Woman In Chains

by Bridget Midway

  “This move is very aggressive. You can even scream.” He centered himself in front of her. “Ready?”

  She gave him two head bobs this time. He wrapped his arms around her arms. When she didn’t move, he worried.

  “Okay, fight, Rebekah.” He squeezed her just a little tighter. “Come on.”

  As though trying to appease him, she finally raised her arms up. He assisted her by loosening his grip so that he wouldn’t have to keep holding her soft body for very long. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and take her to the closest bed.

  She chopped her hands down on his arms as instructed, but made no sounds. He backed away from her.

  “You started slow, but you eventually got there.”

  Rebekah stared at him. “What if I’m grabbed from behind?”

  To hear her actually engaging with him jumpstarted his heart. He blinked and did his level best not to smile. “There are a number of things you can do. If someone grabs you from behind, you can stomp on their foot, kick their leg back, jab them in the gut with your elbow, or hit them in their face with the back of your head.” He swallowed. He’d given her a lot of ammunition here. “You want to try that?”

  “Yes.” Her response came quick and with assurance.

  He circled her body and moved in behind her. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her arms. At least during the demonstration, he kept his boots on while she stood in bare feet. If she stomped his foot, she wouldn’t do that much damage.

  “Okay, Rebekah, show me what you have.”

  She brought her hands up as much as she could and stroked his forearms. Then he felt her pressing her back against his chest. Her body all at once became soft and pliant, not like a woman who would be fighting for her freedom, but one who wanted to be confined and enjoyed the feeling.

  “Rebekah—”

  He hadn’t expected to hear her sobbing.

  “Why don’t you want me?” She let her body go limp.

  He moved quickly and scooped her up in his arms. Instead of taking her to her bed, he walked outside of the cell and sat in the same chair he’d used to comfort Mouse when they’d played.

  He held Rebekah in his arms. As he stroked her soft hair, he kissed her forehead. His rational side begged him not to show her any more affection. His heart overruled his good sense.

  “I have to apologize to you,” he began. “When I told you I first had sex with you because you looked needy, that was a lie.”

  She peered up at him, the whites of her eyes colored in crimson. He wiped her tears away with his thumb.

  “I crossed that line because I found you incredibly attractive. I said what I said because I’m incredibly stupid. I never meant to hurt you.”

  She raised her arm to hug him, but he grabbed her hand and brought it back down to her body.

  “But I am not the right Dom for you, or even the right man.” He held her hand up to his heart. “Eventually, you’ll find the right Dom for you.”

  “I have.”

  He picked her back up and carried her into her cell. “When you can be with someone and totally let everything go, be as truthful and as honest as you can be with that person, that’s when you know he’s the right one.” He set her on the bed. “Lunch will be ready soon.”

  When he reached the doorway leading up to the kitchen, she called for him.

  “Hey!”

  He stopped and returned to the closed and locked cell door.

  “I’m afraid of spiders, but when I was a kid, I used to own a pet snake named Bubblegum.” She rubbed her hands over her lap. “I used to suck my thumb until I was about thirteen. That’s when I got braces.”

  Dak smiled at that story.

  She stood up and sauntered toward him. “I used to love climbing trees as a child, until I fell out of one once and broke my arm.” She got to the cell door and held onto the bars. “And I loved it when you spanked me that first night together.”

  His smile melted. “I’ll let you know when lunch is ready.” He ducked into the kitchen and had to brace his hands on the sink to steady himself.

  With each of her stories, he fell more and more for her. He had to get her out of his house. He couldn’t resist her, and right now he wondered why he fought the feeling at all.

  ****

  Unlike with the other meals, that afternoon Dak didn’t eat lunch with Rebekah. He’d brought her a bowl of the best smelling and even better tasting chicken and dumplings she had ever had. Then he had locked the door and walked away from her. She hoped dinner would be significantly different.

  Telling him so many stories about herself growing up, she would have thought it would have made them closer, made him want her. Instead it seemed like it did the opposite. He backed away from her and now, refused to eat with her.

  She wondered what in Dak’s past kept him from wanting to be with her. She’d never had a lover like him before, altogether caring and powerful. From the few times he’d played with her, she knew he knew his way around a dungeon. Why couldn’t he marry those two items together and see that they could be so good for each other?

  If that were the case, why couldn’t she still tell him her real name? She still continued to think of herself as Rebekah and not Brea Oliphant. She had left that name and that life a long time ago. Dredging up all of her past would hurt her more than going back to Master Blade.

  She would just have to sit Dak down and explain to him how she’d left her past life a long time ago. She glanced over at the row of paintings. The last one, the one she kept from Dak’s view, she stared at for a while. She knew the image she tried to create, one from her past. To beat it, she had to confront it.

  She had painted part of the scene, a silhouette of a man with a raised hand. The rest of the picture she found hard to finish. This demon had her beat.

  As soon as she heard Dak’s footsteps, she ran to the center of her room and got down on her knees. He appeared at the top of the stairs. Inside of his home, he looked like he had on more clothes than usual. Now he wore jeans and boots as well as a long-sleeved T-shirt underneath a flannel shirt, and she would bet her life that underneath all of that, he had on his normal T-shirt. He really wanted to cut down on temptation.

