Under Contract

by Jeffe Kennedy

  He put a big hand around her throat, bracketing her jaw and raising her slightly straighter, tilting her face so she had to meet his stern gaze. “You disappointed me with your disobedience and lack of control, so I expect you to behave perfectly tonight. I’ll ensure that you do. You won’t have any choice. It’s out of your control now. Understand?”

  Her brain went to total white noise and her thigh muscles melted. Only his hand on her throat seemed to hold her up and, while he wasn’t restricting her breathing, he had to be able to feel her frantic pulse against his hand. An absurd desire to plead with him, to apologize and beg to appease him, seized her.

  “Answer me,” he told her, the warning clear.

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Yes, Master, I understand.” She’d wondered about calling him that, if she’d feel silly, but in that moment it felt true. She steeled her traitorous heart at how profoundly true it felt.

  “Better. Go prepare yourself for me and meet me as I told you.”

  In a haze, she climbed the stairs, the skin on her throat hot where he’d grasped her.

  Prepare yourself for me.

  You won’t have any choice.

  It’s out of your control now.

  His words chased around in her head and she seemed to be unable to think of anything else. A trip, he’d called it. If so, she’d left the runway and soared into the air, groundless, gaining altitude so rapidly that everything she thought she knew about herself stayed far behind.

  She undressed, leaving everything on the bed, and surveyed the very little he’d left for her to put on. Penitent slave. The nearly transparent white robe went over her head, with a deep vee front and back, so the inner curves of her breasts were exposed. Though, with the cloth so sheer, her nipples showed through almost as clearly. It hung completely open on both sides. A heavy gold belt, as wide as the length of her hand, closed tightly around her waist, the only thing that kept the robe from flapping open at the sides, making long slits instead. It locked like a seatbelt, with a click ominous enough to make her look for the release. Unable to find one, she resigned herself to the likelihood that only he would be able to remove it.

  It’s out of your control now.

  Several rings attached around the circumference hinted at how the belt would play a role in the upcoming restraint. She checked the rest of the room. Nothing else in evidence for her to put on. Apparently that was it. Anything else, he would put on her. Not a comforting thought.

  Barefoot, she descended the grand staircase, acutely aware of her near-nudity, particularly with how the filmy robe flared as she walked. At the doorway to the library, she paused, feeling her nerves and exposure, searching the dim room lit mainly by soft lamps and a cheerful fire. Two freestanding posts framed the fireplace, going from the floor to the high ceiling, making it into an open-sided alcove.

  “Were my instructions somehow unclear?” He grated out the question in a dangerous tone that spurred her heart back into accelerated response.

  Picking him out in a chair by the fire, she hurried and knelt in front of him. His shadowed face had a cruel, even thuggish cast. “I’m sorry, Master.”

  “Save your apologies. Eyes on the floor. Give me your wrists.”

  Shuddering, she looked down. The hard points of her nipples strained against the sheer cloth. He wore shiny black shoes. Somehow both details seemed important. She held her hands out uncertainly. Metal clanked, fastened around one wrist, then the other, both dragged down by the weight of heavy chains. The manacles fit tightly, with some sort of padding inside. Her arm muscles trembled with the effort to keep her hands aloft.

  “Lower your hands to your sides. Lift your chin and look at me now.”

  She obeyed, grateful for the reprieve, then drew in a breath at the sight of the collar he held in his hands. Like something out of a European dungeon, made of thick iron, like the manacles and chains on her wrists, it hinged on one side and met in matching rings at the open end, with crimson velvet like a wound on the inner surface.

  “You lost the privilege of freedom. A disobedient slave must be chained and punished. Do you accept your master’s collar?”

  Swallowing against the tightness in her throat, she searched his face, so remote, seething violence beneath. “Yes, Master,” she whispered.

  “Ask me to do it.”

  “Please collar me, Master.”

