The Seraglio of the three Longs | cell, chains | free bondage stories

In a way, once you get used to it, this isn't such a bad way of life. My body is kept warm, it is provided with clothes as necessary, it is kept well fed, it is provided with exercise. My mind too is cared for; I have access to books - all kinds of books - and study is encouraged in every and all subjects under the Sun. I have access to any kind of music to which I care to listen and I can watch performances of opera, plays, films ... name it and it is provided.

So what am I beefing about? There is one great thing missing from this Utopia and it is named Freedom. The ability to go where I wish to go, when I wish it, dressed as I wish to dress, to select my own friends and circle. I would like above most things to read a newspaper or a magazine and so to know what is going on in the World out there ... somewhere. In short I am not allowed to own myself.

So who does own me? I have not the slightest idea. In the - maybe two years, may be less - that I have been here I have progressed to be the most important item in a collection of highly-prized items. Certainly I have been collected; we have all been collected. But by whom? And for what purpose? Yes, sex does enter the equation; we are selected, extracted, used and returned. But that is not the true purpose of our being held here. Well, for me at least, it has come to be more than captivity just for sex but for the others...?

This high-tech computer on which I am writing this is supplied to me for the purpose of writing these things; in fact anything I wish to write. There is not any kind of restriction or censorship. I don't doubt that what I write is relayed and observed elsewhere but neither objections nor criticisms come my way. But this computer cannot be connected to the Internet and e-mail or fax is equally impossible. We have absolutely no contact with the World we used to know and used to enjoy.

I don't know who he may be. I have not the slightest idea where in the world I am held captive. I am not even sure of the date nor in which year I am living - the computer clock has not been set. It never sets automatically so either we are deep underground or the area is shielded from radio signals.

I was the first; little Lizzy was the fifth and the latest and she has been here only a few months. For several reasons I believe that she will be the last but then ... it can be but a guess. She is finding it hard to accept and most especially the fetters. I understand her feelings and what she is undergoing - it all happened to me exactly the same. I came home from the office on a Friday evening in my neat business suit of skirt, blouse and jacket. The moderate heels were killing me; I hated them but, in that male dominated world, you had to look as required, else you didn't stand a chance. I kicked them off right inside the door before I had even closed it.

Closing the door to that well-insulated heaven produced an instant silence, which I loved. I let fall my insignia briefcase and stood for several minutes leaning against that portal. Then, with stockinged feet, I made my way in blessed non-clack silence to the kitchen and poured a small glass of cool wine. A couple of sips and then to the bathroom where I started the taps running, added bubbles and then moved on to the bedroom. There I indulged in my favourite attire ... complete nudity. It gave such a feeling of freedom to do those things in the privacy of your own kingdom. Just to throw away the rulebook that, too often, bordered on the ridiculous...?

An hour later all-over pink, relaxed and feeling all aglow, I moved back to the kitchen to make a large mug of hot chocolate which I carried to the bedroom. I didn't want to eat but just turned on the television, wriggled into that nightie and slid between the sheets. It was to be the last time I ever saw my favourite nightwear. In the comfort of my own bedroom - and my own bed - I simply loved it. It was soft, voluminous, flowing and next to transparent. In any other place... except possibly a honeymoon suite? It would have been considered downright indecent but, as I said, what I did in my own kingdom...?

I didn't see the end of the film. I became so warm, so sleepy, so comfortable that eventually I reached for the remote and zapped it.

I awoke ... I have little idea of how long I had slept. As I gently opened my eyes I was at first puzzled by the soft lighting and then by what appeared to be vertical bars. Eventually I had to know and started to sit up. That was when I discovered the small polished-silvery chain that was fixed between my wrists. You may well imagine that I finished waking up in double-quick time. As I threw back the duvet that was my only covering I next discovered a similar adornment on my ankles. Now the bars made some sort of sense; I was in bed in a barred cell although it took some time before I queried the double whammy of being incarcerated in a prison cell and also being in chains? Maybe they are not all that restrictive but, nevertheless, chains.

The cell was comfortably furnished; just as any feminine bedroom might be... but... it wasn't MY bedroom. And none of the accoutrements were mine. Even that special nightgown was denied me. I was naked. In that instant to be naked acquired a new meaning. I quickly absorbed the message that my life was to change completely.

