Chapter 1 – Ankle cuffs
I had been going through a period when the thought of chains dominated my sexual yearnings. I go through fetish phases, and this was my phase of chains and steel bracelets, ankle cuffs and leg irons, perhaps a steel collar with a chain attached thrown in for good measure.
It had all started innocently enough; I had been flipping through images on Tumblr and had somehow been presented with a photo depicting the lower half of a pair of ladies legs; shapely and slender, each ankle was cuffed by an elegant silver anklet and then they were linked together by a short hobble chain. The image was actually very tasteful; the model’s feet were sexy (did I ever tell you about my foot fetish phase?) and her toe nails were manicured and painted a vibrant red; an elegant pair of strappy, silver, high heeled mules were suspended by her toes.
It was the ankle bracelets that did it for me; they were narrow yet artfully designed: shiny silver rims with a brushed steel inner ring. The image was classy with no hint at all of the tawdry side of bondage. Silver anklets against toned and slender ankles, comfort without freedom, fetters without shame.
I loved that image and stared at it for ages, wondering what would have been going through the model’s mind and body while she wore that unusual ‘jewelry’. Was she as turned on as I was by the harshness of the steel attached firmly against her delicate and very feminine ankles? Was she energized or subdued by her loss of freedom? Did the chains express unwelcome captivity or were they rather the ultimate expression of her voluntary submission?
I was aroused by it, and wanted to be her, to feel the physical restraint that she felt, to experience the submission that she may have offered.
I surfed and searched, looked at images and read erotica. One Internet session at a time, I became obsessed by chains. I looked at photos of models wearing wrist cuffs, ankle irons, collars, nipple clamps joined by silver chains.
I think it was the unforgiving nature of chains that really got to me; once they were on, there was nothing short of a key that could really get them off. When you submitted to a key-holder, you really were at her mercy; the chains would stay on until it was at her pleasure when they got to be removed. She decided when they could come off; she decided when you would once again get your freedom. They couldn’t be cut off like a leather cuff; they couldn’t be sliced like a rope or a plastic zip-tie.
In my mind, there was more to the key-holder’s role than just a route to freedom: she would decide how long the chain would be, how restricted my movement would be. In my mind I imagined orgasm without the freedom to stretch and flex, without the ability to tug at my nips, without the ability to adopt a position of my choice. I thought of the key-holder’s power to make me pee in a bucket rather than in the loo, to lock me in position in order to receive a punishment of her choice.
I found it all very arousing, fodder for countless day-dreams and yearnings. Through it all, there was always the stark contrast of cold, hard steel against warm, female flesh; that erotic contrast drove me on to look for an experience that was deeper than the imaginings which my mind could create.
Chapter 2 – Chain Links
Stedstor was one of those General Dealers that you find in smaller towns; they stock everything from household cleaning supplies to electric goods, beach clothes to fishing supplies, bird seed to camping equipment; they had it all! A superstore crammed into two small storefronts; merchandise stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling, narrow aisles where customers could not pass, the unexpected available at any random spot.
I know in retrospect it sounds childish and somewhat eccentric to go into a shop like that to see what a length of chain would actually feel like, but that is exactly the way it happened. I found the shelf where there were reels of chains of different thickness rolled up; a pair of bolt cutters leaned idly against a yard-stick attached to the shelf.
I stood wrapped up in my own little world, playing with the ends of these chains, feeling the weight, thrilling to its unyielding nature. I wrapped the end of one chain around my wrist, feeling a sense of warmth rushing through my tummy, a deep and satisfying dampness developing in my panties.
It was really a magic moment; the steel felt so cold against my skin and my wrist bones jutted up to meet the hard, unyielding metal with a pleasurable discomfort.
A general store is a strange place to have an erotic flight of fancy, but right there and there, while I played with the chain that I circled around my wrist, I wondered what it would be like to have that chain circle my waist, its heavy links resting on my soft and padded hips, balancing seductively on the top of my bum.
My mind raced on, oblivious of my surroundings; what I thought would it be like if a chain was pulled between my legs and locked to the link around my waist chain, trapping me in a makeshift chastity belt? What would it feel like to have those shiny links drag up between my pussy lips, pushing against my clit, glistening with my juices, lubricated by my wetness.