  He smiled, ever so slightly, but it sent a rush of relief through her that she’d managed to please him that much. Slipping the collar behind her neck, he matched the rings and put a padlock through them, clicking it into place. It fit more loosely than the cuffs, but snug enough to be a constant sensation. So heavy. He hung the key around his neck with another, so they lay in the open vee of his dark shirt—out of her reach, in his control. He studied her, then brushed her cheek.

  “You are so beautiful to me like this.” He picked up another chain and attached it to the collar, adding to its weight, then draped it over her shoulder, so it hung heavily down her back. “Kneel up.”

  Feeling the effort of it, with the weight of the chain around her neck and dragging her wrists down, she did. Holding her gaze, he tugged the robe off her shoulders, leaving it to slide down her arms, baring her breasts. He picked up something brightly glinting. “This is when the pain starts.”

  Wetting his fingers, he rolled her nipple, already taut but becoming more sensitive by the moment. Pleasure arrowing to her groin despite her peaking fear. Or perhaps because of it. Poising the clamp in front of her trapped nipple, he caught her gaze. “Do you deserve this punishment?”

  “Yes, Master.” Her throat clogged with apprehension and she braced herself. He moved his feet, using them to pin the chains at her wrists to the floor. Then slipped the toothed clamp onto her nipple. The light pressure quickly increasing to bright pain.

  Moderate, she told herself. Only moderate. But it continued to build and, when similar pain flared on her other nipple, she realized she’d closed her eyes and he’d meanwhile attached the other clamp without her realizing. The cuffs bit into her wrists. She’d been trying to lift her hands to pull the clamps off. With his feet holding the chains to the floor, she could only struggle with increasing panic.

  His hands cupped her face, steadying. “Breathe into it,” he advised. “I’m in control of this and you can’t escape it. You deserve this pain. Accept it.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  She clung to his gaze, dark eyes bottomless, breasts rising and falling frantically. So incredibly beautiful in her supplication. That singular combination of tenderness and cruelty coiled through him. The impulse to both comfort and further torment, to break her open and then anoint her with love. Nothing else he’d ever found compared to these moments.

  And Celestina, fully immersed, powerfully involved, outshone every other and drew him in like no other woman had ever done.

  Still shuddering, she calmed somewhat. When he stopped pinning her chains to the floor, she didn’t try to raise her hands, yielding to the clamps, no longer fighting it. Taking her chain leash, he wrapped it around his hand and stood, drawing her to her feet with it. She rose obediently, without instruction, fully in sync with him now, hands by her sides and chains dragging on the floor.

  He positioned her in front of the fireplace, the light silhouetting her lovely figure. Draping the heavy chain leash between her full breasts, careful not to bump the clamps and cause the pain to flare—not just yet for that—he let it dangle there. With her waist compressed by the belt, her breasts naked and clamped, and the iron chains against her golden skin, she moved him impossibly.

  With a remote he lowered the hook from above. A big iron one, like those used for hanging meat. Her already huge eyes widened at the brutal sight of it, then she closed them as he looped the ends of her w
rist chains over the point. He allowed her the reprieve as it seemed to let her give in more easily. She opened them again when he raised the hook, her arms tugged over her head, the white gown sliding back to her shoulders, but catching on the outsides of the globes of her golden breasts, framing them perfectly. Not watching the hook, though, she gazed at him. When she’d gone barely on tiptoe, just enough to put her on the balls of her feet and off-balance, not enough to suspend her, he stopped it.

  Cupping her soft cheek, he soothed her, though she hadn’t struggled. Focusing on his face, she seemed about to say something, but didn’t.

  “Kiss my hand,” he told her. “Show me your gratitude.”

  Her lips parted, glossy red with her still-perfect lipstick, and she trembled visibly, then turned her face and pressed a fervent kiss into the palm of his hand. Totally in the moment.

  Moving more quickly, as he could only keep her suspended even this much for a short time, he brought chains from their niches in the posts on either side, strong ones, firmly fixed to the floor for this express purpose, and attached them to her belt. The leash chain came off and more, lighter chains went from her collar to the same posts, the better to keep her still when she began thrashing in earnest.

