Chain of Command

by Nicole Dere

  This strange invitation had intrigued as well as alarmed him. But Sandra had suddenly seemed absurdly keen on it. Could it be that she and this Christie girl had something going for each other? But surely they were both too fem in their personality to want sex with each other? In spite of his misgivings and unease he found himself complying, as always, in the face of Sandra’s insistence, and so here he was, in this woman Barlow’s comfortably appointed living room being plied with her booze, and kind of being chatted up in a mock matey fashion, he supposed. It was exciting in a way, if also a little bit unnerving, which was doubtless part of the attraction to his masochistic bias.

  He found himself staring at a strange little object on one of the shelves to one side of the fireplace. The lamp was bathing it in a brightness which highlighted its pristine whiteness. He had thought at first it was a representation of some sort of flower, for its top fanned out in a scroll that was reminiscent of a lily. But then he saw that from this curling top a single red rose projected; itself an artificial creation of crimson silk and plastic stem. The object narrowed to a kind of irregular column, and was supported by two pencil-thin struts leading down to the small wooden base.

  Jackie had noted his interest and chuckled huskily. ‘Ah, that’s my crystal vase.’

  He stared at her blankly. Vase it might possibly be, though he had seen nothing like its convoluted shape, but crystal it most certainly wasn’t. He rose and moved closer. It was opaque, some sort of plaster, he discovered. There was a little metal plaque on the wooden base, which did indeed bear the single word, Crystal.

  ‘Can’t you see what it is?’ She laughed again, that rich, earthy sound, and he felt foolish, felt himself colouring as she picked up the delicate object, tilted it towards him so that he could see just how narrow the opening was, see the pleasing shape of it, like the closing petals of a flower, folding in together. God! He started in surprise and she laughed for a third time. ‘Perhaps you’re just not used to seeing these. Not on somebody’s shelf, at any rate. And not with a rose in its mouth.’

  He was blushing furiously now, trapped like a helpless insect in the brilliant force of her compelling smile.

  A couple of hours later, his head spinning and disoriented, he felt utterly drunk and totally in her power. She had spiked his drink. He knew it and could do nothing about it. He was startled to find how thrilled he was by this knowledge. He was standing in the kitchen, beside the sink, and she was fiddling with his trousers, opening them, her hand inside his briefs, seizing his penis, extracting it from its concealment.

  He blinked down at its squat, soft, shrouded shape. He felt the cold touch of the steel rim on its underside as she draped it over the sink and teasingly stroked it with light fingers. It stirred, throbbed, and a tremor passed through it. The helm peeped through the ruff of foreskin, and a coating of liquid emission gleamed at its tip in the light.

  ‘Are you queer, Derek?’ she asked conversationally whilst continuing to stroke him. His prick had grown bigger and stirred more strongly, but remained flexible, curled over the edge of the sink.

  ‘No!’ he denied quickly, and then his voice wavered and weakened. ‘Well, I don’t think so... I’ve never...’

  ‘They say don’t knock what you’ve never tried, don’t they?’ she goaded. ‘Maybe you should give it a go.’ She had his prick firmly in her fist, moving back and forth. She could feel the flexing of the short column’s muscle, its hardening under her rhythmic strokes. With her free hand she pulled roughly at his trousers, dragging them down, and the elastic of his briefs to bare his bottom. ‘You’ve got a cute little arse,’ she said. ‘Plenty of blokes would fancy that, I should think.’ Her fingers probed into the tightness of the cleft, and he gave a snort of fear and delight. Then she grabbed a black plastic spatula from the tall jar containing kitchen utensils and with loud splats she began to whack his bottom. At each stroke she felt his prick throb mightily and grow ever harder in her tight grip.

  Sandra suddenly came from her lost reverie at the feel of the cold steel clamping about her wrist, and the click as the other cuff was locked about the end of the bedstead. ‘What are you doing?’ Her lips were against Jill’s lips, and her naked body rose beseechingly to maintain its contact with Jill’s naked body. Their nipples, tantalisingly erect, brushed against each other, their bellies touched, their thighs entwined. ‘Please, it’s ready to happen. Make it happen, please.’

  Sandra was sobbing, her body lifting, and she continued to writhe while making absolutely no resistance as Jill swiftly clipped the handcuffs on the other wrist, then bent and parted the legs, opening them and securing the ankles in like fashion, each to a corner of the metal frame until Sandra was spread, open like a star and pinned down on the sheet. Yet again her belly was raised, with its light fleece and the muscles of the spread thighs outlined as they locked in desperate need. ‘Make it happen!’ she pleaded, her breasts shaking with her weeping.

  ‘Soon...’ Jill soothed, and with one last light kiss she bent and smoothed the band of broad sealing tape firmly in place over her mouth.

  She was dressed and long gone before Jackie’s Micra glided to a smooth stop outside the Roberts’ modest house. Derek was still trembling, recalling the fierce ecstasy of that ejaculation at the hands of the woman sitting beside him. His buttocks still stung with the violence of the beating which had accompanied the act.

  ‘Remember, this is what she wants, what she begged from us. She wants your total domination of her. She’s staked out in there, just as she begged Jill to do to her. No matter what, you’ve got to be her master. Spank her, be as rough as you want with her; be as rough as she wants you to be. Your whole relationship depends on this, my boy. She’s counting on you; she’ll beg and plead with you to stop, once you take the gag off her. But whatever she does, however she acts, remember on no account must you stop. OK? Now get in there and play the brute. Be a man, Derek.’

  He drew a deep breath, stared at her, his eyes aglow with new purpose. He nodded. ‘Yes!’ he breathed. ‘Yes!’ He pushed his face forward, his lips pursed. ‘And thank you, Ma’am.’

  ‘Get away with you.’ She pushed him from her. ‘Just get in there and teach her who’s boss, now!’

  He nodded a final time and got out of the car. She waited until he had let himself into the silent house before she drove away.

  Derek mounted the staircase, winding the supple leather belt about his right fist, his heart hammering. He entered the bedroom, saw Sandra’s pale body staked out under the bathing light. ‘I’m home, bitch!’ His voice was a snarl.

  ‘Mmmph...!’ Sandra responded with frantic impotence, squirming desperately and tugging with futility at her chinking bonds. ‘Mmmph...!’

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