Chaining His Heart

by Reese Gabriel

  “Be my guest.” He inclined his head.

  The waiter arrived, a thin, wiry man with a sharp mustache.

  “I’ll have the club sandwich,” said Chelsea.

  “What do you recommend?” Cindy asked Gordon.

  Chelsea rolled her eyes.

  “The corned beef is very good,” he said.

  “I’ll have the corned beef,” she said.

  “The same,” said Gordon, deciding that Cindy would not be a good submissive because she was simply too eager to please.

  Whether by a stroke of luck or fate, Cindy’s cell phone rang at that moment. A one-sided conversation ensued in which she became more and more distressed.

  “Really? Are you sure? Well, what about Julio, can’t he handle another perm?”

  Chelsea was looking nervous. “What’s up?” she asked as Cindy clicked off.

  “It’s the shop, they need me in. Mrs. Collins is having a major meltdown with her perm and they are backed up out into the street.”

  “You’re a hairdresser?” asked Gordon.

  “Yeah, and duty calls. I’m so sorry.”

  “Well, that’s that.” Chelsea rose to her feet.

  “I was hoping you would stay,” he said.

  “But I rode with Cindy,” she said.

  “You can always catch a ride home with me.” Gordon smiled.

  “No,” said Chelsea curtly. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, why don’t you stay,” said Cindy. “I feel bad enough without ruining things for you too. Gordon, you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  Chelsea was trying to give her friend signals. Cindy missed them completely. “I love you, Chels.” She gave her a hug. “See you tonight.”

  “Love you, too,” said Chelsea.

  Gordon beamed as Chelsea sat down, obviously defeated. “Oh, come now, surely there are worse fates than lunch with me?”

  “You mean like alligator wrestling?” she said acidly.

  Gordon chuckled, sipping more of his wine. “I don’t think you like me much. Why not?”

  “That’s easy. You totally embarrassed Cindy and me last night and now you have the gall to turn around and try to seduce her.”

  “Who says I want to seduce her?”

  “Don’t you?”

  He shook his head. “She’s not my type.”

  Chelsea’s blue eyes narrowed. “So what do you want with her then?”

  “Perhaps I’m using her to get to you.” He held out the Chablis bottle. “Wine?”

  Chelsea offered no objection this time as he filled her glass. For the moment, at least, she was speechless.

  Chelsea found her tongue. Gordon was seducing her. “I’m not available to be gotten,” she declared.

  “Do you belong to another man?” Gordon inquired.

  Chelsea’s nipples reacted to the way he put that. What would it be like to belong to a man like Gordon?

  “No,” she snapped, fighting the irresistible pull of the man. “And I never will.”

  “Good for you. A toast.” Gordon’s glass went up. “Unless you’re afraid…”

  Her glass clinked with his, letting him know she would never back down. It would be a fight. Every bit as dashing as he had looked last night in his tuxedo, he looked even more delicious in dark slacks and a white cotton shirt.

  “To the hidden truths of the soul,” he said.

  “To overblown Dominants,” she countered, “getting their comeuppance.”

  He smiled wryly. “Tell me, Chelsea, why did you go to the club last night?”

  “I don’t know, why did you?”

  “To find a helpless little slave to exploit,” he pronounced dramatically. “Isn’t that what you would like me to say?”

  Chelsea squirmed a little. The word slave conjured images of chains and nudity, of kneeling and absolute submission. She had masturbated to pictures over the Internet of pretty girls in elegant collars, writhing under the caress of able Masters, men with firm hands and slim, devious little whips.

  “I don’t care what you say,” she declared, her pussy heating dangerously. “I’m here for Cindy and the free food. And just so we’re clear, you ever hurt her and I’ll personally rip your balls off.”

  “Point made, but as I said, she’s not my type, Chelsea, you are.”

  “I’m not a type.”

  “Everyone’s a type.”

