Beloved bonds

2 The Gorgeous Rape

It was not strange they should have underrated James Dexter. He was an unknown, present that day in the Board Room by the invitation of Silas Ambrose. When he had, with immense panache, locked the handcuffs on Caroline’s tendered wrists and smiled down into her excited eyes, he had left upon the table a written offer in millions to leave speechless and chagrined a group of men whose wealth should have taken the prize he had whisked from beneath their fingers. Caroline was enthralled. James Dexter possessed the indefinable quality of class. He was intensely male. His smile was as devastating as her own. With a long-considered determination she had burned a bridge. Dexter was a bonus she had not expected on the other side. In the limousine she held out her cuffed wrists and the key.

“They’ve served their symbolism, Mr. Dexter. Would you mind . . . ?”

He took her locked hands, raised them to his lips and kissed them gently. Studiously he tightened each metal band another notch to make them more than snug. He laughed at her surprise, and repeated, mockingly. “Would you mind . . . ?” Thoughtfully he took possession of the key.

She could not deny the thrill. She would not plead. In fact, she did not care whether her hands remained locked or free. If a contest between them must be resolved it would be with words.

“Going to keep me chained, Mr. Dexter?”

“Make it James, please. And yes, the handcuffs stay.”

“Shouldn’t I call you ‘Master’ or something?”

“Perhaps later. James for now.”

Caroline had a good feeling about him, the sort of ‘good’ feeling she had never quite managed to have for Dowling. There was a rock-like strength, tinged with humour. “Am I shameless, James?” she asked demurely. “Doing what I’ve done?”

“You are shameless.”

She was a little shocked by his ready agreement.

But it was nice not having to dissemble. She clinked her handcuffs and gave him a sideways look of enquiry. “Despise me?”

“I am quite prepared to adore you. But you’ll still wear chains. I’ll get some for your ankles.”

Intrigued, she queried: “Were you thinking of such things before the meeting? I bought these handcuffs as a bit of a joke. They’re such a stodgy bunch, I thought it might excite ’em a bit.”

Without answering, he produced from the pocket of his jacket twin circlets joined by a link. They shared spontaneous laughter and were suddenly close. “Pity not to use ’em,” he said thoughtfully. “Wonder if they’ll fit . . .”

They were tight on her ankles, a strangely reassuring grip. There had been only two clicks before the metal was deep in her nylon. She knew herself helplessly his captive.

“Always watch a girl with slender ankles,” he said pleasantly. “She’ll be a fox.”

“Are mine that slender?”

“You can’t handcuff virtuous ankles.”

“You’ve tried?”

“Of course. True virtue is a bit heavy down there.” He grinned disarmingly. “Mean to tell me you’ve never been handcuffed before?”

“Goodness, no!”

“A bit of rope . . . ? a strap . . . ? A chain . . . ?”

Again the thrill. Her laughter pealed. “With Robert! You’re dreaming.” She was suddenly curious. “You mean—? Some girls do? A sort of love play?”

“Right! It’s fun.”

She lifted her hands, tugging them against the steel bands in a closer scrutiny than she had previously vouchsafed. Her eyebrow lifted at him. “My first lesson?”

“Call it that. Any erotic response?”

“Dammit, yes! How’d you know?”

“That’s a lovely blush. Try and hold it. And I know how you feel, it’s a fact of life.”

“Handcuffs make a girl horny?” She was delightedly incredulous.

His retort was dry. “Ask yourself.” Her blush deepened.

The house fell just short of being a mansion. Its address was enviable. The chauffeur discreetly saw nothing when James Dexter, refusing to use the key, carried Mrs. Caroline Dowling, safely handcuffed, within. He did so with astounding ease.

“The servants have the day off. We go straight upstairs.”

It was pleasant, a little frightening. Caroline felt more female than she had done in a long time. James Dexter was a force. He had purchased her.

“My bedroom?” she queried, close to his ear. “Mine.”

A splendid room. But male! Dexter tossed her on the huge bed with deliberate unconcern. She landed with a bounce, the handcuffs inhibiting feminine grace. Refusing to be untidy, she swung around and sat up. “The captured bride?” she queried caustically.

“Yes.”