I struggled at first with the manacles until I noticed a curious thing about them. They fitted snugly around my wrists and ankles, apparently seamless, apparently without any sign of a keyhole. It looked as though they had been manufactured in place by winding a strip of stainless steel around several times with some sort of superglue between layers. I think it was the realization that I was PERMANENTLY manacled that started the long slow slide into submission.

And that raised another query; how long had I been asleep between turning off the television and awakening in here? And how had it been achieved? Today, several years on, I still have not a single answer. The sleepiness was not so hard to fathom... something must have been introduced into my milk with which I had made that chocolate drink but the how and the when and the why... ? Whoever had carried out the deed must have obtained a copy of my keys but that was an equal mystery.

I had been awake perhaps an hour and was still weaving somewhat groggily around on a tour of inspection when, emerging from the toilet, I found a figure standing outside the bars. He clearly wasn't young but one of those very fit people who defied you to set their age. I reckoned he was not six-foot tall yet he could not be very much short of that if I compared him with my own height and that of escorts I had known. His hair was dark and cut short, brushed straight back; clear cut features and eyes whose colour I could not define. He was dressed casually in jeans and T-shirt.

He unlocked the door and beckoned me to come to him. "Go to hell," I responded.

He stepped forward and held out the cane he was carrying. Suddenly a pale spiteful little blue spark hissed across the end and I stepped back but more startled than afraid. "Do you know the effect of a stun shock?" he asked. His voice was quiet, even, unemotional but disturbingly authoritative. "I've no wish to hurt you in any way but, if you force me to use this, it will definitely spoil your day."

I was smarting however from the indignity of my position; naked, chained, wrenched from my own sphere, ordered about like a puppy and accorded no regard for my position as a human being let alone my status as a woman. And that by an arrogant man whom I had never seen before? I stepped back beside the bed, seized the pillow and hurled it at him with all the strength I could muster. Without waiting for a result I followed through by running for that open door. Even now, with several years' experience of being hobbled, I couldn't hope to make it; on that first encounter I merely ended flat on my face. A searing pain shrieked through my body and I awoke!

I felt horrible. I thought I might be sick but it never happened. I ached in several places as well as my abdominal muscles. My calves and thighs throbbed and my back, on which I was laid, was telling me about the same kind of things. My legs seemed to be raised and something was pressing uncomfortably into the backs of them. When I raised my head to investigate I found that my ankles were lying across a low beam set like a saw-horse about fifteen inches high and they were locked in place by a metal band. The whole thing was extremely heavy and forbade any movement on my part.

I lay there, completely helpless, for a long time and the hard floor was tormenting my sore back muscles. Then I became aware that my captor was with me. "I warned you about the effects of a stun gun," he began. "I'll admit that I didn't need to shock you but you might as well learn from the very beginning. I have no wish to hurt you but you must learn to give me absolute and immediate obedience. I admire your spirit and would preserve it as much as possible... BUT... you will obey. I hope that this beating will convince you."

He picked up a long cane from where it leaned in a corner - it was a bamboo I believe - and positioned himself beside my legs. At first I failed to realise his intention but that was soon corrected as he swung the switch against the soles of my feet. The pain was unbelievable and my back came clear off the ground as I screeched:

"NOOooooh!" But flail as I might I was powerless to avoid the rain of blows that set my imprisoned feet on fire. When he stopped I just lay there and sobbed. He released my feet, picked me up and carried me back to my cell where he laid me on the bed. Never before had I experienced physical violence and it left me shattered. Despite the close contact, I lacked the will to retaliate, to scratch, to bite or beat.

He leaned over me and, in that same emotionless voice: "I trust I have made my point? Disobey again and I will repeat that beating twice a day for a week and, during that time, you will remain on the floor of the punishment room." From his pocket he took a small jar, stood it on the bedside table and left. For all that I have never known him to resort to such physical violence again, he did indeed leave behind him a real fear.