  Chelsea’s heart thumped wildly. A part of her wanted to fight, but another part wanted to see what he would do, what he would make of her. “Is this the kind of banter that gets young women into bed?” she said. “Because it sure isn’t working on me.”

  “Women get themselves into bed, I don’t do a thing.”

  Chelsea hoped that wasn’t true, because if it was, she wouldn’t make it through the day.

  “Oh, come now.” She took a healthy swallow of the wine. “You must have some lines you use. Ordering your females to kneel and obey you and so on.”

  “Submission is in the mind,” said Gordon. “I think you know that.”

  “But you must have some power,” she found herself taunting. “Surely you can give me a little demonstration.”

  He smiled, serene, completely in control. The look sent shivers down her spine. I’ll never outflank this man, she thought. If that wasn’t sexy, she didn’t know what was.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  Chelsea complied.

  “Breathe in,” he said, voice instantly mesmerizing. “Feel the breeze on your skin. Tune out everything else. I want you to focus. Picture yourself somewhere alone.”

  Chelsea was on a beach, at sunrise. She told him this.

  “You’re naked,” he told her.

  “Yes.” She dug her toes into the cool, moist sand.

  “A man is with you. Who is it?”

  He knew damn well.

  “It’s you.”

  “I’m naked, too,” he confirmed.

  She imagined his body, taut and muscular, reflective of his years, but indicative of strength and power.

  “What am I doing, Chelsea?”

  She swallowed. “You’re…holding me.”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I won’t let you go…unless you want me to.”

  Chelsea relished his strength, the raw power and charisma. Hands down, he was the most arousing man she had ever encountered.

  “We are skin to skin,” he said. “I’m not hiding anything, you’re not hiding anything. Do you understand?”

  “I-I think so.”

  “Is there something you want to do?” he asked. “Something you need?”

  She saw herself kneeling before him, kissing the tip of his hard, thick cock, reverently applying her lips and then her tongue and finally taking the shaft deep into her mouth. Master…

  Her eyes popped open.

  The waiter had their sandwiches. “Sorry,” Gordon told him, “we’ve lost our third.”

  Chelsea sat numb. She dimly remembered eating her food, a few bites at least. They talked about the weather and her job as a loan officer at a bank and his trip to Sicily last month.

  Not a word about BDSM.

  It was so real. She had sucked his cock on a beach.

  After lunch he begged off driving her home. She was almost disappointed.

  “My driver will take you, I’m going to stay on a bit and meet a friend.”

  A female friend? She must have shown some emotion on her face because he kissed her forehead. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Chelsea. I’d just rather not press too far today. I would like you to call me tomorrow, though.”

  Her lips pursed, her pride rearing its head. “Don’t count on it.”

  And to think she had been ready to suggest they spend the day together, to see where things might go.

  Thank god she had found out in time what he was really like.

  But what was he like? He wasn’t just trying to get in her pants. It was almost like he wanted
to get to know her.

  She pushed the idea from her mind. A sexually dominant man with a heart, one who was fascinating to talk to and a wonderful meal companion? One who made her laugh and feel at home? A woman could get addicted. That was more than her staunchly independent self could handle.

  No, it’s back to the vibrator for me, she thought. Hip, hip, hooray.

  Gordon watched her walk away from the table with his chauffeur, buttocks swaying with optimum indignation.

  Chelsea would be his, he vowed. She would give herself and soon.

  But why was he waiting? He could have had her today. He hadn’t used half his charm and look how she had responded, positively glowing, her voice soft and light, and her eyes warm and attentive, like an old friend. Why hold back? Was he after more than her body, more than a week or two of play?

  The thought chilled him and for once the confirmed bachelor felt the tightening of a collar on his neck and the tightening of chains. What happened when the Master needed the slave? What happened if she were to gain the keys to his heart—locking him up for a change?

  Gordon made his resolution. No more Chelsea, no more lovely, intelligent, challenging women would get close enough to make an emotional mess. Marriage, divorce, endless battles. No thanks.