  She flinched a little when he went behind her and locked cuffs on her slim ankles, then moaned when he spread her thighs and tethered her feet to the posts also. Not so wide that she couldn’t bear some of her weight, but plenty enough to amplify her sense of helplessness. Moving back in front of her, he picked up a big-bladed knife, showed it to her, then sliced the shoulders of the robe. She struggled, making the chains clink, as he stripped away the pieces of it, leaving her gloriously naked except for her many restraining chains. His slave in truth, at last.

  She stopped squirming when he stood in front of her, trailing a hand down her center, between her breasts and the confining belt, over the delightfully smooth skin of her mound. As if frozen, she stared into his eyes, going rigid as he slipped his fingers into her swollen, slick folds.

  Oh yes.

  “Don’t you dare come,” he warned her, just to see the flare of desperation in her face. “Or I’ll double your punishment. See what’s laid out on the table there? That’s everything you gave me permission to use on you. Some hurt far more than others. Time to decide how much pain to start with. Tell me—did you orgasm again since yesterday?”

  “No!” It came out sharply as her hips rocked against his teasing touch.

  He flicked her nipple clamp and she cried out, tears welling anew. “No, what?”

  “No, Master,” she sobbed out, shaking her head in denial.

  “But you wanted to.” He took pity on her and backed off the touch, letting her gather herself. “You wanted to very badly.”

  “Yes, but...” Her voice broke and she bit her lip, visibly bracing for another reprimand.

  “Tell me. You have no secrets from me, no way to resist or withhold anything. You belong utterly to me in this moment. Feel my chains on you? I’ve mastered you. Everything is out of your control, because you handed that power to me. Whether you come or not is up to me to decide tonight. Everything that happens is mine to decide. You have only to yield. And even that isn’t up to you, because I’ll make you do it. You already have.”

  A strong stand to take with her, but she responded to his words as much as anything. In some unspoken way she demanded that of him, needing that permission to be out of control. From what she had confided, she’d shouldered crushing responsibility for years, while struggling through grief that would have destroyed many people. She hadn’t said directly, but she must have been close to her sister. She wanted something from this, from him, and he needed to give it to her, with a bone-deep driving desire as strong as his desire to possess her utterly.

  “Tell me,” he insisted, running his hands over her sweat-slickened skin. “How did you feel? But what?”

  “I wanted to wait to be with you,” she said fast, then gasped and struggled. “I can’t—”

  “It doesn’t matter. No can or can’t for you. You have no power. It’s all mine now. You gave it to me, remember?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, calming. “Master.”

  “That’s right. I’m going to punish you now. You can’t stop or change anything.”

  She closed her eyes, relaxing into the bonds, indescribably beautiful. Entirely his. His to torment. His to possess. Ablaze with the headiness of it all, he moved behind her. Her smooth skin glowed in the soft light, unblemished and tantalizing.

  Picking up a light strap, he set about changing that.

  * * *

  The chains confined and stretched her, giving her a curiously weightless feeling, even as her body pulsed ever closer to the edge of some precipice. Not orgasm, necessarily. Though when he’d stroked her pussy, she’d nearly fallen over that edge. At some point she’d stopped questioning why the entire experience rocked her so profoundly. Even the ongoing pain of the nipple clamps seemed to feed directly to her engorged clit. She might have begged him to just fuck her already, but it would do no good. Restful, in an odd, alien way, to know that.

  Everything that happens is mine to decide. You have only to yield.

  Why that felt restful, she didn’t know. But the pain changed when he reminded her that she couldn’t do anything about it. As if some part of her that continued to hold on, to wish things different, that fought against the unfairness of life and all the sorrow it brought, finally abandoned the wasted effort and let go. Naked, her soul exposed as much as her body, utterly helpless with him, she gave in gladly, with a sense of sweetest relief.

