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Tuesday, 21 May 2013

The Portcullis

photo by kind permission RestrainedElegance.com

I hesitate for only a moment. Then, trembling, I sink to my knees on the ground and lower my head. There is the rustle of his footsteps in the grass as he approaches, then the jingle of chains. I lift my hair out of the way and wince at the chill of steel against my neck. He locks my heavy collar into place. Its weight is both intimidating and comforting. It makes me feel utterly powerless. While I wear it, I am truly a slave.
‘Raise your arms,’ he says.
I obey, keeping my eyes closed. He gently slips my dress off over my head and unhooks my bra. My nipples stiffen at their exposure to the night air and I feel my sense of submission deepen. My body can’t hide its arousal, a fact that makes me feel even more at Charles’s mercy.
He strokes my head and I nuzzle his leg like a puppy, pleading silently for him to spare me. I know he won’t. I also know I don’t really want him to. But it’s all part of the dance. A dance usually done in private, behind closed doors. But not this time. Not tonight.
‘Give me your wrists.’
Opening my eyes at last, I hold out my trembling hands and try to stay still as he fastens the cold metal shackles around my slender wrists. I might be a prisoner of the Inquisition or a captured princess sold into slavery in the Ottoman Empire. But no fantasy will save me from the reality of what’s about to happen.
Charles takes pity on me and kisses me, stroking my bare back and telling me what a good girl I am. The words always make me melt. They’re like a magic charm that gives me the courage not to beg my way out of it. Because, secretly, I want it as much as he does. My total surrender is the key to bliss –– for both of us.
He crouches beside me and slips my knickers down. I obediently lift one leg at a time so he can slip them off and he tucks them into his pocket with a smile. Then he locks another pair of shackles around my ankles. A short chain connects them so I can open my legs wide enough to walk but not run. Not that I would ever run.
He fastens a long chain to my collar and gently tugs me to follow him. The shackles are heavy but they don’t hinder me that much, at least not as long as I’m on all fours. Waves of heat and desire wash over me as he guides me towards the black iron portcullis.



from "The Portcullis" by Rose de Fer


Published by Mischief Books

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