by Nikki Sex
She cleared her throat, "Sir, you said for me to tell you if I became uncomfortable. I'm not comfortable right now."
"And I heard you. Yet this little discomfort is necessary."
"Necessary for what?"
He stood then, and brushed his knuckles down her face, gently touching any naked skin in a soft, sympathetic caress. "Beautiful girl," he said in a compelling voice. "You must learn to trust me, trust that I will keep you safe. I cannot tell you yet, but there is a reason for all I do. Do you trust me?"
Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth held it for a few beats and then expelled it. "It would be irrational to trust you, Sir. You drugged and kidnapped my husband and me, you have taken us prisoner. Why should I trust you?"
"Speak now," he said in a commanding voice. "The truth, Elizabeth. Do not use the lawyer logic, for these matters that are affairs of the heart and soul. Do you trust me?"
"Yes," she whispered, compelled to tell him the truth and wondering how her captor had brainwashed her so completely so soon.
"C'est très bon. You are so very honest, mon cher," he said. One warm finger trailed across an eyebrow, caressing down her cheek, brushing her chin and across to softly stroke both of her lips. Sir leaned over and gave her a kiss then. It started as a gentle touch, mouth to mouth, and bound as she was she couldn’t move into him, even though she wanted to. Yet she heard herself make a little sound, and Sir deepened the kiss, moving her from fondness to yearning and then turning quickly to breathless need.
He pulled away from her. "You make me break my own rules, mon cher."
With her head swimming, slightly less anxious and tense, Elizabeth swallowed and Sir simply continued working, finishing up the last of her bandaging restraints. After awhile Elizabeth felt herself relax. The man didn't want to kill her after all, but he did want to stop any possibility of movement.
Sir muttered and commented to himself as he applied her bondage, totally absorbed in his work. Bemused, Elizabeth considered that to him this was some sort of important labor of art. All well and good, but she was really hungry. Impatient, she tried to shift restlessly, but couldn't as he had constrained her so completely. She began to feel apprehensive again then, wondering what new sexual torture he many have devised.
"Almost done, mon cher," he said. He put a kind of cushion behind her head, with firm sides that held her face perfectly still. The chair must have had some provision because her forehead was strapped down in a way that when he locked it in place she could turn her head neither left nor right. It seemed weird to be so motionless, to remain so still. She bit a lower lip and tried to slow her breathing. Her mouth was really dry.
Sir moved away, opened what sounded like the refrigerator and poured out two glasses. "Water, I think. We are both dehydrated as we have done much exercise already this morning."
She smiled faintly at the exercise comment. Right. Lots of physical exercise, that was for sure. Sex sure got that heart rate up all right. She drank gratefully through a straw, finishing the glass, but then she cleared her throat and tried to steady her ragged breathing. This inability to move at all in any direction was disconcerting.
Sir stroked her jaw lightly and said, "Frightened, mon cher?" he asked in a gentle voice.
"Not really frightened. Just a little nervous."
"Bon," he said and Elizabeth could almost hear the satisfied smile in his voice. "I think I like you to be a little nervous."
She snorted. What an understatement. He liked her a lot nervous, and he knew it. But she did not expect him to scare her to death.
Except that he did.
5.Terror and Dread
As she had been given permission to talk she said, "Alright for you, Sir, but I'm hungry. How am I going to eat with my hands wrapped up and my stomach twisting with apprehension?"
A murmured sound of comfort, and once more his warm knuckles soothed across her face. The movement was so familiar. Her pussy clinched and she felt moisture drip between her thighs and on to the hard wooden chair. For some weird reason she trusted her domineering tormentor as he turned her on. His actions reminded her of how she might gentle an anxious mare. Probably before leading her to a devious stallion, came the acerbic thought. She took as deep a calming breath as she was capable of, constricted as she was, and sighed. Somehow she would get through this. After today there were only five more days to go.
"I myself will have the honor to feed you, and you will eat as it is my will, mon cher. All will be well, as I am taking care of you. You will see."
