4.Girl in Chains I

Several hours later Linda was naked, her body invisible below the neck, obscured by a thick layer of white foam. It was evening and she was back home, in Manny’s Park Avenue apartment where she was taking a bath. Everything surrounding her was in sharp contrast to the tenement apartment she had shared with Alice. The bathroom was the size of a small bedroom, the fixtures sleek and modern. Manny had installed a sound system in the apartment that allowed music to be piped into each room, including the bathroom. Before entering the tub Linda had put on a soft jazz recording. Manny was away on a business trip. He often traveled on business. This time he had been gone for two weeks, the longest such trip he had taken since they had been together, but tonight he was returning. She wanted to be clean and sweet-smelling for him—he would expect that. While she was out he had called, leaving a message on the answering machine, to say he would be back, at the earliest, by 9:47 P.M. It was like him to be so precise, calculating the minutes of travel time from whatever airport he was arriving at, assuming his plane was on time. The implication was that he expected her to be there, waiting for him. She would be.

She relaxed amidst the hot soapy water, her eyes closed, inhaling the fragrance of the bath salts and enjoying the gentle sounds of the background music. What would he do when he came home, what would he want? Would he spank her? She hoped so. There was nothing she loved more, not even sex. The very thought of lying over his lap, of his powerful hands punishing her naked bottom was enough to set her pussy tingling. Of course she couldn’t ask him, that wasn’t permitted. How and when he chose to use her body was a matter for his determination alone. But perhaps she could entice him.

It was time to get ready. She leaned over to pull the plug to drain the bath, then stood up and turned on the shower to wash off the soapy residue. A few minutes later she departed the bathroom wearing a terrycloth robe and slippers and headed for her bedroom.

Earlier Linda had given some thought to preparing for his return. He would certainly expect her to be there to greet him, but how should she appear? He would want her above all to be sexy; dowdiness was the one unforgivable sin. It was late in the evening so nightwear would be appropriate, a nightgown or lingerie. She had a pink silk camisole and matching panties which she knew he liked, but in truth she was never in doubt as to how she wanted to greet him after so long an absence. When he entered the apartment, he would find her naked, but a nakedness accessorized, as it were, by various embellishments symbolic of her servitude.

She knelt down by the side of the bed. From underneath she pulled out a hard black leather case secured by two metal snaps. She opened it, drew out several items which she laid out on the bed, then closed it and pushed it back under the bed. Now almost dry, she removed her robe, hung it in the closet, returned to the bed and sat down. After finishing drying herself off with a towel, she turned to the items on the bed. First were two pairs of leather cuffs, each with a metal O-ring attached; these she placed around her wrists. Next she took two similar, though wider cuffs and fastened them around her ankles. Then she recalled another item, kept not in the case but in a jewelry box. She went to retrieve it—it was a silver medallion Manny had given her as a present on her “anniversary,” that is one year from the day she became his slave. It had been specially made for her, at what cost she could scarcely imagine. Engraved in the center was a portrait of her in profile, presumably copied from a photograph, and which she thought a very fair likeness. Beneath her likeness was inscribed the words “Slave Linda.” Surrounding the portrait along the edges of the medallion was a thin circle on which was inscribed the words “Property of Manfred Owen,” the first two words along the top, the latter two on the bottom. The obverse side featured a zodiacal design, that of Pisces, which was her “sign,” a somewhat backhanded tribute to her interest in astrology about which he liked to tease her. This other design made it possible, in theory, for her to wear it in public, although he never asked her to, pleased though he was to see her wear it at home. Nonetheless she avoided wearing it when with her friends as they might ask to examine it and thus see both sides. Instead she took pleasure in wearing it while shopping, worn right side up but hidden underneath her blouse, something that gave her a special thrill.

After placing the medallion around her neck she turned to the next item, a black leather collar, two inches wide, on one end of which was a steel ring; the other end contained a slit through which the ring would fit. Linda placed the collar around her neck over the chain of the medallion with the ring placed in front of her throat. The final item was a small padlock. Picking it up, she placed the U-shaped shackle around the metal ring; if locked it would prevent the collar from being removed. She didn’t have the key, which Manny kept somewhere in a locked drawer. Nonetheless, she didn’t hesitate, but snapped the lock shut.

There were three items remaining on the bed—two steel chains, each end of which she attached to the O-rings of her wrist and ankle cuffs, and a smaller chain, of the thickness of a necklace, and which had small metal clamps on each end. These she attached to her nipples. She winced; it was not one of her favorite things, as Manny well knew. What better way to demonstrate her submission, her wish to satisfy his desires?