The salve he provided did much to relieve the pain but it was several days before I could walk without severe difficulty. During that time I ground away at my hate, trying to formulate revenge, to work out ways of escape. But by the time my hurt had healed I had come disconsolately to the conclusion that escape was not possible. From the ease with which he had carried me it was clear that he did not need his stunner to handle me even had he just one hand. The restraints that held me could not be released - they were keyless. I was locked in a windowless room closed with steel bars. Not one of my possessions had been transported with me; everything was aimed at disorienting and discouraging me. I was alone and entirely at his command. He controlled me completely and I was helpless.

I was no longer Christine Harrison but this man's toy. I recollected reading somewhere that in Eastern harems, women were beaten on the soles of their feet so that they would not be disfigured where it could be seen. Did not that mean that he valued my appearance? Was I a work of art added to his collection? For the first time in my life, I regretted the good looks that had always drawn attention to me and which I had heartily courted. I had no idea where I was being held; not a sound penetrated to my room. But with me always was the knowledge that I could not court another such beating and just the recollection of his threat to extend it over several days would make my toes curl under me.

My room - or cell - is completely self-contained. I have my own toilet and a bathroom equipped with soap, shampoo, hair-drier, comb and hairbrush. Towels are there too but I was expressly forbidden to use them to cover myself; much though I was tempted to assert my right to modesty I retained a great fear of that cane. I had a dressing table with a full range of cosmetics but it felt more than a little whimsical to sit before that mirror making myself look beautiful while all the time I was obliged to exhibit the nakedness that once had been my private pleasure.

He came at regular intervals to bring me food and, at each visit, he inspected my feet but never spoke. Not liking to have dirty dishes lying around me, I washed the utensils after each meal; he obviously noticed but again did not offer comment.

Perhaps a week passed and I was suffering extreme boredom. There was a whole case full of books and these helped to pass the time but I was not - am not - a creature who cares to be alone. Then, late that afternoon about the time my stomach was informing me that mealtime was imminent, he appeared at my cell door carrying a leather case.

"Good evening," he began. It was the first intimation of time I had received since I last went to sleep in my own bed. "It would seem that your feet trouble you less now?"

"Er... thank you... yes."

"I wish to invite you to dinner."

I was entirely at a loss. Whatever he might have said this was far from my wildest thoughts. And I realised that, far from being an invitation, it had more the nature of an instruction. "Well... it would... certainly... make a change from this place."

He moved into my cell and placed the case on the small table. "About half an hour," he said. "You will please get dressed."

Surprise followed surprise. I held up my hands: "What about these?"

"They can't be removed," he replied. "But these clothes can be assumed without their removal. Apart from your restraints I wish you to enjoy this evening." And he left.

Inside the case I found a floor-length evening gown in dark-green velvet with a heavy full skirt. Beneath it I found also a complete set of underclothes, stockings, sensible shoes and accessories in such profusion that I guessed I was meant to choose. The gown covered my bosom but no higher and so I was able, as he had said, to get into it despite my cuffs. And in concern for my bare shoulders there was an exquisitely feminine shawl or stole that I found irresistible. But I was soon to notice an omission that was forced by the hobble?

With only thirty minutes allowed I hastened through a bath - the time-honoured woman's privilege of being late was possibly not applicable - and in a condition of delight I dressed in my newly allowed finery. The effect was undeniably spoiled by the chains but the hobble at least was hidden from view.

For the first time he was generous and did not return for what must have been longer than his stated half-hour. Make-up did not take long because I prefer to reinforce what Nature has given rather than attempt to re-create and so I was sitting in that long-accepted manner "all dressed up with nowhere to go" when he finally came for me. I rose as he unlocked the door and it pleased me to see that he stood for a long moment and just looked. Then slowly he nodded: "Excellent. You do indeed justify any amount of expense."

Why did I take pleasure in this man's approval? I had been lonely for some time and I have never been a loner. Understand that what he offered was genuine admiration and does a woman exist who can resist that? Maybe not over a longer period, when the character of an admirer has become known, but at the moment of its giving...?

He offered me his arm: "Shall we go?"

Then, on the instant, he stopped: "I'm sorry. I am forgetting. I do not wish you to learn your way around this place. Just until we are in the dining room..." and he withdrew a large black square from a pocket. I realised his purpose before he had opened out the bag and involuntarily stepped back. "Please," he said, "I intend you no harm."