  A woman like Chelsea might be a friend if she weren’t so damn desirable, or on the flip side, an incredible submissive sex partner—if only she didn’t stir so many other emotions. Put both together and that made it impossible.

  Another would have to take Chelsea and mold and love and cherish her.

  Oh god, he wished he could forget.

  Just went to show what a man got for rescuing damsels in distress…

  * * * * *

  Cindy would not leave her alone all day Sunday. “Did you call him yet?” she kept asking every ten minutes.

  Finally, halfway through her yoga exercises, Chelsea exploded. “No, damn it, and am I ever sorry I told you anything about lunch in the first place.”

  “You didn’t.” Cindy, in shorts, socks and a crop top, plopped down beside her. “I tortured it out of you.”

  Chelsea rolled her eyes, extending her arms toward heaven. “I don’t know why you think I’d call. He’s obviously a jerk.”

  Actually, she had gotten references on him from the Silver Band. Two different women sang his praises as being the most considerate lover they had ever known. Not that she would ever try him out.

  “But you like him,” Cindy said.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Sure you do, every time you talk about him your nose twitches.”

  “That doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “It does,” she insisted, “and if you won’t call him, I will.”

  “Be my guest.”

  “I’ll set you up on a date,” she threatened.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Cindy took off for her cell phone, Chelsea in hot pursuit. The little wench must have had him on speed dial. “Hi? Is Gordon there?” She was holding the phone in one hand, fending off Chelsea with the other. “Oh, hi, Gordon, this is Cindy, from yesterday? I just wanted to tell you—”

  Chelsea snatched it away.

  “You better talk,” warned Cindy, “or I’ll use the house phone.”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “Chelsea?” Gordon called from the other end. “Is that you?”

  “Um…yeah,” Chelsea said, giving Cindy the evil eye.

  Cindy giggled, pushing Chelsea toward her bedroom. She closed the door, leaving her alone with the phone.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you,” Chelsea said softly.

  “Oh?”

  She felt a tug at her heartstrings. “I didn’t mean it that way. I guess I’m all out of sorts today.”

  She heard a soft chuckle. The sound made her body sing. “I know, it’s catching up to me too. I couldn’t sleep last night either.”

  Chelsea tensed. How could he know?

  “I was rude to just cut things off yesterday,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “And I acted bitchy when I left.”

  “Not bitchy—bratty,” he corrected.

  Chelsea licked her lips, picking up on the playful suggestion in his voice.

  “What do you do with brats?” She couldn’t believe she was asking.

  “I punish them,” he said without hesitation.

  She cleared her throat. Her pussy was on fire. “You know a lot of this dominance stuff could be considered demeaning to women.”

  “Do you think that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess not, if it’s consensual.”

  “So if I ordered you to go somewhere private and strip off your clothes…would you consent?”

  “I’m in my bedroom already,” she ventured.

  “Good girl,” he rasped.

  She suppressed a moan. “I’m a woman, not a girl.”

  “Not in this game.”

  “And what game is that?”

  “I think you know.”

  Chelsea took off her top. She had no bra on. She took off her shorts and panties as well. “I’m naked,” she told him.

  “Are you on your bed?”

  “Yes…”

  “Do you have a vibrator or dildo?”

  “A vibrator,” she whispered, a hot chill shooting down her spine.

  “I want you to get it and then lie down on your back, legs apart,” he said.

  She set the phone down, thankful these were Cindy’s free weekend minutes they were using up. A few moments later she had the device from the drawer and was in position. “Okay…” she alerted him.

  “Okay, Sir,” he corrected. “You call me Sir during discipline.”

  “Is that what this is?”

  “Yes, Chelsea, it is. Does the word excite you?”

  “A little.”

  “I think a lot.” He laughed, reading her voice. “I want you to touch your pussy. It’s wet?”