Linda stood up, walked to the closet and opened the door, inside of which was a full-length mirror. She stared at herself—naked, collared, chained and padlocked—and was pleased. She closed the closet door and went back to the bed. Glancing at the digital clock on the night table she saw it was 9:40. Then she had a new idea. She rushed into the bathroom. From a drawer below the sink she drew out a jar of Vaseline. Removing the top she stuck a finger into it, then placed that finger inside her anus and began lining the walls of her rectum. She applied some more until she was satisfied. After washing her hands, she took some toilet paper and wiped the residue off her ass cheeks, then flushed the paper down the toilet. Returning to her room she saw the clock read 9:45, which quickly turned over to 9:46. She had a sudden doubt as to whether the Vaseline was a good idea, but it was too late now. She hurried out into the living room and sat down on her knees in the center of the room in front of an easy chair that was Manny’s favorite chair.

Linda settled in for what might be a long wait, although he could possibly walk in the next minute. It depended on whether his plane was on time, and on whether he experienced traffic delays from the airport. She had been unable to check whether his flight was on time because she didn’t know what flight it was, or even what airport he was flying from. That he was flying at all was merely an assumption, although it seemed an inevitable one. If she knew the airport she might have had some clue as to where he was coming from. If it was Kennedy, it would likely be an international flight, probably somewhere in Europe. Then he would come home tired and jet lagged, perhaps too tired to have sex with her; perhaps her appearance would even irritate him. Now if he was coming from LaGuardia or Newark, it was more likely a domestic flight, possibly to the West Coast, where it would be only eight o’clock. Optimistically she decided that the latter was the likelier possibility.

She thought again about Alice and the argument over the cake. She was glad she had resisted the temptation so that Manny’s homecoming wouldn’t be marred by having to confess to a violation of his rules. What might he have done, how might he have punished her? Probably not too severely for such a minor lapse, though she could never be sure. That was the difference becoming his slave had made. They had practiced consensual S she was supposed that day to prepare dinner for Manny. Finally she called his office to say she would be late, but he had already gone. When she arrived home, she found him waiting for her in the living room. His face had a grim look that sent a chill through her.

“I’m sorry, I tried to call—” she began, but he quickly cut her short.

“Get undressed.”

“I —”

“Now!”

With nervous fumbling fingers she rapidly discarded her garments. As soon as she had finished he grabbed her upper arm roughly and led her into the dining room. He went to the head of the table where he normally sat, pulled the chair out of the way and left her standing in its place.

“Wait here,” he told her, then left the room.

Linda stood there naked in front of the table, staring at the spot where Manny had expected his meal to be waiting for him. He was going to punish her, that was clear. No doubt it would be a spanking, and not the fun kind either! She wondered what instrument he would use—the paddle perhaps? She was frightened, because she hadn’t expected him to be this angry. Soon he was back carrying something that frightened her even more—a four foot rattan cane. She had never seen one though she recognized it from pictures. How long had he owned this, she wondered? She also had some idea of its effects from some pornographic literature he had given her to read.

“Bend down over the table, arms stretched in front of you,” he ordered. Once she had complied he went on. “Brace yourself, this is going to hurt—a lot. I’m going to give you eight strokes.”

She waited, tremulously. The first blow caused a searing pain like nothing she had ever experienced before. A shrill cry burst from her throat, but this had no effect on Manny; he quickly followed with a second stroke, and then a third, doubling and then tripling the pain. She began to whimper. This too had no effect on him; the fourth and fifth strokes followed on schedule. The pain seemed past endurance and she cried out, “Please, Sir. No more. I’m sorry.”

“Three more strokes,” he continued, remorselessly. Three more strokes then followed, which left her crying hysterically.

Her suffering left him unmoved. “Wash your face and get dressed, we’re going out to eat,” he said, speaking in his most matter of fact tone.

He took her to a nearby restaurant. Dinner felt like a continuation of her punishment. She had little appetite and her sore ass made it painful to sit. Her distress must have shown on her face too, as the waitress who served them kept looking at her oddly, which only deepened her humiliation. Just being in public after the caning seemed to add to her shame. Manny meanwhile ate unconcernedly, and with a healthy appetite. He even flirted with the waitress.

They spent the rest of the evening at home but her ordeal was not quite over. Just before bedtime he decided to fuck her missionary style. The burning sensation from the caning still had not gone away and as she lay on her back the weight of his body caused her ass to rub painfully against the bed, adding a final fillip to her punishment.

