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Chapter 9 - "The Fantasy You’ve Freed In Me"
"What’s it say?" demanded Jayla.
Logan enjoyed his moment of control, showing a devilish grin to let Jayla’s imagination do most of the work of feeding her anticipation. Despite his intention though, his smile expanded from mysterious to gloating and spoiled his surprise when he showed her the nearly blank page. On it were only the words, ‘You choose’ as she had said one note would contain.
"Oh."
"Indeed," he said, still grinning.
Jayla blushed, but she accepted her commitment and nodded. Then, without a word, she lowered herself gracefully to her knees, a sinuous motion that was incredibly sensual in its slow promise. Her lips twitched up in a bright smile though, all doubt banished in favor of joyful expectation. She lifted her braceleted wrists to him, clinking the shiny rings together in both demand and offer. She lowered her head, but only as far as she could without losing sight of his face, her dark eyes glowing through her lashes.
Logan’s first impulse was to tell her to stand up and forget any thoughts of slavery games, but in her eyes, still so beautiful as they looked at him, he could see longing as well as anticipation. This was her fantasy as much as his, maybe even more than his. In fact, definitely more than his. He saw the tremble of breasts vibrating to uneven breaths, the slight flicker of reflections in the polish on unsteady nails held out to him, the quick touch of a tongue at matching crimson lips. How could he pull her back from the intensity of that desire? How could he ignore the heat that held her poised on a razor’s edge of unfulfilled passion?
He wrenched his mind back from his study of his wife’s spectacular appearance to address his own responsibilities, now that they had agreed to this . . . situation. Most of his plans for the week evaporated in the fire of this beautiful woman’s need. He had planned to overwhelm her with romance and revel in her beauty. He had planned shopping trips where she would be required to model naughty lingerie styles, then leave them all behind and go out to candlelit dinners in gowns not quite sheer enough to reveal the ultimate sensuality, that she was always naked under her clothes - that no hidden fabrics were as provocative as her own flawless skin.
But that was his fantasy for her, his concept of what she ‘should’ want, not hers for herself. Her career as a model had long before saturated any sense of magic from clothes, at least for her. But . . .
Logan realized that she had done something with clothes for each of the fantasy fulfillments she had offered him. Only she had not chosen clothes that made her feel particularly sensual, she had chosen outfits that were intended to arouse him; cliché perhaps, with no panties and fetish boots, but quite effective nonetheless. This time, however, she had waited in the nude for him, allowing him to define his own fantasy outfit for her.
His reflections had taken only a few seconds, yet that was long enough he could see doubt creeping into Jayla’s eyes. His hesitation made it seem that he was not pleased with her offer, and in truth he wasn’t entirely sure he was comfortable in the role of master to a beautiful slave girl. Regardless of his confusion about his own motivations, however, it was clear what she wanted, or at least clear what offer she thought he would want to choose in accordance with the permission and directive of her note.
It was a risky game of doublethink actually, where they each tried to guess what the other wanted, sending silent messages of acceptance and entreaty. The risk was contained though, by their mutual love and respect. Each truly wanted the other to be happy, each trusted that any errors would be honest mistakes, made from ignorance not malice. And each knew that they could overcome any less-than-successful experiments. The only true failure was being afraid to try, for that showed a lack of confidence in their own strength.
Another long second of hesitation, an increase in doubt in Jayla’s eyes, a quiver of glossy lip added to the tremble of hesitant breath, but Logan finally reached a new plan, one that was more complex, but more creative as well.
"Okay, gorgeous, we’ll give it a shot. First thing you need to do is go put on that outfit you wore last weekend."
Jayla’s eyes showed disappointment, perhaps, but she stood quickly to obey. "You mean the basque and boots?"
"Oh, no, not quite. Put on that, what did you call it? Basque?
And the stockings and gloves, but find another pair of shoes."
"Heels?"
"Certainly," Logan said, smiling. Before Jayla could say any more, he waved her toward their room. "No more questions. Do what you think is best. No, do what you think I would think is best. I’ve got something else to do for a couple of minutes, but I’ll be in shortly."