  “Yes…Sir.”

  “Taste it.”

  Chelsea put her glistening fingers to her lips, trembling. Chelsea was being dominated.

  “Suck your fingers, like they were a cock.”

  She thought of his cock. She tasted and licked and sucked.

  “Are you doing what I told you?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sir, I’m licking my fingers. They’re very wet.”

  “I want you to pinch your nipple now. Hard.”

  Chelsea sucked in her breath. Tentatively, she squeezed the tiny nub of flesh on her left breast.

  “Harder.”

  How did he know how hard she was doing it?

  Chelsea squirmed. “It hurts, Sir.”

  “Bad girls get pain,” he informed her. “Now I want you to take the vibrator—I want it inside you.”

  “Yes,” she groaned, plunging the artificial shaft into her sopping opening. “Oh, yes, Sir.”

  “You can play with yourself now, Chelsea, but don’t climax. You’re not allowed to.”

  The very words “not allowed to” brought her immediately to the edge. “Sir, I need to come.” She writhed on the bed.

  “No, girl, you come when I tell you. Take out the vibrator.”

  Chelsea whimpered.

  “Lick it clean,” he ordered.

  Her aching, open sex screamed out its need.

  She put the vibrator in her mouth, obeying his command.

  “Turn onto your side,” he said when she was done. “Take your hand, smack your ass with it.”

  She swatted, hesitantly.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” he said.

  “Ouch,” she squealed, hoping Cindy wouldn’t hear.

  “That’s ‘Ouch, Sir’,” he said, making her do it again.

  Her bottom felt like fire. Why was she obeying?

  “Now your nipple.” His voice lowered, cutting to her core. “Until you can’t take it anymore.”

  Chelsea pinched her defenseless flesh. The pain shot through her, intensifying with every seco
nd. “Please…” she whined, “Sir.”

  It was an insidious torture, mixed as it was with rising sexual heat in her breast and belly. She clenched her teeth. How long could she hold out?

  “Enough,” he commanded. “Put the vibrator back inside you. You’ll come when I tell you.”

  “I will,” she promised feverishly.

  Her sex drew the toy in deep. She lifted her sore ass, angling the vibrator against her clitoris. “Oh god,” she groaned.

  “Orgasms are a gift of the Master,” he said. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she moaned, the sweat dripping from her hypersensitive body. “Oh, please, let me have it.”

  “Tell me first, why you went to the club.”

  Chelsea wrestled, body and soul. Her pride wanted to hold out. She was wary, she had been hurt by men and had learned not to admit vulnerability. But how did you hold back against a tidal wave? And why should she when there was a man behind it who was strong enough to keep her from drowning?

  Oh god, it was too soon to trust him, but she already did.

  “I wanted…to be…” she gasped, the words coming to her from some place beyond conscious thought. “I wanted…to belong.”

  “Come for me, Chelsea,” he whispered. “Come like there’s no tomorrow.”

  Chelsea’s world exploded into a liquid rainbow, shooting through her veins, dissolving her. She had never been triggered by a single word, a single thought. The orgasm cut through physically and mentally.

  Chelsea let go as she had never done in her life.

  Her body bucked up and down on the mattress. Her toes curled. She dropped the phone and grabbed her heaving breast. She clamped her teeth, she clenched at the vibrator, her hand grasping one end, her pussy the other. Power shooting back and forth. Perfect ecstasy.

  Some time later she collapsed, wet, sated.

  He was still on the phone.

  “How was it?” he asked.

  “I want to see you,” she replied. “Nothing sexual. I just need to see you.”

  “You’ll wear a dress,” he said.

  “I will.” Her stomach clenched tightly, deliciously. He was ordering, she was obeying. “Can it be today?”

  “Now if you like.”

  “I would…”

  “My chauffeur will pick you up.”

  “Should I bring Cindy?” she quipped.

  “Not my type,” he said huskily, hanging up the phone.