dry tension finally shifted to pain.

  He nibbled her ear. Her legs trembled.

  "Are you still afraid?"

  He didn't wait for an answer. He just pulled out. The second time he fucked her, it was wetter. She only released a small noise, a tiny moan. He was so close to her, his body heavy on her back, her arms straining, her cheek pressed to the blankets. Somehow he pulled on the collar, but not enough to make it hard to breathe.

  "Mine," he said, the word hitching. He thrust again. "Say it. You're mine."

  "Yours," she grated.

  "I own you."

  "You—own me." The words caught with each thrust.

  "You, Lassyne True, are my property."

  "I'm your—"

  "Shut up and let me fuck you," he said.

  And she did. She lay there and rocked against him. It was all new, invasive, but every moment it felt easier, thicker, his penis picking up pace. He felt smaller as the sex continued, because of the lubrication in her body. But it didn't lessen the sensations; it made him feel closer. Less friction made him feel less like someone else, and more like the second half of her whole.

  I did it, she thought. His breaths were pure pleasure. He groaned and he grunted and shook. I did it. I broke him. I gave him power. He would do anything to have this again.

  "You want this every night?" she grunted.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Then you'll treat me right," she said. "You'll never use me. Except maybe like this, in the bedroom."

  "Yes," he agreed. "I'll do whatever you want...."

  It was finished, then. She would trade this small bit of control for the bigger control of her life, and she'd make the man she loved feel good while she did it. She'd even learn to like this... this rougher stuff. She was sure that she would like it eventually. All that fear and sobbing had just been a fluke—

  "Touch me," she ordered. His breaths were sounding different. He was going to break any moment.

  "I'm almost—" he said.

  "Touch me," she repeated.

  "Shut up," he growled. "Oh, fine."

  He readjusted, taking his hand off her neck and bringing it around to her clit. It forced even more of his weight onto her back, brought them so close that she could feel their sweat mingle. He lost some of his rhythm, his hips padding her butt.

  Loren. I'm finally with Loren—

  Her vagina quivered almost the same instant he touched her, the hot wash of need surprising them both. He shouted, his own body reacting to hers as she tightened and cried out in ecstasy.

  "Fuck," he said, jerking hard, allowing no space between them. She felt it when he broke, his spurts clear to her senses, merging with the rivers inside her.

  "I love you," she breathed.

  "Fuck if I understand why," he replied, slumping, rolling over, her chain still gripped in his hand. He pulled her close, and they breathed for a while. With one hand, Lassyne dug into his coats, seeking out a patch of light chest hair.

  She ran a finger through it and said, "Worth the price, do you think?"

  He chuckled. "What price? I'm pretty sure I just made money." He looked over at her. "Hey—I wasn't too rough, was I? I'm sorry—"

  "It's fine," she said. "So you liked it?"

  He blinked up at the ceiling. "How did you know?"

  She frowned. "Know what?"

  "That I liked that sort of thing."

  Lassyne rose up on one elbow to look down at him, smiling. She couldn't believe she was here, with him. What a dream.

  "You had control taken from you," she said. "Of course you'd want it back. The same exact thing happened to me."

  He stared into her eyes for a moment. It was dim in the room, the curtains all drawn, but it was still day outside, because his eyes wer
e blue. A mage's eyes always turned black at night.

  "So that's what it is," he mused, looking away again. "I always did wonder why I liked it this way." His eyes closed.

  She watched him doze. Her husband-to-be. Her every single dream come true.

  Even if it was all Jorr Portent's doing.

  Even if she didn't like being used.

  Her skin prickled at the thought. No—she had liked it. Hadn't she?

  Sobbing. You were sobbing.

  Stop it, she told herself. Sighing in frustration, she rose out of the bed. She needed a bath. Then she needed to give Loren a blow job. She could understand blow jobs. And then maybe she'd try riding him, being on top. Then she'd try submission again, and it would feel better. She'd enjoy making Loren feel better.

  Besides, hadn't she come? She'd orgasmed like mad. It might be the best she'd ever had, with a real-life penis inside her. Better than a candlestick—so much better.

  So of course she liked submission. Didn't she?

  Touch me.

  I'm almost—

  Touch me.

  She paused in the doorway to his bath closet. Out of nowhere, it started to rain. Great heaping torrents collided with the roof overhead. No wonder it had seemed dim in the room; one of Soma's famed storms had rolled in.

  Pulling her torn dress close, she abandoned the bath closet, even as Loren's cum started to drip down her leg. It would take too long for a warm bath to come through—a gaggle of servants somewhere had to heat up the water—but as she turned back to the bed, she found Loren lying on top of the blanket. She'd never get it out from under him without waking him up.

  Shrugging, she made for his closet. She'd have to settle for some piece of his clothing to keep her warm, perhaps a robe or one of his coats. But when she found the closet door and tried the handle, the knob didn't turn.

  The closet was locked.

  Well, that's odd, she thought. It was just a deadbolt, easy for her to slide open. A secret passage, maybe? Hackles raised, she swung the door open. There was no light in the space, and not very many clothes either. She walked in, keeping quiet, running her hands over the walls, letting the heavy coats linger against her bare shoulders.