His use of the one word was enough. He stood back to look down at his prize. Despite the cavalier treatment the current between them was still strong and still good. They were playing a game. Both were excited. Caroline arranged her helplessness to its best advantage and asked demurely:

“Instant rape?”

“Can a man rape what he owns?” He made the question rhetorical.

Caroline giggled. “I’m not sure you can rape me at all like this.”

“A pity.” He sounded genuinely regretful. “I hate to take those handcuffs off. They become you.”

“Leave them on then, I’m happy.”

“You don’t want to be raped?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m saying it’s something nice to look forward to. Girls are never in the hurry you men are.”

“You’re ready. I can tell.”

He was right. She was quiveringly excited. It was the loveliest sensation she had known in a long time. This man would be hard to best, but she would try.

“Curb your ego, James Dexter, it’s the handcuffs! I’m not always this obvious.”

“But you are wanton, aren’t you? C’mon, tell me?”

“Oh sure, in my responses. In the act, I’m choosey.” She twinkled up at him. “Don’t worry, you’d be eligible.”

“Pity about the rape though.”

“I’ve heard tell it’s enjoyable anyway.”

He set her free. The small key fitted both pairs.

He gave her time to be feminine with her hands. Then his command was crisp.

“Strip naked.”

“Don’t you want to tear them from me in a frenzy of lust?”

“I want to subjugate you. I intend to savour your submission with lecherous gaze.”

“Want a slow tease, or a quick strip to my skin?”

“The latter. Coyness isn’t your bag.”

Caroline refused to pretend: even to herself. She was living intensely, loving every word and implication. She had been female and carnal, in her own immaculate way, before the meeting in the Board Room. Now she could throw decorum to the winds. She trembled with eagerness as she stripped, feeling his intent regard like an impact. Happily bare. Caroline clasped her hands at the back of her neck, thrust out her breasts in deadly aim, and posed for her purchaser.

“Like me?”

“I like you too much.”

She was not to understand his remark until another time, but she perked beneath its sincerity. “Think you got value?”

“Many times over.” Dexter nodded thoughtfully. “It’s true, you are the most beautiful . . .”

“In the world? That’s just a figure of speech. But I know I’m nice. I’m not a bit modest about me.”

“A few good thrashings will look after that.”

“They’re supposed to make a girl horny too. Do they?”

“You’ll find out.”

Would she! Or was he kidding. Caroline hoped he could not observe signs of the sudden flood of lust in which his words submerged her. Thrashed! She shivered deliciously. “Would you really thrash me? Do I have that to look forward to?”

“I’ll thrash you now if you ask me nicely. You’re eaten up with curiosity. I won’t be rough on you the first time. I’ll use my belt.”

“James, don’t—don’t—oh, just don’t! You’ve got me vibrating in every move. You’re a new experience.”

James Dexter drank of her nakedness with appreciative hungry eyes, Caroline was more than beautiful, she exuded an aura. Her woman scent reached him in heady waves, a perfume all her own, owing nothing to a bottle. She was still, unconsciously, posing for his approval. If he was a new experience for her, she was most certainly a fresh dimension of sexuality for him.

“On your back, on the bed. Get those legs wide apart.”

Dexter deliberately made his coarse command brutal, testing her. Searching for a chink in the armour of her sophistication. Caroline laughed in his face and flung herself in a sprawl of nudity on the cover. “I’ll even turn over on my tummy if you want,” she teased. “There’s lots of pillows. They do help.”

The current between them intensified. Dexter had cast aside his shirt and was reaching lower when her suggestion stopped him in arrested motion. There was a moment’s silence before he agreed, his words tense, without emphasis. “Do that. Flat on your face. Use a pillow or two, you know where.”

He was not safe to tease. She would never be allowed the initiative. Trembling with anticipation she arranged her ready nakedness upon a pillow, then another, spreading her legs apart outrageously from the invitation of her loins. She was suddenly ashamed of her temerity, hiding her encarmined face.

Caroline’s yelp of outrage was almost a scream, so sudden and unexpected had been the thwacking impact of his belt across the twin cheeks of her behind. The pain of it was such as she had never known, a shrieking protest from her flesh. Striving, absurdly, to hold her wound, she rolled over and glared.

“Never suggest that—that—thing again.” His cold fury dripped distaste.