  He opened the cell door, but didn’t come inside. “Up.”

  She stood and remained in her spot.

  “Come up to the kitchen where dinner is being served.” He walked ahead of her.

  A tickle in her stomach let her know that this wouldn’t be the normal dinner service. He appeared too staid for that to happen.

  In the kitchen, she found him standing by a chair. Nothing had been placed on the table, however, pots and pans sat on the stovetop, and the illuminated oven light let her know that he had something inside.

  “You may get with a Dom or Domme who will want you to do every little thing in a meal service. I’ve eliminated one aspect of that for you. I’ve cooked the meal.” He nodded toward the stove.

  “May I make breakfast for you in the morning, Sir?” She had a feeling that her time with him would be fleeting. She would have to make the most of it and try to convince him to keep her around just a little while longer.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Now, pull out my chair for me.”

  She did so and stood next to him as he assumed his seat.

  “Now, the first thing you should do—”

  She cut him off. “Sir, would you like me completely naked for this or should I continue to wear my shirt and shorts?”

  He leaned back in his chair and stared at her for a while. “Take off your clothes.”

  Without hesitation, she stripped out of her shirt and shorts and left them in a pile on the floor.

  “No, take them down to your room.” He pointed to the doorway.

  She gathered the items and ran down to her room. She threw them on her bed, careless if they made it or not, and returned to the kitchen.

  “As I was saying, the first thing you need to do is make my place setting.” He
pointed to a drawer by the stove. “There are placemats in there.”

  She opened the drawer and found, folded neatly and in color coordination, several placemats. She pulled out a burgundy one that had tassels on each end and placed it in front of him. With her hand, she smoothed it out.

  “Ordinarily, you would have to iron this first.” Dak pointed to the crease in the middle of the mat where it had been folded over. “However, you weren’t aware of what we were doing today, so I’ll let this slide.”

  “Thank you, Master Dak.” She bowed her head.

  “In that same drawer should be napkins.”

  She returned to the drawer, found the matching napkin, and folded it neatly before setting it to the side.

  He pointed up to the cabinets over the stove. “Next you’ll need to get plates and something for me to drink out of.”

  She padded to the stove and raised herself on her tiptoes as she reached in the cabinet for a couple of plates.

  “Don’t grab two,” he said.

  She glanced at him.

  “You’re going to eat eventually, just not on your own plate.”

  She got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Would he make her eat off the floor or in a dog dish like the poor women who had been tortured? He really would be putting her through her paces. The unknown aspect about that excited and frightened her.

  As instructed, she picked up only one plate. Then she picked up a mug. She put the plate down in front of him and arranged a mug on the side of the plate.

  “Why did you get me a mug and not a glass for soda or water?” he asked.

  “Sir, from what I’ve noticed of you, you like hot tea.”

  He allowed a smile to peek out from under his hard countenance. “Very good. You’re right. I do. Bags are in the large canister on the counter. The water is already hot in the kettle.”

  As though she had done it before, she served him his tea, including asking him about his cream and sugar needs. When she served that, she situated his utensils by his plate and even made sure the salt and pepper remained close at hand.

  After a sip of his tea and giving her a nod to let her know he found it satisfactory, he said, “The first dish will be soup. Bowls are next to the plates in the cabinet.”

  She reached into the cabinet again. When she righted herself, she glanced back and saw him staring at her ass. To give him a better show, she put her back to him as she ladled out a bowlful of what looked to be hot vegetable soup. She sauntered back to him and placed the bowl on top of his plate. Not waiting for him to instruct her, she went so far as to put his spoon in the bowl.

  “Shall I feed you, Sir?” Rebekah didn’t know how far to go with this.

  Master Blade never wanted her to do all of this for him. He just wanted her on her knees beside him and not eating until he finished.

  “No.” He reached underneath the table beside him and brought up a pillow. He tossed it on the floor next to him. “Kneel beside me.”

  Master Blade would have made her kneel on his hardwood floors while he ate and watched TV at the same time, not caring about how much pain she endured.

  She lowered herself onto the pillow and kept her gaze forward. From the corner of her eye, she saw him lifting a spoonful of soup and blowing on it for a while. Then he brought the spoon up to her mouth first instead of his.

  She glanced at him, wondering what in the world he intended.

  “Open.” He brought the spoon closer to her mouth.

  As commanded, she opened her mouth and let him feed her his soup. She sipped the soup and chewed on the soft vegetables in the offering. The soup didn’t taste like it came out of a can. The vegetables all tasted so fresh, and the broth contained so much rich flavor like the kind she remembered her mother used to make.

  “Good?”

  Rebekah, still chewing, nodded her head, then said, “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

  “Want some tea?”

  She shook her head. “No, Master Dak.”

  The next spoon full of soup went to him. For him, he only blew on it a few times before eating it. When he fed her, he made sure to cool it enough for her to eat. The gentlemanly gesture in that brought back that shuddering feeling in her stomach again.

