Woman In Chains

by Bridget Midway

  The whistling stopped, hissing to a halt. She listened intently for her kidnapper’s next move. Maybe if she offered her body to him, he would return her back to Master Blade. Of course, she would have to tell Master Blade.

  Knowing that another man had given her what he couldn’t would really piss him off, especially if she talked about how much she’d enjoyed it. She wouldn’t go to that extreme to escape. She didn’t know what Dak could do to her.

  She heard a sound like glasses clinking next to each other and footfalls coming down the hallway. She adjusted herself on the bed, tugging on her restraints again to see if she could find any give. When Dak’s shadow loomed in the doorway, she stilled.

  The light hit him when he walked inside. Much different than Master Blade, aside from being white instead of African-American, Dak had all of his hair even though he kept it shorn close to his head. His blue eyes sparkled even without him smiling, which it looked like he never did. His height and size intimidated her. If he had been a Dom, his poor submissive must be in a world of hurt all of the time.

  Dak carried a tray in his hand. He put it on the stand next to the bed, showing off two bowls of steaming hot soup, a small plate of crackers, and two mugs of hot tea. She stared at him, wondering what Dom would do this, especially for a submissive.

  “Hope you like soup.” He pulled up a chair next to the bed. Then he gazed at her. “I should have asked. Are you a vegetarian? This is chicken soup.”

  She didn’t answer, but her belly did, growling its appreciation. Although she squeezed her stomach again, from the way Dak cut his gaze to her midsection, then back to her, he must have gotten her answer.

  “Okay, so you’re at least hungry. Good. Now, are you going to be nice and sit here and eat this with me or do I have to feed you, too?”

  Silence. She wouldn’t answer to him or anyone else. Master Blade controlled her. He would be the only one to make her respond.

  “I see we’re going to be doing this the hard way.” He stood and loomed over her.

  She shrank back on the bed as much as she could. He hooked her under each arm and pulled her up so that she sat up straight. When the top of her head hit her bound wrists that wouldn’t go any higher on the bar, Dak stopped.

  He regarded her position for a while, then snapped his fingers. “Be right back.” With each one of his booted steps, the floor shook.

  She glanced at the tray of food and wanted so much to snag a cracker and to sip the warm meal. Hearing Dak’s footsteps again, she righted herself and stared at the doorway. What she saw made her scream and squirm again.

  In his hands he carried a large knife and two pairs of handcuffs. She’d been through a scene like that before. Knife play. With Master Blade, the act had been edgy and almost dangerous. She didn’t know this man, and she had no idea where of her location. Would he cut her and kill her?

  He held up his hand. “Calm down. I need to cut the tape off of your wrists.” He sat on the bed next to her.

  She continued screaming. As though he couldn’t hear her, Dak untied the tie around her wrists. Still maintaining control over her, he cuffed both wrists while they still had tape around them. He brought the knife up.

  “Don’t move.” Holding her hands in his fist, he slid the knife blade between her arms and sliced the tape. “This is going to hurt.” He peeled up a corner edge, then in one hard snatch, ripped the tape from around both arms.

  She screamed this time for a different reason.

  “I told you.” In an instant, he cuffed one arm to a bedpost and did the other arm to the opposite post.

  Again, he pressed his chest against hers, his face just above hers. His gaze connected with hers. In that moment the world stopped. The proximity, his eyes, even the way he smelled like the great outdoors, all enraptured her. She had to close her eyes and turn her head away from him to keep from falling for his seductive tricks.

  Dak raised her again with better results. He stuffed a couple of pillows behind her head and shoulders. She gasped when she felt his hand on her chin turning her head back to him.

  “Better?” he asked.

  Her mouth hung open, but she said nothing.

  “You at least look more comfortable, even if you resemble that chick from The Exorcist.” Dak returned to his chair and picked up a bowl of soup.

  As usual, she would get cold soup. She had gotten used to watching her Dom eating while she waited to get permission to dine. This guy, Dom or not, wouldn’t be any different.

  “So let’s try this again.” He spooned a hefty amount of soup with noodles and meat spilling over the utensil, blew on it, and moved closer to her. “Hi, my name is Dak. What’s your name?”

  She split her gaze between the spoon and him. He must not be a Dom, not a good one at least. Or maybe the difference in treatment had to do with the differences in the two men’s races. No, it couldn’t be that basic. A man was a man was a man. A Dom was a Dom was a Dom, right?

  “I know you’re hungry. You can at least eat.” He held up the spoon to her again.

  “This Slave doesn’t eat unless her master tells her to do so.” She chewed the soft flesh in her inner lip.

  “You don’t have a master anymore.”

  She shook her head. “Master Blade didn’t release This Slave. Master Blade still owns This Slave.”

  Dak slammed down the bowl and let out an exasperated breath through his nostrils. “Master Blade is a poor excuse for a good Dom. He abuses his slaves and submissives and makes them think they have no minds of their own and can’t make their own decisions. He would have seriously hurt you eventually, if he hasn’t already.”

  She shook her head emphatically this time. “Master Blade teaches This Slave. Master Blade trains This Slave. This Slave is better because of him.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re brainwashed. And stop calling yourself This Slave. You have a name. I want to hear it. What’s your name?”