I think it was that unexpected "Please"; certainly when coupled with my new clothes it produced an extraordinary warmth in me and I stood while he pulled it over my head. But my hands lifted as if in a defensive gesture and the jerk of the chain that joined them undid the goodwill. I panicked.

His arms wrapped around me and my head was pulled, gently but firmly, against his chest. He cradled me, rocked me, talked me into a quiet composure and then lifted the hood. "Sit there." While I sat in the chair he fetched the hairbrush and restored order to my "crowning red-gold glory". He brought my face cloth and wiped my face: "Now," he said, "No more tears. Hadn't you better check your makeup?"

The black hood had disappeared. In its place he produced a large white handkerchief: "For this time," he said quietly, "let's substitute a blindfold." That was the first intimation I received that he was not all-cruel indifference. With my hand tucked securely into his arm he led me to that magnificent dining room, with its long polished table and large comfortable armchairs each side of the enormous fireplace in which has always lived a radiant-red log fire.

As we sat by that fire the evening started with a glass of sherry. We moved on to a magnificent meal with a fine wine which he served from an enormous trolley. He followed up with coffee and a liqueur. We sat for a long time after that and talked like any couple might and I fear the alcohol had loosened both my tensions and my tongue. That night, the first night, he did not take me to his bed but eventually returned me to my cell.

"May I keep these clothes?" I asked.

"When I feel that you have accepted the situation I will provide clothes to suit my appreciation of you. Meanwhile, if you will pack them back into the case... until our next evening together."

The combined threat and promise both intimidated and exhilarated me. Nakedness was to be my constant reminder of helpless captivity and yet there was something to which I could now look forward. To my surprise he took my hand, lifted it to his lips and, with unexpected gallantry, kissed the tips of my fingers. "It has been a very pleasant evening," he said. "I thank you... and let us hope that we may often repeat it?" And he was gone.

During the next few days we returned to the previous dreary existence. At regular intervals - or what I thought were regular intervals - he brought me food and drink. He replaced my towels with clean dry ones and brought also a change of bed linen which he left for me to deal with. He never mentioned our dinner evening and, as before, hardly ever spoke. Indeed the only communication between us occurred each morning when he took me to the gym for an hour-long workout. It had been my habit to exercise once a week but the daily routine now imposed on me was not by any means irksome. For one thing I now had all the time in the world to indulge in something which I enjoyed and, more importantly, it helped to pass the time.

With every day being like a Monday I lost all track of Time but I think it must have been nearly three weeks later when my second outing was granted. By that time I was getting used to the chains, my feet no longer hurt and I had learned to walk with short steps so that the hobble did not trip me. The chains were small-linked and not heavy but it was irksome being unable to spread either my feet or, more particularly, my hands. It was to be a long time before I grew so used to them that they no longer remind me of my captive status.

That day, the day of my second outing, I was dozing over a book when I was startled into wakefulness to find him depositing the leather case on my table. "Will you have dinner with me?" It would have been so much nicer had it been a genuine invitation instead of a politely-given instruction but I was not in a mood to argue the point. Almost before he had departed I was running the shower.

He followed the same routine as before except that this time, when he proffered his arm, I had to ask: "No blindfold? No hood?"

"Do you wish for one?"

"Why no. I'm just a little surprised... "

"I've thought about it," he said in a matter-of-fact voice. "It seems very unlikely that you could escape from this room and so... what does it matter if you know your way around... um... some of the place."

I don't believe he meant to frighten me but a cold chill vibrated down my spine; he was assuming that I was there for life. And yet ... could there be any reasonable prospect of his letting me go? The deed could but exchange my incarceration for his own. My only hope for future freedom lay in escape and that was seemingly impossible. These chains he never removed; indeed the only way would be to cut them. My room, more properly called a cell, was always locked and was devoid of any opening such as a window. I was never allowed out of that cell except in his company and I had no chance whatever in fighting against his strength. Even should he make a mistake and I had the chance perhaps to knock him out... the chains would seriously hamper any such attempt and then, afterward, I would still be in the chains. And the price of such likely failure would be that fearsome shock-wand and his cane.

