The Best Of All Possible Worlds, Part 2

Postby sarobah » Fri Aug 12, 2011 5:44 pm

Please note. If you haven’t read “THE SECRETARY’S LUNCH BREAK” and actually want to, please read it before this story. The reason will be obvious once you have.


THE BEST OF ALL POSSIBLE WORLDS, PART 2

“All is for the best in the best of all possible worlds.” – Voltaire

“And yet nothing had been such a comfort to her as the silence, unless it was the chains. The chains and the silence, which might have bound her deep within herself, which should have smothered and strangled her, had not. On the contrary, they had been her liberation, freeing her from herself.” – Pauline Réage, Story of O

Chapter One. Jane. A Woman’s Place.

The meeting has dragged on through the morning into early afternoon. She’s getting bored and drowsy, and her mind is beginning to wander. The client, Mr Haldane, is going on about something to do with architraves, but she is no longer really listening. She squirms in her chair. The slick upholstery feels cool and sticky against the bare flesh of her bottom and on her thighs where the tops of her stockings end. The air in the room has a penetrating chill that raises her nipples against the diaphanous fabric of her blouse. It has an effect she cannot suppress, and she feels her cheeks beginning to glow. She turns her head away, ever so slightly, so the others don’t see. As she does, the stiff leather of her collar chafes against her throat.

Jane is thankful for the large ball filling her mouth, which stifles an incipient yawn. A dribble of saliva seeps inexorably from around its edges, dripping onto her chest and trickling between her breasts and down her belly. She goes to raise her hand, forgetting for an instant that her wrists are shackled to the metal band that encircles her waist.

Haldane is still droning on about the architraves. She wonders if he even knows what they are. Behind her blindfold, she tries to visualize the expressions on the faces of her colleagues.

“We understand your concerns,” Richard finally says, “and we can guarantee there will not be a problem. My associate here is the best...”

“Yes, yes,” Haldane interjects. “Nevertheless, I would be more reassured being told by the woman herself.”

There is a pause, brief but explicit. Though they are an arm’s length apart, she hears Richard sigh, and she can picture his frown. Her partner has always been a stickler for office protocol, and this is highly irregular. But the client’s wishes are paramount, and so his chair squeaks as he rises. She feels his fingers on the back of her neck as he brushes aside the hair to unbuckle the strap. He pulls the crimson orb from between her jaws, and she licks the thin film of lather from her lips.

“Mr Haldane...” Her mouth feels gummy and the first words come out somewhat slurred. “We have studied the architrave issue carefully...” (She cannot, of course, see any of the men’s reactions; but Paul, in the seat to her right, clears his throat, barely holding back a snigger.) “... and we are positive we have the solution.” She continues with some carefully crafted waffle, to a soft chorus of “Uh-huh” and “Uh-hum” as she imagines the client in his stuffed shirt nodding gravely.

Just as her amphigory begins to peter out, Richard takes over and skilfully steers the meeting towards a close. He’s good at that, she must admit.

“Well then, gentlemen, lady, I look forward to seeing your next draft, in...”

“Ten days?” She straightaway regrets making it a question.

“Good,” is all Haldane replies, and she has to give him credit for that. Maybe she’s misjudged him. Perhaps she should reassess the architraves.

The three men’s chairs creak at once, and there is a sudden jerk on hers. She lifts her feet off the carpet just as Paul (she thinks it is) swivels her seat around so she is facing towards the door. She leans forward to shift her centre of balance and raise herself onto her feet. It’s a peculiar, tingly sensation as clammy leather peels away from naked skin. And she loves the tickly feel of the pleated hem caressing her thighs as her skirt falls back to its proper place. Soft vinyl-rubber presses against her lips and she parts them to accept her gag.

She needs time to join the three men, constrained by her blindfold and hobbled by the silver chain which binds her ankles. By the time she reaches them, they are shaking hands – she can tell by the faint rustling of their coat sleeves. With her arms pinioned, she can only wiggle her fingers in a feeble good-bye wave. She hears the door close.

“That went well,” Richard declares. “And the word of the day is... architraves!”

She tries to laugh, but it comes out through her gag as an undignified snort.

“Time for lunch?” Paul says. “I definitely need a drink.”

“Take your time, you two.”

“Not coming?”

“Too busy, another meeting. But you’ve both earned a couple of hours off.”

“And a raise, of course.”

“Don’t look at me. Ask your boss.”

She shakes her head vigorously. Her assistant grumbles.

“Then the least you can do is pay for lunch.”

She shrugs and nods. Richard takes his leave and she shuffles back to her desk, poking about under it until her toes connect with one of her shoes. As she slides her foot into it, she feels a tension at her midsection. Paul is unlocking the belt, and then he frees her wrists. She puts her arms behind her to hold them steady as his hands go inside her shirt and glide up her belly to her breasts. His fingers run lightly over them, squeezing the flesh and fondling her nipples. She tries not to react, but cannot repress a shiver. She sucks in several quick, deep breaths, the air rasping in and bubbling out past her gag.

When he is finished, he opens her blouse all the way, drawing the sides back from her chest. He then steps back, and she hears the tinny ping of something small landing on the desk. She guesses it is the key, and after she’s located her other shoe, she brushes her fingers across the tabletop until she finds it. She squats to release her ankles from the chain. She thinks it amusing that she must do this herself, but in a way she understands. No man should lower himself to what is by nature and custom the woman’s place, even to free her from her shackles.