A few childhood experiences aside, this was her first experience of true physical punishment, not a fun spanking but something really unpleasant and painful. It was also very humbling—but that part of it she liked! Indeed, as the memory of the pain faded away the incident took on a different coloration in her memory. She began to fantasize about being caned again, and soon enough she would get her wish, if that’s what it was. Not that she was deliberately disobedient, at least not consciously. But being by nature somewhat disorganized, and forgetful, as well as habitually tardy (something that had long irritated Manny but which he no longer had to tolerate) it was inevitable that she would sometimes fail in her duty to him. The canings became longer, the number of strokes increasing—but suddenly he decided to discontinue them. The day after a particularly severe caning, he told her he would no longer employ that form of chastisement.

“I think you’re beginning to like it, which makes it ineffective as punishment.”

She blushed and said nothing.

“Come on, admit it.”

“I find it very painful,” she replied, “but—”

“But what?”

“Afterwards it makes me feel very humble and submissive, and I like that,” she replied demurely.

He chuckled gloatingly.

“Well then, maybe it’s time to add an occasional caning to the ‘maintenance spanking’ routine.”

Now Manny had always enjoyed the pretense that even the most playful spankings were punishment of some kind. When he first made his proposal that she become his slave he had said, “Of course you’ll continue to receive regular spankings whether you misbehave or not, just to remind you of your place. A real punishment will be worse, that’s all.” Later he coined the term “maintenance spankings,” a kind of non-punishment punishment designed to maintain in her the proper state of submissiveness.

“But don’t consider this a license to misbehave,” he continued. “I can find other ways of punishing you that will be just as unpleasant as a caning, maybe more so. And don’t let me catch you deliberately courting punishment. That’s a major no-no.”

Not long after, his warning bore fruit when she forgot to carry out an errand he had assigned to her, a matter to which he had attached some importance. He decided to defer her punishment until the next evening. Somewhat mysteriously he ordered her to purchase a metal bucket. The next evening after dinner he directed her to take the bucket into her room, to where he followed her. Ordering her to put the bucket down by her bed he addressed her.

“This evening the bathroom is off limits to you until midnight. You’ll use the bucket instead. And you’ll keep the door open. Do you have to use it now?”

Her face turned a bright red. “No, Sir,” she whispered.

He took her into the living room and ordered her to turn on the television. They watched television all evening, or at least she did; he appeared to be reading much of the time. He would not allow her to leave the living room without first asking his permission. Resentfully she decided to drink as little as possible, but her attempt to thwart him failed. During commercial breaks he would send her to the kitchen for a glass of water and then demand that she drink the whole glass. “You know, they recommend everyone drink eight glasses of water a day,” he said once with a smirk. So, after duly asking his leave she ended up making several trips to her room to squat awkwardly over the bucket to pee. He never came to watch as she thought he might—evidently this was not one of his kinks—yet even without a witness she found the activity mortifying. At midnight he turned off the television and took her to her room. He instructed her to empty and clean the bucket, then go to bed.

That experience remained burned in her memory; she saw that he could indeed find punishments for her that involved no physical pain but would be very unpleasant indeed. Perhaps the next time would be even worse. But there was no next time. Her memory suddenly improved, while she gave him no other cause for serious dissatisfaction. If it had ever been true that she deliberately courted punishment, as he seemed to have implied—and perhaps unconsciously she had—it was not true now. Now she really feared punishment, and if she had once enjoyed the aftereffects of being punished, she now came to enjoy the fear itself, for the sense it gave of being under his control. It was the final stage in her evolution as a slave. She became a model of obedience and took pride in the fact.

Linda’s meditation on these matters was interrupted by a noise, a metallic clacking sound, followed a few seconds later by the unmistakable sound of a door slamming shut. Hurriedly she bent over until her head rested on the carpet, at such an angle as to display her ass in a prominent way. She moved her legs farther apart until the chain was taut—this was the way she wished to present herself to him, in a posture of complete and utter self-abasement, her private parts obscenely displayed. Meanwhile she heard footsteps, the sound of the hall closet opening and then closing, then footsteps again, with the wooden boards under the carpeting creaking slightly under his weight—and then nothing. He had stopped; he could see her now. She could sense him standing there, staring at her exposed ass and her pussy lips, which she could feel swelling in response to his gaze.

After several seconds she heard footsteps again, traveling away from her, probably towards the bathroom. Sure enough this was followed by the clack of leather heels on the tile floor and then by another sound, that of a man urinating, a copious, virile stream. It sounded loud, for he had not bothered to close the door. Next came the flushing of the toilet, then footsteps again, first loud from the tile, then softer as his feet touched the carpet. The sound receded again; no doubt he was heading for the bedroom to change. A few minutes later he called out loudly, “Okay, Linda, get in here.”

Linda sat up; she was about to stand but instead decided to crawl on all fours, something she knew would give him pleasure. Inside the bedroom he was sitting on the left side of the bed. She crawled in front of him and assumed a kneeling posture, sitting on her haunches, her head bowed. She sat silently, waiting for him to speak.