Part Three: Amy’s Reward
In the final part of our kinky serial, Amy discovers what boyfriend Drew has planned for the climax of her week locked into a chastity belt.
Breathing was foreplay. Walking was foreplay. Every single second brought me one beat closer to the end of my sexual hiatus from Drew. These had been the longest seven days of my life. And now, they were almost over.
On that final morning, I headed down the hallway, knowing somehow that Drew was already gone. Knowing the house was empty. He’d left me a note on the fridge: ‘See you tonight. Be good.’ And that was it.
Studying was out of the question. I could never concentrate when nervous. Food was out as well. My stomach was a series of knots. Finally, I headed to the café, out of habit, and I spent several hours drinking coffee until I was so jittery I could no longer sit at the chair in the window watching the traffic rumble by on Beverly Boulevard.
My nerves were wound so tightly that I could hardly think straight. I walked past my car towards Melrose. Window shopping helped me pass most of the morning. I admired thrift-store cardigans, fingered fishnet stockings in a rainbow of colours. I passed piercing boutiques and shops filled with French fashion knock-offs.
In front of a fetish store, I paused to admire the window – the bright red ball gags, the bondage devices. Feeling as if I were falling, somehow, I entered the place, walking into a world of sex – with racks of videos and magazines and a seemingly unending range of dildos and harnesses. Into a black-lit back room, like a wild dance club, where I found the vinyl clothes and the bondage gear.
Suddenly, I realised I didn’t have to wait for Drew. I could make a move on my own, could take charge in my own small way.
The Chains Loosen
Back at home, I set out my purchases then checked the answering machine. Four messages. The first was from Ryan, wondering where I was. Then he called back, his voice tense. The third was Ryan as well, saying if he didn’t hear from me soon, he’d be coming over.
The fourth call was Drew.
I stopped, now dressed in the glossy black vinyl catsuit I’d bought, standing on my tiptoes to admire my reflection in the mirror, imagining my favourite pair of black patent leather heels.
“Pick up the phone.”
Of course, I hadn’t. I hadn’t been there.
“Pick up the fucking phone.”
My heart seemed to stop for a moment, and then race forward. The key clicked in the door, and I turned around, my body encased in what now felt like a silly get-up, my feet still arched in tip-toe. Ryan’s first expression, before he could fix his face, was of total relief. But the man was good. He recovered instantly, and walked past me to the phone in the kitchen.
“She’s here.” A pause. “Looks like she went out shopping.” Dark laugh. “Yes. Sure, Drew.”
I was spinning, now facing the doorway, waiting for Ryan, feeling as if I’d been caught shoplifting, or cheating on a final. Feeling like a naughty kid. Ryan’s face was composed, but I could still see the relief in his eyes. “Where were you? I checked the café.”
“I went to Melrose.”
“But your car was at Kings Road. You got a ticket it was parked there so long.”
“I walked. I wanted to clear my head.”
“You’re telling me you bought that get-up with a clear head?”
I had nothing to say to that.
“Drew wants to know if you’ve eaten today.” That surprised me. I hadn’t realised Drew was that in tune with my moods.
“No.”
“We’re going to dinner. He doesn’t want you to pass out before tonight. He has plans for you. Peel yourself out of that thing, and put on your street clothes.”
I started to feel myself relax. Drew had plans. Drew had been worried. He… No, he hadn’t said it yet, so I wouldn’t say it yet. I unzipped the catsuit and slowly skinned it off me. Ryan didn’t turn away, and I didn’t feel the least bit modest right then. Lightheaded, almost dizzy, I slipped my panties back on, then my jeans and T-shirt, dressing quickly.
“I’m to stay with you the rest of the day,” Ryan told me on the way to his car.
“But I’m not to lay a hand on you. Drew’s going to deal with your punishment when he gets home.”
How was I supposed to eat after words like that? My stomach knotted. My cheeks turned cotton-candy pink. Still, I was caught off guard at what Ryan said next. “He was worried. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t talk like some flippant kid. He was worried about you. That should resonate somewhere inside you. That should make tonight a bit easier for you.”
I looked at him. He knew what was going to happen to me tonight. I could tell.
“We’ll head to the beach,” Ryan told me, taking Sunset all the way. “Drew’s going to meet you in Malibu.”
Breaking Out
At dinner, in a little Italian restaurant off PCH, Ryan had two glasses of wine. I’d never seen him anything but stern and cold, and I watched with interest. He checked his watch more often than usual, and when he finally decided it was time to take me to Drew, I thought I caught a wave of relief. He would be done with me soon. Was that what he wanted?
I’d stayed in Malibu before. Drew’s place was lovely – austere and modern, of course, but charming. Ryan busied himself turning on the lights before coming toward me, a fiercer look in his eyes as if he’d steeled himself for what he had to do. And what he had to do was lead me to one of spare bedrooms. A large room I’d passed before without interest. A room that had contained a white bed and not much else. A room that was now decked out in full dungeon gear: a padded bench, a steel bar hanging from the ceiling, a cage in the corner, a rack of devices.
I was so busy staring at the array of items, that I didn’t notice Ryan, walking around, lighting candles, until he came back to my side and said, “You’re to put that on.”
Drew had a sense of humour. I could give him that. The dress that Ryan pointed to was tight-fitting and black-and-white striped. A prisoner’s dress. I knew better than to try and change into it in privacy, stripping right there and sliding on the dress while Ryan watched. He admired the look for a moment before taking a step towards me and reaching his hands up under the hem. He pulled my panties down, then waited for me to step out of the knickers before pocketing them.
“Lift your dress.”
I obeyed, and Ryan quickly slipped nipple clamps into place. Just the brush of his fingers against my already erect nipples made me bite down hard on my lower lip. What was next?