Erotic fantasies are designed to do one thing, and one thing alone: to put you in a state of arousal, where you neck flushes, your nipples strain against your bra, pushing out like nubs through your T-Shirt, dress or blouse. Your breathing becomes more pronounced and perhaps your fingers are not as calm and steady as you are accustomed to having them be. In many cases your musky odor punches through the ambient smells, your voice becomes husky when you have to respond
Erotic fantasies are fine when experienced alone but in a public space the symptoms can cause alarm bells to ring.
Chapter 3 – Synchronicity
When I thought about it later, I put it down to synchronicity; I had no idea that I would pick a general store where the sales assistant was so darn adept at reading my behavior. Perhaps I was behaving less discretely than I should have, but then there again, who would ever have imagined that the Stedstor General Dealer would be a fertile meeting ground for a dominatrix-in-waiting?
I didn’t quite know how to respond. The sales assistants question shattered my day-dream, dragged me back to a very embarrassing reality.
“Did you find everything you are looking for? Do you need me to cut a length of that chain for you?”
I fell back to my default answer: “I am fine thanks; I am just looking.”
She seemed to eye me for a moment longer than I felt comfortable. I felt the color rushing to my cheeks in a way that even overpowered the color from my self-imposed arousal.
The sales assistant was perhaps thirty five or forty years old, similar in age to me. She had the body of someone who takes aerobics very seriously; she was trim without being lean, her sandy colored hair was cut in a slightly severe bob. Her complexion was darkish for someone who had fair hair; it was healthy and fresh with a lovely matt finish; whether this was due to well applied foundation or a healthy lifestyle, I couldn’t really tell.
Her appearance was so wholesome and feminine, yet there was no doubt that she was not a wilting daisy. Her glasses were oval and feminine, her blue eyes were set off with beautifully blended bands of blue, aquamarine and grey eye-shadow; she seemed to be able to look straight into my own eyes – and then drill in even deeper to read my mind.
Despite the fact that we were both wearing jeans, our clothing style really set us apart. Her skinny cut jeans showed off her tight bottom, her well toned thighs and an athletic pair of calves; my designer jeans were high waisted and cut for show. Her utilitarian powder blue knit top clung to her gentle curves; my feminine blouse was white and lacy, blue ribbons chastely lacing the embroidered V. She wore white athletic shoes, comfortable and functional, built for speed and not for show; my high heeled sandals clicked on the floor as I followed her, now seeming too stylish for this general dealer shop.
Her hand reached up to the shelf and she picked off a pre-cut, shrunk-wrapped length of chain. I looked at the label: “3 meters, suitable for domestic use”.
“This should do you for starters!”
The sales assistant paused, gave me a long, hard stare as if sussing me out, using those blue eyes of hers to read my mind. I swear she was clairvoyant; she turned back to the shelf and picked up a few lengths of chain off-cuts that lay around.
“Come, let me show you some carbineer clips, shackles and locks.”
She spun on her heels and walked away, confident that I would follow, already exhibiting her natural understanding of her own dominance and my submissive ways.
At the word ‘shackle’, I felt an instant flood down below; how well I had conditioned myself over my past few weeks of being a perv?
We passed through the aisles with me in tow, my heels clicking relentlessly on the hard, tiled floors. The chains that she carried were soon joined by a selection of padlocks, some small and some heavy; carbineer clips and shackles were dropped into a baggie and joined the pile.
I thought we were finished and heading to the checkout, when the Sales Assistant stopped suddenly at the kitchen goods section, reached up and added a couple of heavy, plastic clips to the pile of hardware in her hand.
“I think we will need these.”
The ‘we’ left me confused but before I had a chance to ask what she meant, the assistant had moved on, knowing from the click of my heels that I was not far behind. The Pets’ Section was near the till, and she reached up to take a heavy dog’s collar off the spike on which it hung. I was a bit confused, but assumed she was collecting items for a phoned in order.
“That should do us for now; come let’s go to the back.”
I was definitely very confused now and followed her to one of the two doors marked “Staff Only”. She might have been clairvoyant, but I am certainly not!
Chapter 4 – The Store Room
The sales assistant flipped on the lights when she entered the shop’s store room and I followed her in, well away from curious eyes.