  The strap fell on her bottom with a light sting, quickly followed by another. Reflexively she shied away, but the extremity of her restraint prevented it. You can’t stop or change anything. He covered her bottom with whipping blows, one on top of the last, then moving out to the backs of her thighs, her calves, her shoulders. Without warning, tears began to flow out of her in great shuddering sobs, something else out of her control, in a rhythm seemingly unconnected to where the strap landed and how painful it might be.

  Her whole body thrummed to it, nerves singing in a different way, almost drinking in the stimulation. Bright pain so much better than the years of gray numbness. He moved in front of her, strapping her thighs here, her belly there. She writhed and pleaded, nonsense sounds and “Master,” over and over. Though he watched her intently, he ignored her pleas, flicking the strap against the sensitive underside of her arm, lashing so it wrapped around her ribs. Letting the end of it sting her mound. His face had settled into those deep grooves that transformed him from gentleman to thug. All that controlled violence.

  His silver eyes like steel, he caught her gaze, held it an endless moment, and flicked the strap on her exposed clit.

  She shrieked, body clenching in a paroxysm somehow beyond orgasm. Before she fully processed it, he flicked the strap against one breast, then the other. The singing pain turned to ricocheting agony and she screamed with throat-scraping volume.

  He took her jaw in a strong grip, forcing her to meet his unrelenting stare. “Are you sorry?” he demanded.

  “Yes, Master,” she sobbed out.

  The strap hit her open pussy and she cried out brokenly.

  “Tell me,” he ordered. “Tell me how sorry you are.”

  “I’m sorry, Master!” She came apart as he strapped her pussy again, sending her head into an explosion of red. “I’m sorry!” she shrieked it, his face gone blurry with her tears. “I’m so sorry, Ara. Oh, Arabella!”

  She dissolved completely, hanging in the chains, losing herself in the great, shuddering black convulsions of grief.

  * * *

  He only knew she hadn’t fainted completely because she continued to weep piteously, breaking his heart—one he hadn’t known he still possessed—along with her own. Work
ing quickly, he removed the cuffs and chains, pressing the remote to lower the hook as he held her, supporting her to the floor, where she collapsed bonelessly against him. Clinging to him but also far away in the paroxysms of the emotional earthquake she’d suffered.

  Carrying her to the couch, he tucked her against him, managing to wrap her in the soft blanket he’d stowed there. She was pliant as a newborn kitten, not seeming to notice when he rubbed the numbing cream on her clamped nipples. Though he hated to hurt her at this point—not how he’d envisioned removing them—they needed to come off. He did it fast, holding her tight, hoping that it might feel comforting, but she barely whimpered, so far gone in her head that the pain of returning blood to the compressed tissues barely registered.

  Glad that he’d kept the keys on him, he removed her collar and the slave belt. She let him shift her, her tears gone silent now. Hopefully the storm was subsiding. Nothing else to do for her then but lie back and cuddle her against him. At a loss for what else to do, he kissed her damp temple, murmuring words of comfort, anything he could think of to calm and soothe her, to let her know he wouldn’t leave her alone and that everything would be okay.

  He hoped.

  Finally she took a long, wobbly breath. Let it out. Then another. Her weight on him changed, from the boneless drape to something with more awareness. She would lead with embarrassment, knowing her. The fingers she’d wrapped into his shirt flexed and slowly released. She shifted. Started to sit up, but he kept his arms wrapped around her and she subsided.

  “Take a bit longer,” he said, keeping his voice low. “There’s no hurry. Nowhere for us to be. We have all night.”

  She turned her face more into his chest, breathing more evenly. Thinking of what to say, most likely. “I’m so sorry about this.”

  “You can’t be. You had no choice. It wasn’t under your control.” He could give her that much.

  Lifting her chin, she looked at him, bemused. She was a glorious mess, her makeup smeared, hair in disarray, her eyes red and swollen—and she pulled at his heart. More than anything he wanted to kiss her tears away, stroke and caress her until she again undulated with pleasure and sighed his name. But he restrained himself. Not his forte. Stick with your strengths.