The Runaway Bride - A Captive Flame Book One (12 page)

It was a kind of
education, I thought, as Krystopher told me about each dish,
filling in with information that the servers didn’t provide.
Krystopher was not just treating me like his personal slave; he was
training me to my position—making me understand how to conduct
myself. My mind spun as I thought of the fact that if he had just
wanted a private slave to have his way with at home, he wouldn’t be
making such an effort; and in the position I had been when he had
caught me in his private jet, he could have demanded anything of
me. I didn’t think he had anything like romantic feelings for me,
but I could tell that part of the fantasy for him, part of his
desire, was to teach me—to develop me into a perfectly respectable
and elegant woman in public, and an obedient slave in private. I
wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it; what to think. Did I
want that for myself? Did I have much of a choice in the matter?
Krystopher had said that I had the right to dissolve the informal
contract between us at any time—but what would he do if I did?

When we returned
home, all my doubts and thoughts of trepidation dissolved as
Krystopher teased me relentlessly to orgasm after orgasm before
letting me fall asleep in his arms.

The next day,
Krystopher had a much fuller plate, and put me to work in a tiny
office attached to his—another door, this one I hadn’t seen when he
had given me the tour previously. He gave me some legal
documentation to scan, and closed the door to the office behind him
as he left me to go to his own work. I read through the paperwork
slowly, feeling both frustrated and intrigued; the paperwork was
nothing I hadn’t seen before in my previous job, but the details of
Krystopher’s business interested me. I learned about the mergers
and the sheer extent of businesses that my Master was involved in
under the umbrella of Danes Enterprises.

My frustration was
mounting in spite of my interest, however; through the door I heard
Krystopher meeting with people, the muffled sounds of voices in
discussion. I knew he was busy, and I knew why I was left to my own
devices—but I found myself hungry for more time with him
nonetheless. I wasn’t sure how much of that feeling was due to my
growing delight in the discipline that Krystopher provided, and how
much of it was because I had very little to really do with
myself—for the first time in months, I was working in name only,
mostly just waiting for the next time that Krystopher would
interact with me.

~

Chapter Nine

~

By lunchtime, I was
fidgeting in my seat, wondering if I quite dared to leave the
office unasked. I didn’t know if Krystopher had people in with him
still—it had gone silent, but that could be misleading. I was on
the point of leaving the room, of acting on my own initiative, when
the phone rang. I jumped—the silence in the tiny office had gotten
to me more than I had thought—and picked it up. “Rhonda Klass
speaking,” I said, remembering at the very last moment that it
could have been someone other than my Master.

“Rhonda, I want you
in front of my desk in the next ten seconds.” My heart was
pounding. I managed to stammer out an affirmative and dropped the
phone, barely managing to make myself hang it up properly in my
haste. I rushed out of the tiny office and through a short, narrow
hallway, bursting through the door and running as fast as the heels
I was wearing would allow to try and get to Krystopher’s desk in
time. He looked up from his watch and shook his head ever so
slightly. “Eleven seconds. I’m afraid I’ll have to teach you to be
just a little bit faster.”

Krystopher stood and
I felt a mixture of fear and sudden, sharp arousal at the thought
of a session of punishment and discipline. He gestured for me to
precede him and I walked to the door that I knew led to his private
discipline room—between the two bookshelves, almost totally
obscured. Krystopher unlocked the door and let me into the room,
and I walked into the center, directly under the chain that dangled
down. Krystopher closed the door behind us, staring at me
speculatively for a long moment. “Strip,” he told me, his voice
firm, and his dark eyes almost cold in their stern expression.