  “My grandfather taught me to cook.” He ate another spoonful of soup. “He also taught me how to grow and maintain my own garden. Everything in the soup came out of my summer garden.”

  “I noticed how fresh the vegetables all tasted.”

  In a show of appreciation, he ran the back of his hand down the side of her face. “You looked pretty happy eating the soup. You must have liked it.”

  “I liked having you serve it to me more than the soup itself.” She turned her head and kissed the back of his hand.

  He picked up the bowl and scraped out the last bit of soup. By all calculations, it should have been his to eat. Instead he fed it to her. As she ate it, he wiped her mouth, then his. He took a sip of his tea, then offered some to her. This time she accepted it. As he tipped it into her mouth, she held his hand that held the mug.

  “Clear the dishes. Time for the next dish.” He returned the mug to the table, breaking the magnetic bond between them.

  She rose to her feet and cleared off his bowl and spoon as he’d instructed. Then she retrieved his plate and brought it over to the stove. Inside of the oven, she found a pan of golden brown yeast rolls. Just smelling them brought her back to her childhood again. She could have made a meal out of Dak’s soup and the rolls.

  Using a dishtowel, she removed the pan and took out two hot rolls and tossed them on Dak’s plate. In a skillet on the stove, Rebekah saw a large piece of steak, cooked medium from what she could see from the outside of it. With the tongs left in the pan, she lifted it and placed it on Dak’s plate. In a large pot next to the soup she found corn on the cob floating in pallid water. She pulled out one ear and arranged that next to the steak.

  “That’s it.” Dak stopped her search for other items to set on the plate. “Bring it over to me.”

  Rebekah put the plate in front of him and asked him about his steak sauce needs, if he wanted butter for his corn or rolls, and made sure he had a knife. Serving him became more intuitive. Couldn’t he see that?

  She resumed her spot on the floor next to him.

  “So what made you want to serve someone?” He cut off a small piece of steak as he waited for her to answer.

  “I like making other people happy.”

  Dak hovered the steak in front of her mouth before feeding it to her. “What about you? Does it make you happy to see other people happy?”

  “Does it matter?” She shrugged.

  He shook his head as he served her the steak. Damn if it didn’t melt in her mouth. She moaned her appreciation, just as he went on his tirade about the master-servant dynamic.

  “I don’t care who you are, a Dominant does not want a submissive or slave who doesn’t fully enjoy serving. If I ever take on another submissive, she would have to love serving, not because she enjoys seeing me happy, but because in her heart she knows that it makes her happy to make sure everything in our world is perfect. If you haven’t noticed already, there’s a bit of power and control that you have as a submissive.” He cut off a hunk of steak and ate his piece.

  “I’ve always thought that submissives were people who were too weak to know what they wanted and had to have a Dom or Domme to guide them.”

  He held up the corncob to her mouth. “You have to know what you want as a submissive in order to be a good one; otherwise, you’re just a victim. No one likes a victim, except serial killers and rapists.”

  She took one bite from the ear, but he must have thought she would want more and kept the corn right at her mouth. She took two more bites before he took the ear away and nibbled on it himself.

  With a full mouth, she asked, “If you have no interest in owning another submissive, do you eventually want to get married?”

  He held up a roll to her mouth. Taki
ng a bite of it shut her up right away. The soft and buttery roll filled her mouth with pure delight.

  “No. I don’t have a submissive for the same reason I’ll never get married. I wouldn’t be any good to anyone.”

  “You’re pretty darn good to me.”

  He didn’t respond. He cut off another piece of steak and fed it to her.

  Midway through dinner, she continued probing him. “So why haven’t you pursued a career as a cop?”

  He held up the corn to her, letting her have the last bit off of it. “I’m dyslexic. I know I wouldn’t do well on the written part of the exam, and my pride won’t allow me to ask for help.”

  He didn’t look at her after that statement. It shocked her enough that he had been so candid about something that made him vulnerable.

  “There are tricks around it that could help you. I have cousin who is dyslexic, and she—”

  He dropped his napkin onto the table and pushed himself back. “Clear off the table and wash the dishes. The lesson is over.”

  Just like that, he shut down again. He stood and went down to the back room as she cleared off the table. Without him, she fumbled her way around his kitchen, finding plastic containers to keep the rest of his food for leftovers. As much as she wanted to sneak another roll, she didn’t. He hadn’t given her permission.

  With the table cleared off and the food all put away, she started on the dishes. He stomped back upstairs.

  “I returned your other paints and brushes to your room and added a new color, gray, I think.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Sir. I’m glad my dinner service pleased you.” When he walked behind her, she continued with the compliments. “And thank you for letting me eat with you. My last Dom wasn’t so generous.”

  She returned her attention to the sink. In the reflection in the window over the sink, she caught Dak watching her. He moved in closer. She couldn’t turn around to acknowledge him. If he wanted to bend her over the sink and fuck her from behind, she would let him; she would want it.

  He planted his hands on either side of her on the sink. He bent over, pressing his chest against her back and took a deep whiff of her hair. As much as she wanted to move, she didn’t want to scare him off.