Jayla nodded and started toward their bedroom. At first, she moved quickly, trying to complete her orders as soon as possible. After only a couple of steps, however, a smile showed on her face and she slowed down. Looking over her shoulder to see if Logan were still looking, she changed her motion from brisk to languid, rolling her hips with a loose-jointed sway that was rewarded with an audible gasp from her supposedly dominating husband.
When Logan arrived in their room a few minutes later, he found her wearing the gloves and stockings, but struggling with the laces on the basque. He tsked at her and said, "That corset is not nearly tight enough." Stepping toward her, he twirled his finger to get her to turn around, then started pulling on her laces. He didn’t actually pull them that much tighter, his action was intended more as a show of control than any desire to make her uncomfortable. It was snug, though, and Jayla had to struggle a little to change her breathing to a different motion - a very interesting motion as her bared nipples rose and fell above the partial cups of the basque.
"Now," Logan directed when he was finished. "Go get that short leather skirt I like so much, and that loose-knit black sweater."
Jayla retrieved the required items, picking up a pair of tall pumps to go with the all-black outfit. In just a moment more she was dressed, the coarse weave of her sweater hiding the signs of arousal that had been most evident.
Logan’s demands had so far seemed relatively unremarkable, at least now that going without a bra or panties had become common for Jayla. His next command, though, was a bit surprising, and his action even more so.
"Raise your arms above your head," he said. When she had complied, he pulled her sweater up her arms like he was going to take it off. However, he left it raised only to where it hid her eyes and forced her to continue to hold her arms aloft.
Jayla stood there, effectively blindfolded, wondering what her suddenly-unpredictable husband had in mind. In a moment, a part of his plan became apparent - not to her eyes, but to the still-aroused buds of femininity that showed above the basque.
First, his lips teased those buds into even greater extension. Jayla moaned inside the obscuring sweater, sagging slightly against him as he played with the turgid targets of his attention. His fingers pinched the right one - not painfully, more as a way to hold it steady for a moment - then she felt a slight snap followed by a ring of steady pressure. In another moment, the left felt that same series of sensations, no more explicable through repetition.
Logan’s hands pulled the sweater down from her face, but he stretched it out as he lowered it so that she couldn’t see what he had done. His face showed concentration as he considered the task he had set for himself even as one hand reached up beneath the bulky sweater and once again touched a now-throbbing nipple. That was not the focus of his action, though. In fact, he seemed more concerned with poking her sweater out away from her swollen nips than in stimulating them. Not that his touches weren’t stimulating. Very.
"Lower your arms," he commanded.
When she had done so, she looked down to see his hands still manipulating her sweater. Then, poking out through the loose material, a black line appeared. It grew to almost a foot in length, then Logan let it dangle from the very point where her swollen bud poked at the sweater. In moments, another line was drawn from her other aroused nub.
"Cross your arms" was the next command. At first, Jayla pulled them behind herself, expecting perhaps to be handcuffed again, but Logan laughed and corrected her.
"No, just cross them normally in front of yourself. Maybe I should have told you not to wear the gloves so your nails would show, but I have a reason for wanting you to be wearing black on black."
As she propped each hand in it’s opposite elbow, Jayla finally understood what her devious spouse had in mind. The heavy bracelets she wore lifted into position directly beneath the strings that had been led through her sweater. Her surprise was not complete, though, until a moment later when Logan had tied those thin lines to the bands on her wrists.
"Ohhh," she murmured as he stood back. The strings holding her wrists were thin enough she might have been able to break them, but their anchor, not surprisingly now, was definitely too sensitive to use for one end of the required tension.
"What did you do?" she gasped, that motion providing a new tension of its own.
"I put some small rubber bands around your, ah, charms, with fishing line tied to them. The other end is, as you can now see, tied to your bracelets."
"I can’t move my arms," she said, tiny experiments provoking not winces so much as wide shock in her eyes.
"Sure you can," Logan laughed. "Not much, perhaps, but that’s part of the challenge."