I moved quickly,
pulling off the blazer that he had selected for me that morning and
tossing it aside, uncaring for the moment that the outfit was one
of the most expensive things I’d had on my body. Krystopher’s lips
twitched with amusement and he told me to slow down. I took a deep
breath and steadied my hands, unbuttoning my blouse slowly.
Krystopher’s gaze held onto me the entire time, and my skin tingled
at the sensation of being watched. I decided to do it the right
way—to take my time, to make a show of it, just like I knew my
Master wanted. I slowly undid each and every button, peeling open
the fabric to reveal my breasts, barely covered by the bra that
Krystopher had bought me. I slipped the shirt down over my
shoulders and along my arms, letting it fall to the floor behind
me.

I turned around and
unzipped the skirt, glancing over my shoulder even though I could
feel Krystopher’s gaze still on me—I knew he was watching me
intently. I pushed the waistband of the skirt down over my hips,
letting the material slip and slide against my legs. Instead of
allowing it to fall, I guided it down slowly, bending forward until
my hands came to my ankles. I rose up once more and stepped out of
the skirt, turning to face Krystopher. I was—once more—not wearing
panties. Though Krystopher had bought me several pairs, I was not
allowed to wear them unless he specified my permission to do so;
that was one of the rules he had told me about in our conversations
about my subservience to him. I reached around to my back and
unhooked the bra. Krystopher nodded slightly, encouraging me—I was
already burning up, already crackling with electric sensation from
anticipation. I was desperate to know what form my punishment would
take.

I guided the bra away
from my body and dropped it onto the floor, standing in front of
Krystopher fully nude. He took me in from head to toe, silent for a
long moment that filled me with the kind of dread I had only dimly
experienced as a child, waiting to hear from my parents how they
would punish me. He closed the distance between us and ran his
hands all over my body, caressing and teasing me. Krystopher took
my breasts in his hands and squeezed them firmly, massaging them
while I stood there, trying to decide whether or not I was allowed
to move or make a sound. “These walls are sound proof, Rhonda—did
you know that?” I shook my head. He grinned slowly, a predatory
expression. “This time, you may make as much noise as you like. And
I believe you’ll make plenty of noise.”

Krystopher left me
once more and I trembled, thinking of the sheer volume of
implements the room must have; the lockers that covered the walls
were not small, and I couldn’t imagine many of them were empty. I
wasn’t sure whether I dreaded my punishment or craved it more.
Krystopher opened a locker with his back to me, and I strained to
hear any hint of what might be in store for me, to try and prepare
myself for what would happen in a few moments. I heard the
now-familiar rattling, clinking clatter of different implements,
and try as I might I couldn’t quite picture what might be in the
locker that Krystopher was examining. He slipped things into his
pockets, and I couldn’t see them—I felt my heartbeat start to race,
but in spite of my fear, or maybe because of it, I was getting wet,
my pussy tightening and my labia getting slicker by the moment. If
I could just get through the punishment, if I could last through
the discipline, I would be given a reward. I knew that; it was
Krystopher’s system.

My Master finally
turned to face me once more. In his hands was a long length of
fabric, and I wondered what he was going to do with it—it seemed
out of place next to things like shackles and cuffs, floggers and
nipple clamps. He approached me and gave me a little, wicked grin.
“Part of your punishment will be the fact that you will not be able
to anticipate what I am going to do to you from moment to moment.”
My trembling increased. Krystopher brought the band of fabric up
and wound it around my face, covering my eyes and plunging me into
darkness. I bit my bottom lip, stifling the urge to beg him to
change his mind, to please have mercy on me. It would do me no
good.

Blindfolded, I turned
my head one way and then the other, my ears straining to catch some
sound of what was happening. Krystopher’s clothes brushed against
me as he stepped behind me, and I fought down the instinct to
turn—facing him wouldn’t solve my basic problem, and would probably
earn me even more punishment than the small matter of being one
second late. I felt something cold brush against my ankle; then
something metallic closed around my leg, tightening until it
pressed into my skin. Krystopher spread my legs wider and I heard a
clank as he closed another metal cuff around my other ankle,
trapping my legs in a spread position. His clothes rustled as he
stood, and I cooperated with the inevitable; Krystopher pulled my
arms behind me, settling my wrists against my back. I felt the
coarse, rough brush of rope against my skin. My Master tied my arms
together behind me, winding the rope tightly from my wrists almost
to my elbows, the braided strands biting into my skin. In a matter
of moments, he had rendered me completely and totally helpless; I
couldn’t flee, couldn’t effectively struggle—couldn’t even see. It
was difficult for me to determine whether I was scared or excited
beyond belief; the two emotions mingled so much in my mind that
they almost enhanced one another—my excitement and anticipation
underscored my dread, my dread heightened my sense of anxious
arousal.