Yes, I was defeated in my Mind and had been broken thus for a long time. Nevertheless that second dinner was even more enjoyable than the first partly, I think, because I knew what was to happen but also because I had been anticipating it. Somehow I had known he would take me out again and then I would be allowed to dress up and enjoy again the feeling of being civilised... although there was always the constant clink of those chains! Then too, during those evenings, he always treated me like a human being and talked to me as an equal; it was evident too that he enjoyed my company. For an hour or two I was able to ignore the fact that I had become a possession, a toy, not a slave required to labour and toil for him but an object whose ownership was prized and one on whom he could call whenever he wished for company.

It had been apparent from the very beginning that he admired me in appearance and, during that first evening together, I knew that he enjoyed our conversation ... as indeed did I enjoy his,

Several times, over the intervening years, have I felt contempt for myself in that I give him gratitude for returning to me such a small portion of the life he has taken from me but, to any who have suffered such a fate, there can be little doubt of the mind-numbing effect of the isolation and the total dependence on a captor. Those short periods of admiration, separated by much longer periods of non-concern, have a devastating impact.

Since he provided this computer I have been able to track the passage of days and weeks although I have, of course, no idea of the true passage of time from that night on which I last retired into my own bed. But, before that momentous gift, I had no idea at all of the length of my incarceration; it was during that period that he brought Meg to join me. I was again reading and dozing in my cell when the sound of a key in the door to the complex brought me to wakefulness.

I rose to greet him but he walked straight past and I saw that he was carrying a young woman, not in the villain's classically accepted over-the-shoulder, but in his arms and with care as he might with a baby. Apart from the steel bars, that separated me from the passage-way in front of the cell, I was within three solid walls - I had tested them all over by rapping with my cuffs - but I could tell by the sounds that he had carried her into an adjacent room.

In a moment he was back: "I could use your help," he said with his usual polite manner of issuing an order. He unlocked my door: "Look after that new young lady. Her name is Margaret but she answers to Meg. At the moment she is unconscious and likely to remain so for perhaps an hour - maybe less. Unfortunately I must leave her for the moment but, if a problem arises..." he thrust a small portable-phone-like unit into my hand; "call me with that."

Up until that moment the passageway beyond my cell had always been in darkness and I had never realised, never even thought about it, that there were other cells beyond. Now he conducted me "next door", locked me in and left me with a most welcome companion although, for her sake, I could have wished it otherwise. I crossed to the bed and looked down on an indeed beautiful young woman, possibly still in her late teens. Like me she was naked and she was chained in exactly similar manner. Her face, framed in a mass of thick long hair similar to my own, looked utterly serene and composed as she slept there but I thought with sadness of how it would change when she awoke to her situation. I knew exactly the fear and anger that would overtake her and I sat myself beside her ready to do whatever proved to be possible.

I sat there for perhaps an hour during which time I found much to think about. Clearly this house was of unusual size and of a solidity which argued some sort of ancient mansion. From my journeys up to the dining room I knew that we were held in an underground complex that, most probably, was built originally as cellars or which perhaps started life as a priest's hole. Whoever he might be this man clearly was not short of funds and so he possessed either a private fortune or a very-well-paid position. But, even were all that were true, then he must run the place without servants? How else could he conceal the presence and needs of unwilling captives?

Meg and myself had been taken, both of us, without warning and had been rendered unconscious for a period which far exceeded our transportation to this place. He had manufactured these fetters in place and, whatever the glue he had used, it had completely cured so as to lose any smell before we recovered consciousness. This argued that we had remained unconscious for several days? There was too the evident care he had exercised over my injured feet and the ointment he provided that had both relieved the pain and hastened their healing. And so I concluded that our captor must be a doctor of some standing. Certainly, in a western community such as ours, to hold a woman or women captive for a long period would be the devil of a risk unless he were capable of caring for them himself. And what if they were to become pregnant?

Meg's return to consciousness was as traumatic as I had anticipated. At first there was confusion as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings; then shock as she discovered her restraints. Perhaps she was more fortunate than I had been in that she had me there, equally naked and similarly in fetters, to offer comfort - although I doubt that comfort can be the correct word. As much as I was able to tell it I gently explained the situation but I was not able to blame her for the flat refusal to accept the hopelessness of our situation.

