by Nikki Sex
Bound and Freed Boxed Set
By
Nikki Sex
Copyright 2013 by Nikki Sex
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All rights reserved.
Table of Contents
BOUND
1. André's Case Difficile
2. Broken
3. Four Years Later
4. Kelly's Crush
5. The Basement
6. The Scene
7. Angelic Smile
8. Close Call
9. Disaster
FREED
1. Distraction
2. Lessons
3. A Kiss
4. Finger Fucked
5. John Taylor
6. Off the Cliff
7. Queasy
8. Only You
9. Instincts
10. The Blind See
STRIPPED
1. Rescue
2. John's House
3. Bedroom
4. Examination
5. Mastered
6. Horny
7. Connection
8. Free
9. Kelly
10. Unfeeling
PUNISHED
1. Roller Coaster
2. Childhood Memories
3. Whip Practice
4. Suffering
5. Phone Call
6. Manager Meeting
7. In Confidence
8. The Letter
9. Unloved Puppy
10. Discipline
11. Happiness
12. Bullwhip
13. Spanking
14. Thank You
15. Climax
16. Last Sunday
17. Brave
18. What's In The Box?
19. Murder
CONNECTED
1. Colin Wilkins
2. Love and Scars
3. Early Sunday Morning
4. What John Needs
5. Triggers
6. Confessions
7. Family Dinner
8. Kelly's Plan
9. Kelly's Solution
10. Faux Pas
11. Kelly's Happiness
12. Homicide Division
13. John's House
14. Lucille's Crusade
15. Kelly Confronts John
16. John's Greatest Sin
17. Vulnerable
18. A Walk in the Park
19. Holladay Park
20. Richard's News
21.John and Lorenzo
22. The Planned Scene
23. Trapped
24. Brenda's Help
25. Hospital Two Days Later
26.The Next Day
27. Moving Home
28. Lucille's Confession
29. An Effective Gag
30. Letters
31. Surprise
BOUND
1. André's Case Difficile
The naked man was face down and spread-eagled, cuffed to the St. Andrew's Cross. The X frame was custom made, and tilted to a 45 degree angle. There was a resting place for the sub's head, and soft padding for ankles, wrists, and neck.
"I said come for me. You will come. Now," the stern female voice rang with power, combined with sensual, yet merciless dominance. Her small soft hand masturbated her sub's erection, while the riding crop welted his slim youthful thighs, and a butt plug vibrator buzzed in his ass. The man's back, buttocks and thighs gleamed red on his pale skin, while the Domme stroked skillfully, and still the man didn't climax.
"Mistress Diana, that is enough, if you please," said André Chevalier as he came into the room.
The whipping stopped, and Diana removed her hand from the twenty-two year old man's cock. It was dripping with pre-cum. No surprise there. Mistress Diana was one of the best.
André tilted his head and studied his client. John Taylor's lungs were heaving, sucking air into his slim chest, his entire body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Around six feet tall, the young man had attained full growth, yet his lean, well cut form still needed filling out. John was male model handsome, and his emotionless control, combined with a high IQ and almost omnipresent skills of observation would, in time, make him a sought after Dom.
Mistress Diana's gaze met André's and her eyebrows rose, along with a sardonic smile and slight shrug. André read much from just those small physical tells. The Dominatrix clearly had no idea why she couldn't make her sub climax. As an experienced mistress of heterosexual males, Diana had been totally baffled by John Taylor's resistance. André hid a bubble of amusement. The consummate professional probably hadn't been perplexed by a man for many years. This experience wouldn't harm her.
André frowned, was it a shadow, or had the young man's balls been actually turning blue? Such inhibition! Or was it control? The stubborn man would not permit himself to orgasm, despite his entire body demanding release. André moved near the X frame.
"Release him if you please, Mistress Diana," André said and gestured toward the butt plug, "and remove anything else upon his person." As she did so John pushed up and began to move from the cross, but André put a hand on his back and the youth stilled. "Remain on the cross John, without the cuffs. Rest comfortably and do me the honor of remaining by my side. Stay for we shall talk."
As Mistress Diana moved toward the door André reminded John quietly, "Thank your Mistress, John."
"Thank you, Mistress," came a deep, deadpan voice.
When they were alone André stroked John, petting and soothing the back of his head and neck, running his fingers through his thick, black hair in soft, fond caresses. "Shut your eyes, mon ami," André said and John obeyed him. "Listen to my voice. Relax now and be comfortable, for you are safe here with me. You are not a sub, non. Yet as a Dom I am training, I wished for you to fully participate and comprehend the submissive experience."
"I failed," John said in what André could now recognize as his utterly careful, emotionless voice – the dispassionate tone he had when he was hiding an ocean of feeling.