The girl on the bed was flooded with happiness. Dexter’s acceptance of her mischievous offer had been a disappointment. Had he pierced her in that manner he would have dropped in her regard. The pain of her strapped bottom was a small price to pay for something nearly lost. Caroline glowed and said. “Thank you” with a sincerity he could not mistake.

“Have you ever done it that way?”

“I’m afraid not. I was being a fraud.” She eyed the belt he was looping back into his discarded pants. “Thank you for hitting me with that. I’d no idea it could be so—so—well, anyway, it was my first time. This is turning out to be quite a day.”

“It’s scarcely started.”

Their eyes locked, laughter possessed them. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her savagely so it hurt, a beautiful hurt she did not want ever to stop. When it did stop he tossed her again upon the bed, a slave woman, owned.

“Dammit, those handcuffs got to me. I want to put them back on you. They’d be even more potent with you naked.”

“I don’t mind. But it’s not very practical, is it? I mean, my feet . . . ?” Her blush returned, she made a quick amendment. “I’m not sure it’s possible . . . But I’ll try . . ?”

They compromised on her hands. James Dexter locked the handcuffs back on her wrists with his own tender cruelty, one notch too tight. Caroline did not complain. In a sudden feverish welter of longing they possessed each other again and again and again. Time stopped. In the arms of the man who had purchased her, Caroline Dowling discovered a world she had never known.

Returning to a sweat-drenched normalcy of tangled arms and legs, Caroline found an ear and whispered into it. “James Dexter, you’re good! Terribly, terribly good.”

“Handcuffs spoil anything for you?”

“Gosh no! Wait ’til you see your back. I don’t know how I got there but I did.” She giggled happily. “You can lock the other pair back on my ankles now.”

“I’m too lazy.”

“Mmmmmm, just a moment—”

The handcuffed girl slipped from the bed but was back almost instantly. “Here they are. Put them on me.”

Dexter sat up, chuckling at her earnestness.

“Dammit, girl, they got to you worse than they did to me!”

“Not worse, better! Click them tight.”

“Lovely sound, isn’t it.” His fingers firmly notched the bands of steel upon the slender ankles. “You sure you’re not a frustrated masochist?”

“Don’t be silly. It’s just a lovely feeling: to know I can’t run away from you.”

“You wouldn’t anyway.”

“All right then! it’s a lovely feeling because I can’t run away from me.”

“O.K. So you love being helpless. I’ll keep you handcuffed, permanently. How’s that?”

“Gorgeous . . . ! And, James . . . ?”

“What now?”

“Let’s try it? I think it may just be possible. I mean, with my feet locked together . . . ?”

“You’re a carnal kitten.”

“Yes, isn’t it lovely!”

They made a fresh experiment. It hurt Caroline’s ankles but she did not care.

“I am replete with rape.”

They had yawned their way to a late breakfast.

Caroline had had to be carried. When she placed her weight on her feet her tendons thrust too painfully against the metal. She could neither shuffle nor hop. Neither cared. Dexter did for her the things she could no longer do for herself. Cautiously, she was contriving to place marmalade on toast. She picked up her sentence: “Wasn’t that a gorgeous night!”

“Mmmmm, you’re shameless.”

“But rape’s so nice. I want more.”

“Handcuffed?”

“Oh yes! Oh please . . . ? I know my ankles are chafed, but they can put up with it for another day.”

“That all that’s chafed?”

“Don’t be vulgar, James. A girl never gets chafed there if she’s properly loved.”

“I’ve got a new eroticism for you. Want to play?”

“Of course! I have to, don’t I!”

“O.K., sweetheart. You want rape, that’s what you get.” Caroline Dowling wondered if the thrill of Dexter’s lovemaking would ever pall. So far it had mounted steadily. What he was doing to her now was so wickedly appropriate to the fantasies he evoked. She was making herself supinely passive to his will, trembling.

“Spreadeagle! Oh. James, it’s such a gorgeous word!”

“Functionally practical—with a pillow or two.”

“But I’ll lose my handcuffs!”

“Not entirely.”

Dexter used his key. A moment later Caroline’s arms were spread out and up, a wrist cuffed to each corner of the bed-frame. He looked down at her new helplessness approvingly. “That looks after your hands. I’ve rummaged in the closets and found some rope. Stick your foot out.”