I remained with her for several hours until he came to return me to my own cell; by that time she was settling-in to a quieter frame of mind. She begged that I stay with her but he insisted. She would have continued but he raised a hand and, probably remembering my warning, she fell silent. However we were able to continue talking around the intervening wall and, by coming to the bars, we held hands for a short time until she consented to go to bed.

The next morning, he awoke me rather earlier than usual and bade me dress myself to rejoin Meg. He explained that he would be leaving us for some hours and wished me to look after her. He locked me in her cell and then returned to bring me my chair. He returned yet again pushing a large trolley which held our breakfast and sufficient food to last us a whole day at least. "I am relying on you," he said quietly and left us. Did he really have to leave? Did he possess the sensitivity to know the relief that would be Meg's was he to leave me with her? I shall never know; I have never known him to explain.

That night, he returned me once more to my own cell but, next morning after breakfast, he returned to fix a large mirror between us on the opposite wall of the passage that allowed us to see each other. In the days - and months - that followed he was increasingly to put two women together and occasionally we all spent time in the one cell. I grew more and more puzzled, more and more astonished at the complexity of this man.

Let it be recorded however that he never again resorted to that shock-wand and the cane. Perhaps because of my intervention Meg never gave him cause for action such as I had brought upon myself but Lynette was to fight him for several days. She tried to reach through the bars, presumably to scratch him, and in the mirror I saw him seize her hand and draw the chain through until he could catch her other hand. He extracted a padlock from his pocket and locked her wrists around a vertical bar then walked away. She remained in that position, totally helpless, throughout a complete cycle of mealtimes and sleep-time which I interpreted as one day. Of necessity she urinated where she stood; as she grew tired so she sank to the floor and was humiliated in her own excrement. He brought her water but left her there without food for another half-day.

Still she refused to give in. After releasing her from the bars he cuffed her hands behind with her wrist-chain wrapped around her waist. He used cord to tie her left ankle back to her thigh, dumped her on her back in the shower and turned on the water. I heard her cry: "You bastard. That's COLD water." But he ignored her as he set about cleaning up ... a matter much to our relief I might say!

When he turned off the shower her voice rose in a continuous invective only to subside with worrying suddenness into a mixture of squeals, moans and gurgles. I couldn't believe that he was strangling her but... why had she escaped the punishment meted out to me? Then he appeared at my door. "Chris. That young lady cannot be left unattended. Will you please take care of her. If it becomes necessary you may of course remove the gag but, if you do so otherwise, you will wear it yourself for a week. She has to learn that, if she will not use her voice for civilised purposes, then it will be denied her. Perhaps you can explain the matter to her?"

Late in the afternoon following Meg's arrival he came bearing, not the expected food, but the leather case that held my finery and a similar case for Meg. "You will grant me your company for dinner?" As always ... an order couched as a civil request.

I have no idea whether he was sending a message that his kindness did not disguise a weakness or if it was simply an indication of things to come... Certainly he could not have feared a concerted attack from the two of us... but, when he returned for us, he was carrying a short length of chain on each end of which was a leather collar. We made the journey to the dining room linked together at the neck.

As we emerged through the sliding panel, that was so well disguised at the side of the fireplace, I saw that a third armchair had been placed; he unbuckled our collars and handed myself into my usual fireside chair and Meg into the new more central one. The dinner ritual proceeded as on the previous dozen or so occasions except that most of the conversation centered on Meg as we both strove to reassure her. Slowly the wine had its effect; clearly she was not used to drink and, as her inhibitions receded, so we learned more of her lost life-style and hopes or fears for whatever she saw as her future.

The dining room was devoid of a clock of any sort and so I have no idea just when he terminated the event. He had crossed to the enormous sideboard and returned with the two collars and their chain. He buckled one about my neck and I heard a distinct click ... had he locked it? He passed the other end over the back of my chair and a second click told me that I was anchored there.

"Time, I think, for bed," he said to Meg; I believe she was too tipsy to really understand and went with him quietly enough. During his absence I tested my captivity but he had been as thorough as usual and it was not difficult to guess his intention. Once Meg had been returned safely to her cell I was to spend another night with him.