She dumped the items that she was holding onto a workbench that stood at the side of the room. I looked around and took it all in; the room was about five by ten meters, quite spacious compared to the heavily stocked shop in the front. Steel racks with merchandise lined three sides of the wall and the workbench took up a good part of the length of the fourth. The roof beams were quite low and yet more items hung from hooks in the beams at the far end of the room. It was the floor however, which gave the room its dungeon like feel: bare concrete, cold and austere.
My confusion grew as I watched the assistant lock the door and pocket the key; why on earth was I here and why was she securing the door?
Her voice was quite matter of fact when she turned to address me again.
“I don’t know who you are, but I know what you are. I am pretty sure I know what you need.”
She paused for a moment, leaving me stunned and breathless. I watched as she dangled the door key from her index finger.
“You can leave now if you like, and this incident will soon be forgotten, or, you can strip now and fold your clothes, and leave them in a neat pile on the table over there.”
I just stared at her, stunned and speechless….and then the wellspring between my legs seemed to turn on by itself. I had forgotten the dampness from earlier on, but now I was again soaked, embarrassingly producing the juices of arousal once more. I felt her eyes once again boring into me and then ever so slowly I reached up to loosen the blue lace on my blouse and I slowly pulled the garment up over my head.
I was down to my bra and panties and reaching down to slip the sandal straps from behind my heels, when the assistant, who had been keeping an eye on me while she sorted the chains, broke the verbal silence and spoke to me again.
“Oh, you can keep the sandals on. Nice heels, I like them! The panties and bra, they need to come off.”
I flushed, partly at the praise of my choice in footwear, partly in shame.
“Oh, and the watch, that must come off as well, please.”
She gave me that piercing look again; those blue eyes of hers seemed to be constantly appraising me, constantly reading my mind. They were gorgeous, so blue, so calming, yet so probing, always seeming to look through me, to understand me a bit more.
“By the way, my name is Emmeline as you can see on my tag; I will simply call you ‘Girl’.”
I had barely finished stacking my clothes neatly on the table when Emmeline gave me my next instruction. Her voice was actually quite soft, quite matter of fact, but it carried an authority that I didn’t even consider to buck.
“There are two concrete blocks in the corner over there; please bring them to the center of the room.”
My goodness, they were heavy. About a foot square and three inches high, each had a steel ring set into the center of the base. I hauled each back to the center of the room with difficulty, setting them down under her guidance some six foot apart.
I stood exhausted as Emmeline wrapped a chain around my left ankle; she used a heavy padlock to close the loop and hold it in place. She quickly locked the loose end to one of the concrete blocks; I was chained, naked and at her mercy. She had given me about four foot of movement with that off cut of chain; there would be no walking around (except in circles!), no going to the loo, no walking out when I had had enough.
My head was spinning, I was still in shock. It could only have been a half hour before that I was driving into the parking lot in an irrational investigation of the things of my dreams; now here I was locked up and I had offered no struggle, no plea!
“Like a modern day version of the old ball and chain, isn’t it?”
She was so right; she was also the keeper of the key.
Chapter 5 – A touch of pleasure, a pinch of pain
Emmeline selected another short length of chain off the table, and I watched her approach me with some feelings of unease.
I knew what she wanted; I held out my arms and offered both hands. She looped the one end of the chain around my right wrist, and locked it in place.
“Hands behind your back, please.”
I obeyed, and seconds later she had my left wrist secured to the other end of the short chain. I was manacled, hands behind my back, about six inches of movement in play.
Emmeline turned back to the table to select her next item; in a bit of a panic I wondered what would be next. Would she chain my other ankle, perhaps my wrists or my waist? What had I let myself into, should I scream or was I really safe?
I watched warily as she selected the plastic clips that she had picked up in “Household Goods”. She held them out in front of her with her fingertips, taunting me, stoking my fear, opening them, only to let them snap closed again; threatening movements, ominous clicks .
“Now what do you think these are for, Girl?”
I took a step backwards, and then came to an abrupt halt, my darned ankle chain preventing any further retreat.
Emmeline laughed softly, and then when she reached forward to me, it was to hug me rather than hurt! She wrapped her hands around my neck and leaned right into my space.