Elizabeth's jaw tightened as she tried to balance her conflicting emotions: irritation as she could look after herself, and euphoria that he was going to look after her. Yep. Still going mad, she thought, but said nothing.
"One more wrap, mon cher," he said, and she felt the soft cotton bandage wrap firmly, twice around her throat, pinning it down against the chair, making it impossible to move her neck.
Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face, and her head began to spin. The memory returned. She had unwisely bit Sir upon waking in his bed this morning, when he first touched her. As a result he had firmly pressed down against her windpipe, cutting off her oxygen and blood flow to the brain. This inexorable pressure of the cloth against her neck was unpleasantly familiar and similar to that recent event. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD. Right then, at that time, she had honestly felt that she was going to die.
Elizabeth's breath came rapidly with her fear. As she hyperventilated, Sir worked to reassure her.
"Shush, shush, mon cher," he said. With both hands he touched her then, on both sides of her body simultaneously, stroking her cheeks, eyebrows, face, neck, shoulders and arms in a firm, reassuring caress. "This is not the same, it is not. I do not threaten you - I merely confine you, preventing movement. Shush shush, all is well Elizabeth, you will see. Slow, deep breaths, yes, that is right. Good girl. You are doing very well, mon cher."
Elizabeth struggled to maintain her composure. With her head spinning it took many minutes before she settled, and she could hardly hear or recall what Sir was saying. At times he had been speaking in French, and his voice had been low, soft and utterly compelling. Without her vision all she knew was the soothing touch of his fingers, and his calm, restful and reassuring voice, murmurs of comfort and understanding and sympathy. But he didn’t remove that firm cloth collar from her neck.
'Can you…," Elizabeth finally choked out in a small whisper, "Sir, will you take it away?"
"Non. It does you no harm, mon cher. In fact it does you good." All the time he talked he had at least one hand upon her, letting her know that he was here. Bound with such limited movement, behind the darkness of her blindfold, Elizabeth experienced the panic of a trapped animal. Sir's touch, just knowing he was there, gave her some sort of primal comfort.
"You associate my hand on your neck with that unfortunate and unpleasant incident. I change this, now. The mental connection will amend itself, and when you think of pressure here," he lightly touched her throat and nuzzled her neck. "You will remember a nice meal, a delightful conversation, and oh, many other pleasant things." He tenderly licked her racing pulse, and blew warm breath on it as a sensual distraction. They waited together for some time, until her heart rate and breathing slowed, and she calmed.
"Good girl," Sir said with an approving voice that sent a thrill of unreasonable delight throughout her body. So incredibly stupid how she responded to this kidnapper of hers, but she wouldn't change it even if she could. Elizabeth considered that she would probably feel protected and secure with him right up until the point where he killed her. Stockholm Syndrome, she reminded herself.
But at least she honestly did feel safe. She didn't think he would hurt her.
But she was wrong.
6. Lunch
"Relax now, mon cher, as much as you are able. It is time to eat," he said. His steady, calming hand lifted as he moved away, and her heart rate increased.
The sound of objects and imp
lements opening, shutting came to her ears, and she heard him move around the room. Blindfolded, in the dark and unable to move, she wanted him to come back - to put his hands back upon her, because somehow with him there she felt she would be alright.
A plate was set heavily down and she could almost feel him move to between her legs, standing just in front of her. He touched her, one hand resting on her thigh and her increasing tension slowed.
"Mon cher," he said gently with that uncanny intuition of his. "I am here." He patted her thigh. "I am here and you are safe. I will not leave you alone, do not fear."
"Thank you," she whispered, hardly able to speak and forgetting to use his appellation, Sir. But she noticed that he ignored this and continued to pat her, concentrating on soothing her frayed nerves.
"It is my pleasure, mon cher," he said.
The smell of something wonderful came to her nose, and a shift in the light or pressure of the air – something made her aware when he leaned toward her. "Open, mon cher. Time to eat," he said.