Krystopher guided me
across the floor, and I shuffled awkwardly, feeling both humiliated
in my helplessness and intrigued. He bent me forward suddenly and I
fell onto a firm, but yielding surface. It had to be the
medical-type table I had seen in the room before. It struck me that
I had no idea how to orient myself without sight, that everything
sounded much louder—the rattling of the links connecting my
shackles to a bar, the shuffling whisper of Krystopher’s clothing,
our footsteps echoing off of the walls. I started and jumped
slightly when Krystopher’s hands came down along the curve of my
ass, caressing me for a moment with a feather-light touch before he
reached around to position my hips just the way he wanted them. My
ass was up in the air, cold air brushing against my bare skin, my
whole body tight and tense, crawling with my own sense of
vulnerability.

He left me suddenly
and I whimpered—taking the freedom I had to make as much noise as I
wanted—bereft of contact and scared. I was more utterly dependent
on his good will than I had ever been before; even in our previous
session in the room, my feet had been unfettered—I had had some
illusion of agency. Now, however, I couldn’t even begin to imagine
how I could possibly extricate myself if he were to abandon me.

I heard the squeak of
a hinge, the metallic complaint of another locker being opened. I
bit my lip—not to stifle the sounds working their way up my throat,
but to try and hold on to something, to keep a grip in my steadily
mounting fear and arousal. It would be far too easy for me to give
in to Krystopher in the state he had me in, and I knew it. I was
suddenly aware that I would do absolutely anything he said, that I
would submit to everything he might have in mind. The realization
shocked me, though I couldn’t say why; I had submitted to him
completely—or so I had thought—on several occasions over the past
few days. Why should this be any different? But I sensed that I was
entering an even deeper level of obedience, of submission to the
powerful man’s will. I listened as sharply as I could to the sounds
of rustling, clattering, and clinking, trying to make out what was
going to happen to me—just how I was going to be punished.

Krystopher’s
footfalls filled my ears, and I was shivering, trembling, holding
myself in the position he had put me in just barely. I wanted to
beg him for mercy—wanted to plead with him that if he would just
look the other way, that I would never take even a second longer
than he gave me to arrive anywhere he chose. It was a silly
infraction—I couldn’t imagine that he actually minded an extra
second, when I had managed to arrive at his desk so quickly—but I
knew that the infraction itself wasn’t at issue. I had been looking
for punishment—seeking it. And Krystopher was giving it to me.

His hand came down
across the curve of my ass and I yelped—startled by the long
silence he had maintained. I had let him lull me into a state of
feverish anticipation and doubt, a fragile thread that his sharp
blow shattered. His hand connected with my ass with a loud smack,
the sound hitting my ears just behind the sensation of heat and
tingling pain that jolted through my body. Before I could absorb
what had happened, his hand came down again, on another part of my
ass, and I gasped, torn between humiliation, pain, and an
unspeakable lust that rose up from somewhere deep between my hips.
Krystopher brought his hand down again and again, hitting every
part of my ass, until I felt the tingling heat in every nerve of my
body. Every sense I possessed was focused on the spanking I was
receiving—my ears filled with the sounds of his hand coming down
across my skin, my nose smelling the sweat that rose up on my body,
my mouth tasting the tang of my saliva as it flowed with my
arousal. Even my lack of sight became a sense unto itself, absorbed
in the incredibly arousing punishment I was taking.