Cuffs. Cuffs behind my back. As he fastened them, he faced me towards the puppy cage, and suddenly, I understood what was going to happen, and why Ryan had seemed so nervous. He was going to put me in the puppy cage in the corner. And he was nervous because he didn’t know whether or not I’d fight him.
I didn’t want to go in that cage. I didn’t know why I was so frightened of it. I’d been bound many times by now, I was accustomed to having my movement restricted. But the cage was different. There was something dead serious about it. Ryan didn’t say a word. He eyed me carefully. For a second, fighting sounded interesting. Ryan seemed to understand what I was thinking. Quickly, he got a firm grip on my upper arm.
“I have instructions on how Drew wants to find you. Are you going to disobey?”
“No,” I said. “But…”
“If you fight me, you’re fighting him.”
I thought about that, and I could tell from Ryan’s expression that he was going to get me in that cage. My mouth had gone dry, but I climbed inside. I felt the metal bars beneath me. There was no comfortable position with my arms bound, but I got my knees under me and pushed back into a corner, watching in horror as Ryan brought a dog bowl forward and slid it through a slot in the cage. It was filled with water. I was suddenly thirsty, but the thought of drinking from the dish made me shake.
Ryan looked at his watch – again – and then said, “I’m leaving now. Drew wants you to himself.”
“When will he be here?” I called out as Ryan left. “When – Ryan, how long?”
But there was no answer.
Now, the shaking was pronounced. The dress had ridden up, and I could feel how cold the metal was beneath me. I looked around the room, trying to calm myself, but every device within the four walls made me even more afraid.
The worst part was the not-knowing. How long would I be here alone? When would Drew arrive? What if he didn’t come? What if he left me here all night?
What if..?
Freedom
I heard footsteps. I held my breath to concentrate, and then there was Drew. He leaned against the doorframe and looked at me, and I swallowed hard, but didn’t look away. “I like you in that.”
Did he mean the dress? Or did he mean the cage?
“Are you thirsty?”
“Yes, Drew.” I could hardly speak, my mouth was so dry.
“Then lap up, little puppy.”
Slowly, I bent forward and started to lap at the cool water. With my arms bound, I couldn’t keep my hair from falling forward. Drew reached through the bars and pushed it out of my face, and his touch sent fresh shudders through my body.
He was going to fuck me. He was finally going to fuck me. My heart raced, and I could feel the wetness pool between my naked pussy lips.
“I’m going to let you out,” Drew told me, and I could hear his key in the lock, the door starting to open, “and I want you to bend over that spanking bench.”
The words made me quiver, and by the time Drew helped me out, by the time he had undone the wrist cuffs, stripped off my dress, and then bound me face down over the bench, my body was shaking uncontrollably once more.
“Are you cold?”
“No, Sir.”
“Just nervous?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What are you nervous about?”
What a strange conversation to be having in such an awkward position. I was bent over the leather bench, my wrists attached to the front, my ankles to the back, so that there was absolutely no way that I could get free. I supposed that was the theme of the evening. Full restraint.
“You know, Drew.”
But that wasn’t good enough. Not by a long shot.
Drew’s hand met my arse hard
“What are you nervous about?” he asked again.
It was almost too difficult to put into words. “What you’re going to do,” I said finally, my voice soft.
“You should be worried,” Drew responded, voice as chilled as the metal bars of the cage. And then he stepped away, and I knew he was looking at the implements lined up neatly on the rack. What would he choose? What would he use?
Apparently, Drew was in the mood for a variety of items this evening. He started with a flogger, working gently but methodically, slapping the ends from the tender skin on my thighs to the fleshiest part of my bum. Over and over, building in intensity. I kept as still as possible under the blows, until Drew dropped the flogger and reached for something new. I couldn’t see what it was, and as always, the not knowing was worse than the knowing. Or almost worse.
This was a crop. Mean thing. Drew was an expert with this tool. He wasn’t going slow. Had already warmed me up plenty. I thought he’d land seven at first. That’s what I told myself. One for each day he’d restrained himself from having sex with me. But when Drew went past the number in my head, when he moved to ten, twelve, fifteen, I started to strain on the bindings.
“Stay still, girl.”
But I couldn’t.
“Stay still.”
I sucked in my breath, and tried not to move, and then I felt him. Pressed against me. Still clothed, of course, but I could feel how hard he was, and my strength came back. Just for a minute.
Knowing how turned on Drew was gave me the tiniest spark of power. He wasn’t simply punishing me. He was warming us both up. Because when he was done – and only when he was done – he was going to fuck the daylights out of me, and that thought made me wetter than anything else.
I heard the crop hit the floor, and then Drew was on me, his trousers open, fucking me. Thrusting into me with such intensity it felt as if he would split me open. In and out. Harder than hard. His hands all over my body. Roaming. Pinching. Stroking. Slapping. And then gripping onto my heavy mane of midnight hair. Holding tight. Pulling me hard. Talking to me. Hissing words to me. “Making me worry. Goddamn it, girl. I was so fucking worried.”
I climaxed then, so well-prepped, so unbelievably ready. I came on him, with the fiercest contractions, but Drew didn’t stop thrusting for a second.
And I realized he was talking about this morning, when he had lost contact with me. He’d thought I’d left. He’d thought he’d scared me off with the rules of his game. Seven days without sex. Seven days of torment. He hadn’t known that the game had only bound me to him tighter than ever.
“Don’t make me worry like that again.” Biting my shoulder hard as he came, finally came, bucking into me, filling me, and then for just a moment collapsing against me. “Don’t do it, Amy….”
And the power came back to me, like a light turned on. Drew was the Dom. Drew was in charge. He could lock me up. He could put me into cages.
But I – I held the key to his heart.
Read Part One and Part Two of The Price Of Pleasure.