Well, she thought. At least he didn't tie my mouth shut. She opened her lips and felt his fingers push a morsel of food inside. Crepe. Chicken, and a creamy sauce. It melted in her mouth, and tasted divine. "Ummm," she said.
"It is very good, no? I have an excellent chef. He is French, of course," he said and he laughed. Something about his laughter always calmed and cheered her, and she smiled and found she was able to eat, and able to smile while sitting with him, while he placed food in her mouth, describing each treat he had for her. All the time he fed her he also kept a firm warm hand on her thigh, or her knee, or on her forearm. After awhile all her anxiety lessened and eventually disappeared and they talked and laughed together, eating and making insignificant and amusing conversation.
It was an odd meal, him feeding her by hand, and her completely bound, naked and exposed with her legs tied wide apart for him to view every bit of her female flesh. Sir flirted shamelessly with her, always in a flattering and admiring way, and nothing remotely sleazy. Cherished and treasured, that was how he made her feel, and there was no way he could be pretending such regard. Despite every circumstance shouting otherwise, Elizabeth had this crazy idea that her strange captor respected women, and had a high opinion of them, which of course made no sense at all.
After they had coffee and creme brulée, she heard a chair shift and Sir sat down, signaling a change. Alarmed, she breathed in – yet his hand squeezed her leg, acknowledging her uncertainty. The hand remained upon her, trailing light circles over her thigh. Something in his aspect or manner had signified a difference, and Elizabeth's body jumped to hyper-alert, utterly aware of him. Without being able to see she could feel his gaze upon her. It was as if he was a hungry predator, and she was his prey.
She heard him moving, standing. "Elizabeth," he said in a low voice, "Open your mouth and try this." His lips touched hers, no, it was warm melted chocolate upon a strawberry. He kissed her with the strawberry in his teeth, pushing the fruit into her mouth.
"Yum," she said.
"You like it? I, too, like it. Have another." This time as his lips met hers and he pushed the chocolate covered strawberry into her mouth, he moved closer, and the hair on his thighs touched her thighs before the heat of his flesh seared her. She felt his cock, hard and ready also moving up against her pussy, and the combination made her give a soft, unexpected moan.
Sir laughed. Both of his hands cupped her bound breasts, caressing and soothing, then pinching each nipple. "It is delicious, mon cher," he said, "and so are you."
Elizabeth smiled. "Merci beaucoup, Sir. You're not so bad yourself."
It seemed like they had finished with their lunch and Elizabeth wondered if chocolate covered strawberries was all he had planned for desert.
Somehow she doubted it.
7. Burned to the Ground
"Mon cher," he said. "It is time for work, we have had our break. Yet for now I will allow you to continue to speak freely, for we have important subjects to discuss."
Elizabeth once more felt the weight of her circumstances. What did the man want now? She was stark naked, blindfolded and unable to move: totally in his power. With a twist of apprehension she licked her lips and swallowed.
"First I want you to consider, mon cher. How do you feel as you are? I have constrained you, no? You cannot move. And you are displayed for me, for my pleasure. I can see the marks I gave you on both inner thighs, they are - so sorry - very blue, and there are teeth marks too, you understand. But to me each bruise on your pale flesh is beautiful and very satisfying. When I see them I remember the pleasure I gave you when making them, and I think of the ones I do not see, on your beautiful derrière.
He was standing, and as he spoke he moved closer, moving his warm hips between her legs, and placing a hand on each upper thigh. "Think now, mon cher. You are bound and open to my will, and to my pleasure. Tied as tightly as you are, you are trapped and helpless, unable to do anything," he chuckled, "Except perhaps spit at me. How do you feel? And do not use your mind to find the answer, do not reason. Just speak to me your thoughts as they come, with your oh so charming lips."
Elizabeth said, "I am nervous, but I don’t really think you would hurt me." At least I hope you won't, she thought. But no, everything he did, he did for some reason of his own. Too bad she wasn't on the same page, must less did she know the agenda.
"Yes?" he encouraged. "What else?"