"Mais no," André said, pleased to find the young man held no anger for his treatment. For unless André was mistaken, John's flat response hid despair. "You have only exposed more of yourself to me, John. I tell you now that I understand you, and I comprehend more and more each day. Shall I flatter you? Shall I tell you that I grow to like and respect you, mon ami? For it is true, oui. Your aunt was wise to send you to me. Hush now. Imagine it is your Aunt Brenda stroking your hair. Imagine she is here, and she wants you to be happy. Have you done this, mon ami?"
There was a long pause, and the slightest of hitches in his breath. "Yes, André," John finally said.
André pet him lovingly for a few more strokes, and then lowered his voice, "Brenda wants you to be happy. You know this is true. Brenda wants you to come, mon ami. Come for me, and come for Brenda. Right now." With one hand on the young man's nape, André put the fingers of his other hand on John's cock – just barely a touch.
John climaxed instantly. With his hips thrusting and his long body convulsing, he sprayed and sprayed and sprayed. Yet John made barely any audible sound.
This young man is only a boy, André thought. What was the oh so crass American saying? Ah, yes. Young, dumb, and full of cum. Well, that much was true for André was astonished by the huge amount of ejaculate that could issue from one man. When the climax was finished, John's penis remained erect and his entire body trembled.
"Shush, shush," André said, still stroking John's hair. "
Well done, mon ami, very well done. I am oh so very pleased, and I know your Aunt Brenda would be pleased too."
André gave John's hair a little tug, not painful, more in a compelling, commanding manner. "Let it out now," he said, "for you have been holding everything inside for much too long. Do not hide from me, John, for I know who you are. I loved your Aunt Brenda, oui, it is true. I loved her for who she was - a kind soul and a sensitive, caring submissive. Brenda knew you John, she was probably the only one to do so. And she loved you very much."
A sob came from John then, a feral, animal sound, raw and brutal as if it had been torn from his throat. Then John began to cry - not with normal tears, André realized, no. He sobbed and keened with agony. It was as if his very heart was pouring out from within him.
For John Taylor's life had been ripped apart, and now he was lost and utterly alone.
2. Broken
At this moment I am the only one who knows this tormented young man, André thought. And it was a difficult journey. Yet he will not hide from me now.
"Sit here with me, my friend," André said taking John's hand. The naked young man stood on shaky legs and stumbled toward his mentor, his cheeks running with tears. They sat together on the couch and André held John, his head against his chest, patting and soothing, as he sobbed and sobbed as if there was no surcease. John's slim young body was wracked with grief so palpable that it was almost like a separate presence in the room.
Mon Dieu, such loss, André thought, his own heart constricting painfully beneath his ribs. This vulnerable young man is like a child in his grief. He cries as if there is nothing left for him. Everything that had made his life worth living has been taken from him.
Until this day and almost this moment, André had been extremely concerned that John Taylor was a sociopath: detached, emotionless and without proper human feeling. The impassive and almost clinical way that he dominated a sub seemed like callous disregard. André had also worried that the young man had no capacity to love. Instead it seemed that John had been so tormented that the only way he could endure was to become emotionless, cutting off his feelings.
John had shown André willingness to learn, and acute intelligence. In fact the young man was probably a genius in many ways. He was an excellent actor and could be superficially charming. No wonder André had worried. With a submissive John was hyperaware of the slightest change, yet he didn’t seem to bond during a power exchange. Would he use that knowledge to break a sub down completely?
André had been apprehensive. Was this handsome boy as cold and unfeeling as he seemed? If André taught him dominance and connection with a submissive, the youth would increase his knowledge and experience, yet still André would have failed. For what would be the point? Educating the mind without educating the heart was no education at all.
André patted and soothed, embracing his grief stricken client as the young man's tears slowed and he came back to himself. John Taylor is not heartless, non, André thought with vast relief. He has simply hidden all feeling deeply, a protective action no doubt learned as a child. But to prevent ejaculation! Such impossible control of his body. André knew now that the young man could only climax in the presence of someone he cared for, or someone that he trusted. After the amount of time he and André had spent together, John was learning to trust André, perhaps to even love him.
André allowed himself an internal wry smile, feeling strangely like a father figure to the lost creature in his arms. There was only ten years between them in age, and it may as well be a hundred so different were their life experiences.
André took a deep breath, patting John's back comfortingly. John's childhood was grounded in consistent betrayal, a lesson difficult to unlearn. Dependence upon another did not come easily. André frowned with distaste. The scars the young man had on his back, buttocks and thighs were thin, numerous and white with age. John's reaction to pain, in a similar harmonic to that experienced in his past had been important to determine. Thus André had set up this scene. This session could very well have ended with violence. The security team was on guard even now, watching. Yet it had been illuminating, and it had proved a necessary point.
For at least part of his childhood, John had known fondness, affection and love. John's Aunt Brenda, his mother's older sister - now dead - had loved him. André had a long letter from her and had received finance toward the boy's tutelage. Brenda sent that money five years before, well before her death, but John had refused to come to him. John's aunt had recognized the Dom in the boy. But had she known of the extremes that he was capable of?