I remembered how my first such night was not welcomed but... I had lacked any choice. In truth I was to discover that I had been lonelier than I thought and it had been wonderful to feel a skilled man's hands on me again. He was not intending to use me but was making love. Eventually I relaxed, gave in to my feelings and was given a night long remembered. One of the most memorable parts of that first night was to awake and find myself alone and with my hands locked to the bed by a loop of chain that passed around my cuff chain. I was left too with a keen anticipation of the next such occasion - I had, after all, accepted that I was never to leave that place.

On his return to the dining room his first act was to release me from the collar and then: "Would you care for another drink? It makes your eyes sparkle in such an enchanting manner."

"Is it usual for a Master to flirt with his slaves?" Perhaps I had already had too much and was getting reckless?

He laughed and, with a finger looped under my chin, lifted my face and kissed me gently on the lips: "I have always tried not to break your spirit. But I want you to feel good tonight. You have been so helpful in handling Meg - for Meg's sake, I mean - that I have brought you a present in recognition."

From the mantelpiece he took a slim black case and opened it to reveal an exquisite necklace that surely must have been made to go with this gown and my red hair.

"You permit?"

It is usual for a gentleman, when fastening a love gift around the neck of his lady, to stand behind her, lower it over her head and fasten it at her nape. But this man, as always, was different. He stood before me, passed it over my head and fastened it under my chin. "That click," he explained, "was a lock. You may not remove it unless I supply the key. Do you want to remove it?"

I turned to the mirror, my hand instinctively running over this my present. "Good Lord, no." I could see him watching me through the mirror and none could deny the pleasure his smile denoted. "But ... am I then to wear it all the time? Without any clothes?"

"Does it need clothes to show its beauty. Do you?"

Without even thinking I turned, threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. He held me closely for a while and then untangled me: "You must be careful with that chain," he smiled. "After all, it wouldn't do to strangle me."

"Silly." And then, after a short pause: "But why do I have to wear chains? Do you still believe that I want to escape?"

"I believe that any captive will seize the chance should it offer. But, for me, there are good reasons."

"And may I ask what they may be?"

He remained silent for several beats of a human heart. "There are t... no, three longs which I associate with women."

"Longs?"

"I like women to wear their hair long - and yours has grown a deal longer since you have been with me. It is such beautiful hair too." He drifted his fingers through it raising goose bumps as they touched along my spine. "Don't ever cut it... I will only consider that should it reach the ground and threaten you with tripping. Even then I fancy we will have to devise a way."

"How could I cut it? You never leave me with scissors... not even a blowlamp."

"I'd take your word over scissors but... could you be trusted with a blow-lamp? Would you not try it on your chains, bars... on me?"

"I don't think I could ever.... But that's only one."

"The second long? It's long skirts. I like the grace that a floor-length skirt gives to a woman... both in the effect on her carriage as she manages it and the grace it adds even to the most awkward gait. Then again... the manner in which, as it hides her, so it reveals her true form."

"And yet you keep us naked?"

"Ah... but not all the time. Nakedness deprives a captive of her proper modesty and so accentuates her helplessness. And... with a beautiful woman it also reveals the natural loveliness of her body... beauty that has long inspired painters. But when you grace my dinner table... and talk with such..." He fell silent.

"And number three?"

He waited a moment before he answered slowly. "It just so happens that long chains, depending from a woman's wrists and dragging behind her ankles... it is a sight that drives me crazy. It matters not whether she be clothed or naked. It's a wickedness on my part. You see, the combination of all three..."

"Why," and my voice was so low that I surprised myself: "Why, for all your outward appearance and masterfulness... you're just a boy. A boy who collects dolls. A child who has yet to grow up. Not a concubine... I am a toy."

His brow darkened and I feared that I had gone too far. But, without warning, he scooped me into his arms and set off for the bedroom. "You are more than I could ever have hoped for," he murmured. "Chris... spend the night with me... willingly. This is NOT an order... not an order. Look on it as a humble request that you may refuse if you so wish."

"Will you remove the chains?"

"That cannot be. But if I must buy you... then you shall have clothes... beautiful clothes to match your beautiful body and mind... and your necklace... both day and night." His voice descended to a murmur: "It will be fun to brush that long, long hair... each evening... and then undress you for bed? "

He fell silent. The moment grew and I began to suspect bashfulness. Suddenly his arms tightened around me: "But I must be careful... my dear little minx... you are beginning to turn the tables?"