She stands up again, and Paul taps her on both arms, a signal that she must again put her hands behind her back. Her fingers interlock so he can, without difficulty, push her bracelets together and secure the little clasp. It’s a tight fit – the inner edges of the cuffs are directly attached, so there is no extra link to allow flexibility. The insides are lined with fleece, so it is snug and not painful; but it’s constricting and uncomfortable, as it is meant to be. A woman such as she must never be entirely at ease, in order that at all times she is fully aware of her surrender to a power that is greater than her own petty needs and desires. But there is, of course, another reason. The enforced posture draws her shoulders backwards and pushes forward her unveiled bosom. She is proud that she is to be exhibited like this, proud of the shame she feels in her display, and proud that she is strong enough to bear that shame.

To complete her ensemble, he fastens a tether by a clip to the ring on the front of her collar. He draws the cable, which is cold and metallic, across her breasts, teasing her nipples and bringing them back to full arousal. Then she feels a sudden, gentle jerk as the leash goes taut. He leads her out of her office and through the reception area, along the corridor and into the elevator, down to the lobby and onto the street.

Emerging from air conditioned stillness into the oppressive heat of outdoors and the harsh cacophony of city traffic is like walking into a wall, and she halts, for only an instant but long enough to feel a brusque tug on her collar, urging her forward. Yet the sidewalk is congested, and after they have taken just a few more steps, he interrupts their progress to remove her blindfold. The afternoon sunlight is blinding, and he waits patiently for her sight to adjust. After that, as they walk the half dozen blocks to the restaurant, she keeps her eyes downcast, because she must never, even inadvertently, look any man in the face, including the strangers passing by. It is a rule she embraces with an immodest conceit, for it is not just to honour men that she obeys it, but to remind herself – with pride – of what she is, what she is not and what she can never be.

But every so often she takes a peek at members of her own sex. Some are, like her, bound and gagged, and a brave one here and there has hazarded the busy thoroughfare behind a blindfold – or at least her master has resolved that she should do so. Most, however, have not discovered and savoured the bittersweet joys of unconditional submission. These avert their gaze as they approach, quickly glance back at her as they pass. Their expressions reveal in equal measure contempt and envy – as often as not on the same face.

By the time they arrive, the restaurant is half empty, the lunchtime peak having subsided. They are greeted at the entrance by the maîtresse d’, a small, slender, dark-haired woman, with eyes that gleam like black sapphires and lips that glisten ruby red. She wears lavender coloured lingerie trimmed with fine white lace, sheer silk stockings held up by frilly garters, a collar and bracelets not unlike those which adorn Jane’s throat and wrists. She guides them to a table that has just been cleared by one of the waitresses, a tall, athletic-looking girl, impeccably built and impossibly blonde, dressed in the same style though with an open bust to allow the customers a full appreciation of her charms. She bows her head as she draws back Paul’s chair.

“Sir, my name is Caitlyn and I will be serving you. Will the lady be dining dans bondage?”

“Just the blindfold, today,” he decides.

The girl withdraws as he surveys the menu. She appears a little nervous. Perhaps it’s her first day.

Jane stands next to where Paul is sitting, but facing away from him so he can free her hands. He gives her permission to take out her gag. She unbuckles the strap and removes the ball from her mouth, dries it with a napkin that the waitress has provided for the purpose, and places it on top of the folded cloth. Paul gives his assent to her joining him at the table. As she does, she sweeps her skirt backwards, so that it is her bare flesh that touches the seat. She draws back her blouse to keep it open for his indulgence.

The waitress returns with a red satin sash. As she binds it over Jane’s eyes, Paul is studying the wine list.

“Bring me a bottle of...”

Jane doesn’t catch what he orders. It has a long name, sounds foreign, pretentious and expensive.

“It’s been a hard day and we deserve the best,” he explains to the waitress. “And the lady is paying.”

She slowly nods. She smiles. He is right. The lady is paying. The lady always pays.

Re: The Best Of All Possible Worlds, Part 2

Postby tugsbd » Fri Aug 12, 2011 8:12 pm

Amazing, Sarobah!
I love tying and being tied up! Struggling hard but unable to escape. Mouth filling gag. Helpless. Vulnerable.

Re: The Best Of All Possible Worlds, Part 2

Postby sarobah » Sat Aug 13, 2011 6:55 pm

DELETED
Last edited by sarobah on Sun Aug 14, 2011 9:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Re: The Best Of All Possible Worlds, Part 2

Postby sarobah » Sun Aug 14, 2011 5:11 pm

This is another of my stories that has gone astray on the journey from my brain to the keyboard.
So I have deleted the second chapter. Maybe I can repair it.
Last edited by sarobah on Sun Aug 14, 2011 9:15 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

Re: The Best Of All Possible Worlds, Part 2

Postby TiedTight1 » Sun Aug 14, 2011 7:36 pm

The first part was especially good, the 'bound boss'. That was delicious!

Re: The Best Of All Possible Worlds, Part 2

Postby xtc » Mon Aug 15, 2011 12:21 am

I know the problem. It's sometimes better to stop, think and try again rather than letting thr story write itself in a manner with which one is unhappy. I hope you can affect a repair because your wonderful, literate style of writing is a joy to experience.

I must agree with TT1 about the initial chapter.
Good luck and Blessed Be
Xtc
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!

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