It was at that moment that I knew ‘we’ were meant to be. Her blue eyes seemed to soften as I watched; they became compassionate and misty, dreamy and half closed. Her breath was sweat, her lips were soft and I could feel the warmth of her body as she hugged me close
She broke momentarily from our embrace and whispered in my ear; her words were soft and hypnotic and I longed to please.
“Do this for me, my sweet girl. Your shackles are my freedom, your submission my pleasure, you need to know that your arousal is the key to my release.”
Her words excited me and her presence inflamed me. I could sense my nipples hardening, my clitoris trying to burst. Emmeline placed the clips onto my swollen nips, releasing slowly, luxuriating in my pained response. I breathed in slowly, cherished the momentary agony that I felt quickly subside. I lowered my head, savoring the sensations, desperately trying to breathe in her wonderful scent.
Emmeline kissed me chastely and looked at her watch; it was quarter to four she announced. Store closing was at six o’clock. With a wicked grin, she bade me farewell and said she would be back after the store was closed up.
She didn’t lock the door this time – I was going nowhere; physically and emotionally, I was imprisoned by her spell.
Chapter 6 – The Spatula
At first I had loved it; it was a dream come true. The chain was heavier than I had expected; it was as unforgiving and uncompromising as I had expected it would be. I enjoyed the feel of it as it snaked down my ankle to the floor, delighted in the clinks on the concrete when I moved around, took pleasure in the absolute resistance when I tried to draw away.
Things changed after a while; I never was a good judge of time without being able to see a watch. My feet were starting to ache; high heeled sandals and concrete floors are not a match that is designed for comfort. I had considered sitting down, but the floor seemed too austere; not dirty, but dusty and unforgiving. The novelty of being chained had rapidly worn off; there was no mirror for me to admire my plight in, no one else to take satisfaction in my shame.
I had been in awe of the clips when she first put them on but now the pain from the clips on my nipple was relentless. Initially, in that moment of passion and intense arousal, the painful sensation had been wonderful. There seemed to be a direct line between my nipples and clit, a line that burnt through my belly joining the pure pain with un-adulterated pleasure; pain without humiliation, pleasure without sexual release.
The initial sharp pain had given way to a throbbing that just never eased up, but with my hands chained behind me, there was no way of clipping them off. The thought of lying on the ground and trying to rub them off on the floor did cross my mind, but I did not wish to debase myself in that way; I resolved to carry the discomfort she had inflicted with pride, to succumb to whatever torment that she wished.
It could not have been more that twenty or thirty minutes before the door edged open again. Emmeline came in and greeted me with a lovely smile; despite her slightly severe hairstyle, she really was very pretty! She was carrying a spatula which she brandished gleefully in her right hand.
“Look what we forgot to pick up on our way through Household earlier”
There was that infernal “We” again; I had not forgotten to pick up anything in Household!
The passionate and hypnotic Emmeline of before had reverted to the Sales Assistant, friendly and interactive, at home with her wares. She put the spatula down on the workbench and approached me with the keys, another length of chain swinging gleefully from her hands.
“Hands , Girl!”
I stared at her blankly for a minute, not sure how I could present my hands when they were locked behind my back. I looked deep into those wonderful eyes of her, looking for further instruction, waiting for inspiration. It dawned on me that there was only one way to comply: I turned around, and showed my back.
“I said hands, Girl! Present them!”
The penny dropped, I knew what she wanted. I bent forward, pushing m hands out as far as I could, aware that my bottom and pussy too were protruding, presented as well. The lock to one wrist was opened, the encircling chain released.
“Stand up, Girl. Hands again, please.”
Emmeline shackled my hands again, in front of me this time.
“We need to keep them out of the way,” she smiled, “I would hate for the spatula to hit them by mistake!”
With one simple statement, she had made clear what the spatula was intended for, but that would come later as she had something else on her mind. She efficiently removed the clips from my nipple, paying no thought to the after effect. She did it with the efficiency of a nurse who pulls off a sticking plaster – one rip and it’s off. The blood flowed back with astonishing speed, the resultant pain was quite a surprise.
I was still kneading my tender breasts, trying to regain my composure, when I felt her circle the my free ankle with another length of chain. I now understood the reason for the second concrete block; my four feet of freedom had been reduced to just one or two. It was the perfect setup now for Emmeline and her spatula, my hand were locked out of the way in front of me and my movement was restricted; there was no way that I could not turn away from the strokes.