Six months after Brenda passed away, John had finally come to André in hopeless misery.
André once more smiled at the young man in his arms, amused by the paternal feelings he had for him. A sadist without empathy could only be a monster, and yet André had discovered a human being inside this man – child.
My darling Brenda, André thought, shutting his eyes. I have taken on this case difficile, oui. Your nephew is lost without your love, ma cher. But with assistance from the Bon Dieu, we shall help him find peace. André frowned, and took a considering look at the young man, who had wrapped himself tightly around André's torso, unwilling to leave the shelter of his arms.
John was a difficult case, and while André's intervention would help, it could not bring full resolution. André stroked John's hair, generously giving him the human contact that was so vital, the connection that the young man craved. The absolute solution to such a broken spirit, André realized, was for the young man to discover trust and love once more.
But how long would it take such an injured soul, with a broken heart to find love?
3. Four Years Later
Twenty-four year old Kelly Flynn took the lift down to "The Basement," a local BDSM club. It was a Saturday night and the place would be jumping. Unfortunately she was running late. Her mother had nagged her to visit which she had, but Dunthorpe was miles from where she lived at Hillsboro, and from The Basement, which was in almost the heart of downtown Portland. Traffic had been bad, and of course it was raining.
Following a succession of silly, unfulfilling jobs after finishing her Arts Degree, Kelly seemed to have found a niche in organizing and running speed dating three times a week. She still had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. Cooking, singing, French and a love of flowers had not solidified into any particular profession. Being a Speed Dating coordinator was fun however, and the pay was great. Unfortunately the work was from three pm to midnight and thus severely curtailed her time at The Basement. There was more than one opening for a club sub, but Kelly didn't want to go there either.
She smothered a giggle. I'm not that submissive, she thought.
Regrettably her super expensive month trial membership would soon run out, and while she had learned tons, and had enjoyed herself immensely she was no closer to finding a Dom boyfriend.
It was a matter of trust, really. So difficult for a sub to rely on anyone. The last bastard she had been with hadn't used a condom once he tied her up. Bastard! And to top it off the jerk turned out to be vanilla anyway. Kelly would never risk an unplanned child so she was on the pill, but she also believed in being safe thus she always used protection. It had been embarrassing to tell her doctor and get a full battery of tests to ensure she hadn't caught anything. But then in order to join the Basement she had to take the tests once more. She smiled. It had been easier for her to ask the second time. Her doctor's expression had remained professional, he hadn't even blinked.
The elevator doors smoothed open and she exited into a small entry room, where a large man with grey hair sat behind a desk, reading a "Four Wheel and Off Road" magazine and drinking fresh brewed coffee by the smell of it.
"Hey Tom-boy!" she said cheerily.
"Kelly, as I live and breathe. How are you, gorgeous?"
"Better for seeing you, handsome," she said.
Tom laughed. An ex-cop, he seemed to be here most nights. Kelly drew
out a little white paper bag from the pocket of her knee length jacket. "For you," she said and put it on his desk. "Choc-chip cookies, I made them today."
Tom opened the bag and took one out. Kelly watched as Tom drew in a deep, appreciative smell. "Yum. Are you sucking up to me little girl?"
"Of course," she replied. "Seriously, it's the least I could do after all the help you've given me."
Tom shook his head. "Anyone can change a flat tire. But bake cookies? Not so much. Hey, what about my girlish figure?"
Kelly arched her brows. "I'm assuming you'll bring some of them home to Mary."
"Fat chance. Uh, oh, there are seven here, an uneven number. I'll have to eat at least three and possibly even five." Kelly laughed because with his growing paunch she knew he would do just that. "You have a good night, honey," he added as she left through the left hand door.
There were two doors in the entry room, one to the male dressing and changing area and one to the female area. Kelly strode inside and immediately snagged a locker, putting her valuables inside and clipping the key to her corset. She refreshed her red lip gloss in the restroom, taking a quick check in the mirror to make sure she looked her best. Dark eye shadow set off her pale blue eyes, and the blue-green satin corset, with a black lacy overlay accented the eye shadow. Short black underwear and thigh-high fishnet stockings with black high heel shoes completed the ensemble.
Kelly stared at her orange shoulder length wavy hair with disgust. If she didn't condition it and take constant care, it would curl and frizz up like Little Orphan Annie. She smiled at herself in the mirror at that, because she had played Little Orphan Annie at school, singing her heart out and stealing the show. If she had more discipline maybe she could have been an actress, or singer. But really it wasn't discipline she lacked, but interest and passion. At twenty-four she still had no idea what she wanted to be when she "grew up."
She frowned. Why was her hair orange and not red? Probably the same reason rust colored freckles covered her pale complexion, her face and shoulders – rather than just pale white skin. She had freckles all over, in fact all over. Without pouring on foundation head to toe, there was nothing she could do about it.