He pointed at the bed and said, "Now, go sit down while I do my own thing."
Jayla carefully held her arms crossed while she moved to the bed, but reflexes have a habit of sneaking past good intentions, and she gasped as she tried to sit. "Ow!"
"What’s wrong?" Logan asked instantly.
"Nothing, really," Jayla answered with a rueful smile. "I just, um, tried to make sure my skirt was tucked properly when I sat down. Habit, I guess."
"Well, be careful," he ordered with apparent concern. The grin he wore, counterpoint to the one on her own face though with a very different flavor, made that show less than convincing.
"Yes, sir!" she agreed fervently, but the smile in her eyes showed she was really okay. She kept telling herself that, despite the dull ache from her distended and pinched nipples. That ache subsided somewhat as she sat there, dulling to a sort of background awareness due as much to the rubbing of her coarse sweater on her aroused flesh as to the pressure of the hidden rubber bands. Careful experiments showed she could move her hands a little with the slack Logan had left her, but her options were sharply limited.
Examining her predicament had distracted her from Logan’s own preparations. Jayla hadn’t noticed that he left the room, though she was vaguely aware that he had put on his heeled cowboy boots and flared women’s jeans before he did so. She certainly noticed when he returned, though.
"Logan! What . . . ?"
"Forgot my earrings," he said casually, as though it were not significant at all. Perhaps it wasn’t, at least, not next to what else he had done.
Despite her own commitment never to ask him to wear cosmetics in public again, Logan had made up his face in the intermediate style that had once caused so much notice. In addition, he had run the hot comb through his hair again, making the lock that fell over his forehead tuck under in a way that was just on the edge of what naturally wavy hair might do. That same tuck under was repeated at his shoulders, falling a bit to one side or the other as the thick mass bounced softly. It might have been possible for someone’s hair to seek such a shape naturally, but the net effect was just over the line from that impression, provoking instead a feeling of fashionable artifice - fashionable for women, that is.
And then, his choice of earrings became significant even among the other impressions. Rather than choose the fine loops that just curved around his ear as men often wore, Logan used a soaked cotton ball to dab some alcohol on a pair of Jayla’s earrings, quarter-sized golden circles that were much thicker than any he had worn before.
"Do you like them?" he asked, pulling his hair back so he could see clearly.
"Um, yeah. Sure," she assured him, but her tone was too surprised for conviction.
"Really?" he asked softly, now unsure himself. He had been swept up in his plan to surprise and stimulate her, one step leading to another, each one seemingly forced to push just a bit further the boundaries that had previously seemed so outrageous themselves. All of the sudden, he realized how far he had gone, and like a house of cards collapsing the enthusiasm disappeared from his face.
The look of sudden doubt tugged at Jayla’s heart and she stood to go to him. Unfortunately, that motion tugged in a much more literal way, though at flesh that seemed directly connected to nerves surrounding her heart.
"Ahhhh," she moaned, wincing for real this time.
"Oh, Jayla, I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. Here, let me help you."
"Don’t you dare!" she ordered abruptly. She moved closer to him, her arms still constrained to cross but her lips lifting to caress the ones he displayed. "This is the wildest, more erotic, most fascinating thing you have ever done for me. I love it! I’m sorry I, um, hesitated, but believe me, it wasn’t because I don’t like what you did. I think you look fabulous, and what you’ve done to me . . . "
With that, she blushed and stepped back, pulling carefully but deliberately at her own constraints. "Well," she continued, "let’s just say that tying my arms like this is the *smallest* effect you’ve had on me. It’s a good thing you’re keeping me out of trouble, or I’d be having my way with you right now!"
The light in her smile was proof beyond even her words that she was truly excited by the things Logan had dreamed up. His own face started to regain the energy it had lost, but a frown showed a lingering concern.
"Well, I’m glad you liked it, but maybe I better take those rubber bands off you anyway. They must be hurting by now."
"No," Jayla said, stepping further back. "They don’t hurt, not really. It sort of faded. And it would be a shame to have done such *interesting* things only to undo them as soon as you finished. Can’t we, I mean, didn’t you have any other ideas?"