She popped me twice on the left cheek with the spatula using a short flicky stroke; it depended on speed rather than force to make itself felt. I could not turn to see the effect, could not reach back to protect myself with my hands. The noise of the smacks was quite loud in that small storeroom, and I am sure I squealed a rather vocal ‘ouch’ to add to the noise.
Emmeline paused and leaned in to me again. Once again I was overcome by her closeness, that bewitching perfume, her sultry breath.
“You are making me so aroused, so hot! You want to pleasure me, don’t you? You want to offer me your submission and pain? I am so proud of you!”
He voice was hypnotic, mellifluous, sultry and pure. I longed to please her, to feed her desires.
She drew back and smacked me again, alternating on each cheek with barrages of two, driving pure fire into my burning behind. I stamped my feet, hearing the sandals beat a tattoo on the floor, whimpering with pleasure, crying with pain. And when it was over, I felt her soft hands massage the heat away, stoking a new fire that burned lower down.
The massages with her palms turned to strokes with her fingertips, the strokes with her finger tips turned to traces with her nails. Lines that burned with a pleasant scratch, up and down my flanks, welts of passion, lines of transient pain. Nothing brutal, nothing vicious, but a sensation with an edge of passion, a hint of what might be.
The fingertips returned, changing their course, moving inwards, drawing little circles in the small of my back. I arched backwards, desperately trying to increase the contact, pushing my bottom out, and spreading my thighs. I so wanted her to move between my legs, to drive my arousal on, to play with my sex to satiate my desire.
It was not to be; it was tease and denial. Emmeline moved in close from behind and wrapped her arms around my top. Her fingers flicked at my nips, traced circles on my breasts, I felt her breath on my neck, her gentle nibbles on my ear lobes. Givenchy mixed with musk, shampoo with body mist. Her scents tantalized me, her closeness a cocoon of estrogen and aphrodisiac to enchant.
With a swift smack on my rump, Emmeline disengaged, and once again with that signature chaste kiss, she touched my cheek and withdrew.
“Bye for now, Girl, don’t run away. I have customers to serve, I will see you later.”
She was gone before I could recover my equilibrium, but I stood there quite still. My ankles were both chained, my wrists shackled together quite close. I raised my hands to cover my eyes, to re-live in my mind her passionate embrace; then I stood stoically waiting, knowing that in her own time she would re-appear.
Both the balls of my feet and my slightly spread thighs ached and I knew that there would be no respite. Reluctantly and very carefully, I settled down and eased myself into a sitting position on the concrete floor. The chains held my ankles apart, and the slickness between my thighs turned at first to stickiness and then, thank goodness, I dried up; wafts of my odor drifted up to me, the scent of being a slut, the lingering scent of my submission.
I was sexually frustrated yet alive, waiting in suspense because I knew there would be more. I knew know that Emmeline was capable of causing me both pain and exquisite pleasure, offering bondage without tawdriness…..arousal without relief. Perhaps when she came in again, I might even be rewarded at last. for my unequivocal submission that she so desired.
Chapter 7 – The Barrel
It took an eternity for the door to ease open; I could never have believed that sitting down could be so darned uncomfortable; so much for a supposedly well padded bottom!
I scrambled to my feet with as much dignity as I could, hampered by my shackled wrists, impeded by my chained ankles. Do not get me wrong; I was still obsessed with the chains but perhaps a bit of the novelty had worn off !
Emmeline greeted me with a hug, wrapping her arms around me, enveloping me with her warmth. Her breath was still sweet, and that delightful fragrance she wore seemed to have matured to perfection; rather than having become stale, it had become more alluring, delighting my senses, re-igniting my arousal.
Her kiss, though, was chaste.
“Come, Girl, we have work to do! The shop has now been closed and you are all mine. There is no-one around to hear your yelps, no one around to rescue you if you decide to scream.”
It all sounded so ominous, but I trusted her by now; I was sure that I would not be harmed and perhaps my release was in store.
She pulled a set of keys from her jeans pocket, and moved across to the one of the concrete blocks, to open the padlock that tethered me there.
“Feet together, Sweet Pea!”