She had never been so involved in anything! Every fiber of Caroline Dowling’s being was vibrant with sensation, with a sensuality giving life to every erotic fantasy she had ever dreamed. She gasped, quivering, as rope circled her ankles and was tugged and tugged until her nudity was spread wide in a lovely ‘X’ of feminine arms and legs.

“Try and get loose.”

Caroline struggled . . . hard. “Oh, James, I can’t! I can’t possibly. I can hardly move at all. It’s wonderful!”

Dexter thoughtfully adjusted a pillow. His helpless prey giggled.

“Say, wouldn’t this be a chance for one of those poor chaps who never get a proper look at a girl’s do-funny?”

“You mean that lovely cunt of yours?”

“Well, if that’s the word you like Mine must be positively standing up and winking. It feels as exposed as a sunset.”

“Surrounded by a fleece of dark cloud.”

“You like my black bush?”

“Every part of you is superlative.”

“You don’t feel any wicked urge to take advantage of me and shave it bare—or pluck ’em one at a time?”

“You’re indulging in wishful thinking, you wanton hussy. Which would you prefer?”

He was right, as always. This helpless exposure was multiplying her feminine responses a hundred-fold. The approaching rape was not enough, her flesh screamed for pain, for things to be done to her she was powerless to stop. She was ashamed but glorying in her plight.

“I’d sooner be shaved. But, James, don’t indulge me. I’m in some sort of fantasyland where I’m not responsible.” She pondered a moment. “Last night—when you strapped me . . . ! It made it better, I mean—my sore bottom on the pillow.”

“That’s a known clinical fact.”

“You make me feel so damned naive.” She giggled again. “It’s for sure I’d never get a strapped bottom from Robert.”

“You want the belt again, sweetheart?”

“Oh James . . . ! Not this side up?”

“Why not! There’s no part of you, below the neck, that isn’t whippable.”

“If we go on talking like this I’m going to orgasm without being touched: this stretch . . . and these ideas, James, you mean a girl’s breasts . . . ? Or her tummy . . . ?”

“Why not! Your breasts are exquisitely tautened out the way you are, and your belly’s positively concave.”

“Oh, James . . . !”

“And you were just remarking on the vulnerability of what you call your ‘do-funny’.”

“There! You really mean ?”

“Of course! It’s got nice plump lips. Want me to have a go at it?”

“No!” The explosive negative was not of fear, but of astonishment that such things could be. “James, I’m twenty-seven and I’ve never heard of such things.”

Dexter chuckled. “You’d probably never have run that auction in the Board Room if you had. Considering who and what you are you’ve lived a damn dull life.”

“I never thought so. I’ve been outrageously promiscuous.”

“Oh that!” His tone was contemptuous. “Kid stuff. Call it the High School Syndrome.”

Caroline could now believe his promise of a thrashing. It was an eroticism destined to happen. She would not provoke it at this moment: her capacity for sensation was already boiling over. Besides, when she got it she wanted it on her other side—the first time! She closed her mind to the vision. She was already far too close to orgasm for comfort. She did not want Dexter to see her writhing and gasping under the impetus of her own fevered imagination. “Rape me now—quick!” she demanded. “Oh, James, James, James . . . !” He leant down and kissed her forehead, then her proffered lips. “I love you very much,” he said gently. “I hadn’t expected to—”

“Please . . . ! Do it to me now . . . James, I’m so helpless!”

“And so you should be, beloved. I’m going to leave you in heat. You’ve got lots to think about while you wait. Or amuse yourself by trying to get loose. If you can, there’s a prize—”

“Don’t go! Don’t leave me . . . ! Oh, James . . . !”

“Part of the discipline, sweetheart. You need it.” Caroline watched him go. It was hard to strain her head up to see him pass through the door. He did not look back. In resignation, her head relapsed. She lay in her bonds, boiling with lust, feverish with longing. She longed to use a finger to give herself relief, but the metal cuffs on her wrists denied. Her sex blazed with heat, demanding fulfilment. She could not see herself down there, but she imagined her vulva demanding attention, swollen with desire. But, she was utterly helpless, she could touch no part of herself. Her widespread legs were a mockery in loneliness. She sighed in submission to Dexter’s mastery, knowing it best to savour and enjoy the strange bondage he had imposed. He would return. If the heat in her loins subsided she would dare to dream . . .