She tried to put an inviting leer into her question, but in fact her concern undermined the effect. On the other hand, that same concern convinced Logan that she truly did not want the evening’s adventure to end so soon. So despite the unconvincing show of barely-controlled lust, Logan understood and accepted the deeper message.
His posture shifted, not stiffening so much as relaxing in a way that showed confidence instead of concern, and he smiled. "Oh, yes, I have a few other ideas."
"Good," Jayla said, reaching to brush her hair back. Not effectively, however. A grin chased the grimace off her face as she tossed her head instead. It didn’t entirely clear the thick swatch of midnight that still partially obscured one eye, but her better humor allowed her to turn the resulting peekaboo look into a much more convincing seduction than her previous attempt.
Though more convincing, it was not more effective. Logan grinned at her and gestured grandly for her to proceed him down the hall toward the front door. Along the way, he took one of her jackets from the closet and draped it over her shoulders. Now she looked confidently stylish, perhaps a bit haughty with her arms crossed like she were slightly bored with whatever was happening. Haughty or not, she was certainly stunning, this time no less than others with her beauty very much intact and with her model’s legs showing below the short skirt she wore, the tight skirt that had a tendency to ride up she was unable to fully counter despite some very . . . interesting hip wiggles.
"Where are we going?" she asked casually, though a catch in her voice revealed inner tension.
"Oh, I thought we might go to a movie," Logan said with matching ease - complete with the tension-revealing tightness in his voice.
"I, um, might have a little trouble buying the tickets this time, Jayla protested gently, wiggling her fingers.
"Who asked you to?"
"But you, um, . . . "
"I’m fine," Logan said.
He was the perfect gentleman as he helped her with the doors to the house and car. At least, he was a gentleman right up until she flashed a bit more than she had intended as she tried to get into his car without using her hands to control her skirt. Then he gave her a decidedly ungentlemanly leer, which brought a flush to her cheeks and earned him a brief glimpse of her tongue as she stuck it out at him.
When they reached the theater, it was her turn to display perfect manners as she patiently waited for Logan to open her door. Not like she had much choice in the matter. He had parked a little ways from the door so they had just enough privacy for him to help her to her feet, then pull her skirt down for her before they walked to the cashier’s booth.
The woman behind the glass was so busy counting out tickets and change that she barely glanced up as Logan placed his order. Then, in a cartoon double-take, she looked up sharply at the very unusual appearance of her customer. "Fourteen dollars," she said.
"Thank you, ma’am," Logan said brightly, deliberately pitching his voice a little higher.
"Thank you, s. . um . . . thanks," she replied, looking down at the cash he had handed her like it was suddenly fascinating.
Logan just laughed and walked back to where Jayla was waiting. Once inside, they were able to pass through the rope and move toward their theater right away.
"Which movie are we going to see?" Jayla asked.
"Does it matter?"
"Not really," she replied, laughing. Clearly, the evening’s entertainment was not being driven by the action on the screen.
"Let’s get something to drink," Logan suggested, steering her toward the concession stand with a gentle pressure on her elbow. She had little choice but to go along with him, not the least of which was because she was curious about the reaction his appearance would receive.
The harried attendant had even less time to look up than the cashier in the booth and Jayla had just about decided nothing surprising would happen when Logan said, "Here, hold this."
He held a soft drink cup out to her.
Her reaction was to reach for it, prompting a stifled, "ooh." He grinned at the success of his ploy, and she nodded her head in recognition of his tactic. She was about to tuck her hand back into her elbow when she realized he was still holding the cup out to her.
With an ‘I can take anything you can dish out’ sneer, all rancor taken away by the smile she showed in her eyes, Jayla stepped a little closer so that she could reach the cup, then held it near her elbow.
"That was not nice," she whispered.
"Neither am I," Logan whispered back.
"I’m beginning to get that impression," she said, nodding.