  She glared at him. “This Slave.”

  Dak raised his hands.

  To her, he looked like he wanted to strike her, something she had become accustomed to with Master Blade for her insolence. She turned her face away and cringed, waiting to feel the result of his frustration. With Master Blade, she knew the type of punishment he would give when she provoked him. From this stranger, she had no clue. With his large hands, it would be nothing for him to wrap them around her neck and choke the life out of her.

  “Fine, if you don’t want to tell me your name, then I’ll make up one for you.”

  She heard the clinking sound of a spoon twirling in a ceramic bowl. She turned her attention back to him and found Dak with the bowl in his hand and eating the rest of the soup. She didn’t know what amazed her more: the fact that he hadn’t struck her or the realization that he spoke to her civilly like a human being, like a lady.

  “If you don’t want to eat right now, I’m going to help myself.” He stared at her for a while. “Gretchen.”

  She wrinkled her nose.

  “Yeah, you don’t look like a Gretchen. How about Pauline?” He downed a few spoonfuls of soup, then chewed on a couple of crackers. “Nope, you don’t favor a Pauline, either.”

  “This Slave can only be named by This Slave’s master. This Slave’s master is Master Blade.”

  As though she hadn’t said a word, Dak continued. “Sonia.” He shook his head. “Still isn’t right. You can make this easy on me and tell me your real name, or you can listen to me come up with names for you.”

  “This Slave only answers to one.”

  Dak’s eyes widened. “I know the perfect name for you. Rebekah.” He tipped the lip of the bowl into his mouth to finish off the soup.

  She couldn’t help but lick her lips.

  “You want to know why I’m going to call you Rebekah?” Dak put the bowl back on the tray, then lifted his mug filled with tea.

  She shook her head. “Why?”

  “The name comes from the Bible. It means ‘one who is capt
ivating.’ It also means ‘tying one with rope, mainly animals,’ but that’s just a coincidence.” He laughed.

  “Are you a priest?”

  Dak jerked his head forward and looked like he would spit his tea across the room. He managed to wipe the excess that escaped from around his mouth. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life. A man of the cloth is a new one. No, I’m definitely not a priest or any religious man. I just remembered that name.” He gazed at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The name fits you; well, until you finally tell me your real name. I’ll even take a nickname. Did they call you Stinky when you were a kid?”

  She screwed up her lips. “No.”

  “How about Crazy Legs?” He patted her legs hidden under the blanket.

  She shook her head.

  “Then what did your school friends call you?”

  She thought back to her life growing up. Recalling those memories that she had suppressed for such a long time ignited a burning in her eyes and throat.

  “This Slave had no friends.”

  The smile melted from Dak’s face. “Either call yourself Rebekah or don’t refer to yourself as anything at all while you’re with me.”

  “This Slave is not owned by you.” She balled her hands into fists.

  “While you’re with me, I do own you. And I have every right to rename you. If you call yourself This Slave again in my presence, I will punish you.”

  This Slave didn’t know what kind of punishment Dak would dispense, but if he disciplined her anything like Master Blade, she would be able to handle it. Gauging his size, she didn’t figure this one would be as brutal as her master.

  Now she wished she could be with Master Blade. At least with him, she knew what to expect.

  Dak wiped his mouth with a napkin, then looked at her. “Since you’re not eating right now, might as well bathe you. Maybe after your bath, you’ll be more inclined to trust me and eat something.”

  He ducked into a bathroom that connected to his bedroom. This Slave had to think. If he bathed her, what else would he do to her? Touch her in intimate spots? Kiss her? Fuck her? Although she should have been repulsed by those ideas, her body betrayed her once again.

  She felt her nipples harden and brush against the blanket covering her when she thought about Dak’s large hands on her body. Maybe it would be easier for her to think of him as a priest. She wouldn’t have such thoughts about him.

  Just because Dak hadn’t hurt her yet didn’t mean he wouldn’t. She had to escape. He would have to take her out of her restraints. Once he did that, she would have little time to make her escape.

  Scanning the room, she searched for items to use as a weapon. It had to be something she could pick up. Master Blade had always told her that she had no fight in her. Today, she would have to tap into a side her master said she didn’t possess. She would have to battle for her freedom.

  She heard Dak turning off the bathwater. He returned to the room with a large towel in his hand.

  “What will I, um, This Sla—, uh, wear after the bath?” She tried to stall for time. Also, she would need something to wear when for when she ran.

  Dak opened a drawer and pulled out a T-shirt and sweatpants. “Not sure if they’ll fit, but it’s at least something until you can get on your feet again.”

  She nodded and offered a smile to show compliance. He fell for it, smiling back at her. Her heart stopped at the gesture. She didn’t know why the man didn’t smile more often. The expression lit up his whole countenance.

  Starting at her feet, he untied them first. As carefully as he could, he removed the tape from her ankles. She didn’t know which hurt her more, having him rip off the tape in one quick but painful motion, or having him take his time like now and tugging on her skin ever so slowly.

  “Sorry,” he said as he gazed into her eyes.