Soon she fell asleep.

Caroline Dowling awoke to the feral awareness of being watched. There had been no sound, but she was no longer alone. She allowed her lips to smile but kept her eyes deliciously closed. James would be looking down at her. Again, the heat between her thighs burned hot.

“The tributes about you are deserved. Mrs. Dowling. You are delectable.”

The deep base voice was not James’s. It was not that of any man she knew! Caroline’s eyes opened wide in shock. What she saw drove her into a paroxysm of panic, battling her bonds uselessly until, sobbing in frustration, she lay still, awaiting what must inevitably happen.

The man was blackly magnificent, wearing only shorts about his loins. Above six feet, muscularly powerful, his belly flat. His features were ebony granite, chiselled. They evoked memory. He moved down to the end of the bed and stared, with frank concupiscence, at the juncture of her parted thighs. “My name is Khalief Abhad,” he rumbled pleasantly. “You may have heard of me.”

“Go away. You shouldn’t be in here. Mr. Dexter—”

“I own this house. Mrs. Dowling.” The deep musical African voice was amused, savouring power. “In a way, I also own Mr. Dexter.” He flashed white teeth. “And of course we mustn’t forget, I own you.”

“You don’t own me. Have the decency to leave.”

“You have a truly splendid cunt, Mrs. Dowling. Chivalry forbids I should ignore its possibilities. And yes, I do own you. I also now control Dowling Corporation. That was my money yesterday. James Dexter is my agent in America.”

“I don’t believe a word. Get out of here.”

“You do believe, Mrs. Dowling. Come, be cheerful. Nothing has changed. You’ll become accustomed to the colour of my skin.”

“Very well then.” She fought to keep her voice even. “Unfasten me from this bed and let me dress—we can talk rationally.”

“We can talk rationally as you are. It is by my order you are thus bound.”

“But how absurd! Why . . . ?”

“So that I may fuck you without the bandying of words or an unseemly scuffle.”

From James, the four-letter word had been innocuous. From Abhad, it was a promise of the unmentionable. Captive eyes followed the length of strained captive arms to where the handcuffs bit savagely and implacably at captive wrists. The shining gyves had ceased to be erotic toys. They would lock her safely for this man’s pleasure. There was no way she could escape. She took a deep breath.

“That word you used? Why must you do that to me, and in this manner, and at this time?”

“I suspect you know that too. You are not a child. I am going to fuck you in order to get the inevitable out of the way and done with. It was implicit in your sale. It will be an irritant anxiety until it is dealt with. When the act is consummated we can deal with our business, giving it our full attention.”

“That’s the cockiest excuse for rape I ever heard.”

“Yet it has merit? Come, be a realist.”

“I damn well have to be, like this,” Caroline admitted bitterly. “Say, are you really that guy from—that African—?”

“Zindawba! Yes. I’m real. And Black.”

“Fucked by a president! Holy cow!” Caroline looked up appealingly. “Look, before I get impaled, could I speak to Dexter?”

“Mr. Dexter has gone. You may not see him again. He has left a note you may have at a later time.”

Misery and a terrible loneliness made her bonds intolerable. “Please, please, untie me?” she pleaded. “I promise I’ll behave.”

“I prefer the symbolism of the present situation, Mrs. Dowling. It also has the virtue of relieving you of the onus of consent.”

“Oh shit!” Caroline uttered in disgust. “Fuck me and be done with it! I’m all ready.”

The ruler of Zindawba’s shorts fell to the floor. The bound girl gasped and said, flatly: “I don’t believe it!”

“It is a legend in my land,” said Abhad proudly.

“It is also another good reason to keep you bound.”

“But it’s—it’s enormous! Unreal! All that in a girl!”

“I am highly skilled, Mrs. Dowling—and you are wet!”

She closed her eyes, absurdly remembering the joke that gentlemen, when mounting a female, rested their weight on their forearms. Khalief Abhad was a gentleman. He was also highly skilled. His immense phallus entered her slowly and with caution. She was sure there was no room inside her belly for all of it . . . ! And yet . . . ! The gentle pressure continued inexorably. She gasped, and gasped again. But not with pain.