She tried to shrug but couldn't move. "I am scared. I feel vulnerable," she whispered, chewing a lower lip. "Completely at your mercy." Somehow, with that one thought came a pulse of pleasure in her clit, as well as a huge contraction of her slick channel. She felt a gush of liquid from her sex. She was sexually aroused. "Oh!" she said, "I… oh, I…" Elizabeth didn't finish the sentence because with her physical reaction came a monumental revelation. Did it take constraint or a feeling of vulnerability to get her off? How could that be?
Sir remained silent, although from where he was standing, he couldn't have missed her noticeable sexual response. Her nipples felt hard as rock, her breasts ached to be touched and she was sitting in a pool of her own arousal on this hard wooden chair. Sir said nothing, obviously letting her have time to think these thoughts through.
Finally she said, with growing certainty, "I'm sexually aroused. Being tied up like this, being vulnerable, powerless and exposed. It turns me on."
Sir chuckled and gave her a chaste kiss, on her forehead. "Just so, mon cher. You are such an intelligent woman, so quick to look and see what has been hidden from you. This knowledge changes things, yes? It is something you never considered."
Elizabeth measured her thoughts and her words, trying to reason things out. "You asked me before, why I am so turned on by you, a man I don’t even know. Now I know why – because you tied me to your bed? Is it really that simple?"
"Yes and no. We have a saying in France: Les vérités les plus évidentes de la vie il est la plus difficile de voir. Which is: Life's most obvious truths are the hardest to see. The full quote is: 'Life's most obvious truths are the hardest to see but once you've burned everything to the ground they are the only things left standing." His knuckles grazed her cheek in that familiar manner. "You see, mon cher, I burn all to the ground by abducting you. I take away everything - the mannerisms and mechanisms that you use to survive. I burn away the makeup, props and masks - then, voila! The eyes, they open."
Well. She could see it now. To hell with seeing, she could feel it. It explained how turned on she had gotten as a captive. Where did it come from, this quirky desire to be powerless? Her mind spun in many different directions, recollecting incidents in the past, trying to make sense of this new truth.
"Elizabeth, tell me," he said. "What do you think of?"
She automatically tried to shake her head, but of course couldn’t move. "I…I'm not sure."
Sir broke into her train of thought. "This will take more consideration, mon cher, do not let it disturb you. You have done
very well to discover this much, and so soon. Many women never find a key to their sexuality. It is a little God humor I think, sometimes. A mischief that the creator plays between a man and a woman. We will put this away for now, mon cher. It is a matter for consideration when you are alone, as I will leave you for some time today…"
When she stiffened he added, patting her reassuringly, "But of course, I will not leave you alone and tied like this. I will leave you with only one ankle shackle, mon cher, and a long chain attached to the oh so comfortable bed." He stroked her lips with one warm finger, and then gave her a light kiss.
"All shall be well, Elizabeth," he assured her. "I promise to take good care of you."
8. Her Primitive Needs
"Mon Cher," Sir said, "There is something else I wish to understand. Tell me now, in detail. When you masturbate, what do you think of?"
Elizabeth drew in a breath. "I hadn't seen Mark in years, and I think I told you, we saw each other again at a friend's wedding. It was the strangest thing, our eyes met and then suddenly it was like we had to have sex, right now. I was a bridesmaid, in full dress and trimmings, hair done up in an intricate coiffure - and it was thirty minutes before the wedding Bridal March. There was no time for sex, the whole idea was insane."
"I went down to where the wedding gifts were displayed, I can't recall why exactly, but I had to retrieve something. Mark was there, with a massive hard on. I told him no, that I was too rushed, that the room was too public, but he was like a bull at a heifer, there was no stopping him. You know how big he is, right? He was a football linebacker, first string at College. Anyway, Mark had his hand up my dress and his big body pressing me against a wall so fast! I pushed against his chest but couldn't stop him. It was like trying to hold back some powerful natural event with my hands, like trying to stop a tornado, or an avalanche. It was the most intense sexual experience and orgasm I had ever experienced."