  The connection proved too intense for her. Again, she averted her gaze. Dak had to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Although in the short period of time that he’d had her she already felt the desire to listen and obey him, a sign of a powerful Dom if she ever saw one. She knew she would have to run.

  Dak unhooked one wrist from the cuff. The other hand, he just removed the cuff from the post, but left the handcuff dangling from her wrist. She guessed he planned on handcuffing her again before getting her in the bathtub.

  When he stood, she curved her legs over the bed while keeping the blanket around her body.

  “The towel, please.” She extended her hand to him.

  Like a gentleman, uncharacteristic of what she had been used to with Master Blade, Dak turned his head while holding up the towel for her.

  She stood, scanned the room while Dak had his back to her, and spied the only thing near her grasp, a lamp. She wrapped her fingers around the neck of it just as Dak returned his attention to her.

  “Are you going to take the towel, or do you want me to wrap you in it?”

  She lifted the lamp, pulling its plug from the wall socket and cloaking them both in darkness, and smashed it over Dak’s head, shattering it into small pieces.

  She couldn’t see him go down, but she felt him slide down her body and land at her feet. With careful steps, she hopped over his head and felt around in the darkness for the clothes he’d placed on top of the dresser. Finding the shirt and pants, she snatched them and ran toward the front door, dressing as best she could along the way.

  By the front door sat a pair of heavy and huge work boots. They would have to do for footwear. She slipped her naked feet inside of them. At the sound of a loud groan right behind her, she nearly leaped out of the oversize footwear.

  Behind her Dak held himself up against the wall. Streams of blood trickled down his face.

  “Get…back…here.” His once booming voice had been diminished down to almost a whisper. Now he panted and mumbled.

  Not wanting to receive his punishment, she ran out of the house. Down the dark country road, she had no idea of her destination. She knew she had to get away from Dak and find her way back home, back to Master Blade.

  Chapter Four

  Run. Run. To where, This Slave had no idea. She flopped along the darkened roadside. As she panted, she saw her breath in the chilly nighttime air. Just seeing some form of evidence that showed signs of her life, her existence, renewed her spirit.

  She took in a deep breath and caught Dak’s woody, yet musky, scent. Smelling him made her feel like he existed somewhere around her. Impossible. She’d hit him hard enough with the lamp to delay him. She hadn’t expected him to get up so quickly.

  This Slave tripped in the clunky boots. When she held her hands out to keep from plummeting to the ground, the handcuff that remained wrapped around her wrist swung forward.

  After righting herself, she held onto the free end of the handcuff. If she sought help, it wouldn’t do to have a handcuff bound to her wrist. People might get the impression that she’d just escaped from jail or a mental institution.

  A set of headlights illuminated the barren street from behind her. Her stomach twitched when she thought Dak could be the driver. When This Slave turned and caught the silhouette of a police car strobe light on top of the vehicle, her heart pounded faster than her feet moved. She ducked behind a tree and waited for the car to pass.

  Although she needed help, she had to be selective. The police would only ask questions. Then again, they probably couldn’t help her anyway. Their answer would be to take her back home, not to Master Blade’s house. She would rather die than to go back to her father’s house.

  As soon as the cop car disappeared from view, This Slave resumed her trek on the road. Within moments, another set of headlights coming toward her snagged her attention. Since the vehicle came from the opposite direction from Dak’s house, she had no problem flagging down this person.

  Stumbling to the middle of the street, This Slave waved her hand in the air, the hand without the handcuff. As the vehicle got closer, she noticed it looked like
a pickup truck.

  She must have startled the driver. The truck pulled over like the driver wanted to hit her. Then the large, dark truck jerked to the side of the road close to the shoulder. It stopped a few feet from her at an angle.

  This Slave clomped over to the driver’s side. The dark tint of the glass camouflaged the driver until the window descended revealing a burly, unshaven man. When he saw her, he offered a nearly toothless grin. The man looked to be well into his sixties or seventies, but nowadays, who knew? Life might have been just as hard on him as it had been on her.

  “Awfully late for an evening jog, ain’t it?” he asked, coupled with a phlegm-filled chuckle.

  “I, um, need help.”

  It had been such a long time since she had referred or thought of herself as anything but This Slave, it still felt foreign to her to call herself “I.” However, to this stranger, she had to appear as normal as possible. Since when did normal people engage in the lifestyle that involved spanking, being chained up, and wax play? How many people enjoyed it as much as she did?

  “Help? I can help you. Get on in here.”

  As the driver unlocked the passenger side door, This Slave galloped to it. She could see salvation. This Slave plopped down in the seat. She barely had the door closed before the driver sped down the road.

  “You hungry? There’s a place back there that serves a mean meatloaf.” The man tilted his head back.

  Again, her stomach growled its agreement. “Um, money. You see, um—”

  The driver waved his hand. “Couple of bucks from my pocket ain’t going to hurt me none.”

  She smiled at his generosity. If he could figure out a way to get her back home to Master Blade, she would be eternally grateful.

  “People call me Doc.”

  She regarded him in the darkened cab of the truck. His belly extended so far that it touched the steering wheel. Occasionally, the fat stomach steered the vehicle whenever Doc used his hands to light a cigarette.