The term of endearment was not lost on me, although it did carry a certain ominous tone. I pulled my feet together and looked down with interest to see what would come next. Emmeline locked the two ankle chains together, leaving me hobbled with about only two foot of play. She released me from the other concrete block, and with a playful pat on my bottom, she pointed across the room.
“Bring that barrel back here, Girl…quickly now, move it!”
I started to shuffle across the store room to the other end where a blue water collection barrel stood under the shelf. It was about three or four foot high, and wider than I would have been able to circle with my arms, I couldn’t figure out why she wanted it, but was certain that time would still tell.
I shuffled across the room under her watchful eye; it felt awkward with the hobble grabbing at my ankle when I stepped out too far. Perhaps it would have been easier if I had not been wearing high heels, perhaps my chained hands threw me slightly off balance. The excess chain from each of my ankle restraints dragged on the floor behind me, clinking and jangling with every step.
I did not even hear Emmeline approach from behind and did not feel the sting of the strap before it cut into my bottom. I yelped and instinctively tried to reach back with my hands; with my wrist shackled together in from of me, I did not get very far. The strap set a raging fire across my bottom’s right cheek, the tip of the leather cutting into my crack.
“Move it, Girl, we haven’t got all night for this.”
As I struggled to regain my physical and emotional equilibrium, I also struggled to figure out what had just happened to my poor derriere! It was probably the leather dog collar she had used as a strap; it was a far more painful experience than I would ever have guessed. I shuffled on faster, terrified of another blow, and reached the water barrel without her offering further physical encouragement.
Under her watchful eye, I tipped it onto it’s side, and rolled it back to the center of the room. She chose a spot midway and slightly in front of the two concrete blocks; my mind was in turmoil and I didn’t know what was coming next.
Chapter 8 – The Strap
“OK, Girl, get over it, and make sure your legs are spread nice and wide apart.”
I loved Emmeline’s way, she was both compassionate and stern; it was a strange mixture of kindness and gentle sadism that blew me away. She was mindful of my shackles, my fragile emotional state, and offered me help as I lay over the barrel. I felt a tug at my left ankle, and realized she had locked me to the concrete block once again, moments later my right ankle was pulled across and secured in a similar way. My hands just touched the floor in front offering me the support I needed to stay over the top.
Emmeline squatted down in front of me, lifted my face, and once again our eyes locked in that hypnotic stare. She didn’t say anything, just looked into my soul, and then she reached forward and kissed me again.
I drifted into a beautiful state, the touch of her lips, the taste of her tongue. I sucked and probed in return, felt my arousal build up, drank in her sublime fragrance, relished the touch of her fingers on my cheeks. If paradise exists, then this was it; if this was lust then who needs love?
It seemed like a lifetime of bliss before she broke away, and the look in her eyes was all misty and love. She started to strap me gently at first, the light strokes creating warmth, a heat that seemed to pervade every crevasse and crack. The rhythm increased slowly, the force slightly harder, but it was a pain I relished this time; there was no punishment involved, no unbearable pain.
I did not count the strokes, I have no idea how many; they all blended into one gorgeous fire that seemed to spread all around.
When she stopped at last, she laid a mat between my spread legs. I felt no shame at the state of my sex; I have no doubt it looked as swollen, damp and ready as it felt. Her tender fingers were tender as they grasped my whipped thighs, spreading me wider, readying me for both hers and my pleasure.
She was tender and caring as her tongue found my slit, her fingers ran around my clit in a magical way. I had often wondered what it would be like to be frigged while tied up, unable to stretch, unable to pull away. It was the most wonderful experience, one that is beyond belief, and my moans this time were of passion and lust rather than unrelenting pain from the strap.
I cried tears when I came; it’s the first time in my life that I felt such emotional and physical release. She unchained my wrists and knelt, in front of me this time, her hands clasping my cheeks, her tongue drying my tears.
It was different fragrance that enchanted me this time; Givenchy Dhalia Divin blended into a erotic scent with the juice of our sex; I knew then that while her tongue had been pleasuring me, her fingers had been pleasuring herself, my punishment and arousal driving her desire.
When we walked out the door, Stedstor General Dealer had a new meaning for me; it was the place where dreams were realized on concrete floors behind staff doors. Our fingers were locked together, but it was not with chains; it was with the bondage of passion and love, which is the most secure bondage of all.