Logan motioned her toward their auditorium, making no move to take her cup. She smiled and moved out confidently, letting her hips sway with easy grace despite the stiffness with which she held her upper body. When they reached their seats, she waited until she caught Logan’s eye, then deliberately raised her cup, keeping her wrist within the limited scope available from the strings that constrained her, and took a long, sensual sip from the straw in her drink.
He just laughed, running his tongue along his own lipsticked lips in a countering statement of willingness to accept outlandish things to please her. Before they could continue their silent battle, the lights went down and the movie started. It was a ‘chick flick’ as stereotypically predictable as the action film they had last watched. More time on the long, slow kisses and a lot fewer explosions, but no more taxing of their attention.
The darkness provided an opportunity for Logan to ratchet things up a notch, though. Not long after the movie began, he casually rested his hand on Jayla’s smooth-stockinged leg. She shifted in her seat, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. Logan’s hand gripped her thigh with a warning pressure and she froze in position.
"Don’t you dare," she hissed at him.
"Why not? Are you going to slap my face?" he taunted.
"I’ll get you for this," she said as his hand worked its way up under her inadequate skirt.
"Promise?"
Her response was lost in a soft moan as his fingers found the target she was unable to defend. Before long, she was uninterested in defending it, quite the opposite in fact.
But Logan had no intention of winning his prize so easily. His questing fingers advanced and retreated in tune with her increasingly desperate whimpers, always much better at enticing than satisfying.
"You bastard," she whispered.
"Naughty, naughty," he whispered back. "A lady shouldn’t use such language.
"I’ve never claimed to be a lady," she hissed, arching into his fingers - ineffectively.
"Good thing," he chuckled. "You’d never convince anyone right now that you were."
Her response was wordless, though eloquent nevertheless.
After a while he took pity on her, though not by granting the boon she so eagerly sought. He did, however, put his hand back on her leg and cease the more intense stimulation that had come so close to costing her whatever control she retained. Her squirms in her seat were undiminished in intensity for quite a while, almost frantic for a few moments in fact, but he was apparently oblivious, lost in the flickering movie.
When the lights came up he saw that her hair was unusually unkempt.
For some reason.
"Why darling, are you feeling okay?" he asked solicitously as he reached to brush the dangling strands from her face.
"You are a devious, evil, wicked, outrageous man," she hissed in answer.
"I know," he said with a smug grin.
"God, I love you," she whispered next, smiling with a promise of lust that was this time utterly convincing.
"Good, ‘cause you’re stuck with me," he replied, but he helped her to stand and carefully draped her jacket over her shoulders.
Whatever plans he might have had were interrupted, though, but a group of teenage boys who were draped on and against a chest-high retaining wall near the exit from the theater. With careful casualness, Logan moved so that his wife was on the side away from the young men, all the while moving steadily forward.
"Hey, man, got any smokes?" one asked.
"No," Logan answered tersely. He was watching the boys carefully, assessing the risk. On the good side, they were all still sitting or leaning as they had been. None were moving in way that would allow them to block the path. On the bad side, they were looking at each other with an awareness that said impressing the others might be a motivation where active malice was not.
"Hey, man, no need to get rude," the boy asked. "Maybe you could just loan us some money for some."
"No," Logan repeated, moving toward the parking lot.
"Hey, man . . ," the boy began again, only to be interrupted by a comrade.
"Man?" the second boy said. "I don’t think so. Lookit the dude, Tommy, he’s too pretty to be a man."
"Yeah," said a third. "Maybe he’d give you some money if you offered to kiss him."
"Get real, Parks," the first punk, ‘Tommy’, replied, but the chorus had been taken up now.
"Hey, pretty man, wanna kiss?"
Jayla had tensed up as they approached the small gang. Now she was becoming truly frightened as their mood turned abusive. Logan, put his arm around her and squeezed her reassuringly. Despite their words, none of the boys had moved from their languid positions.
Moving confidently past the young men, Logan said, "Guys, think about it. I’ve got the most beautiful woman you have ever seen with me, and you seem to prefer the company of other guys. Which of us is doing the best at being a man?"
"Yeah, pretty man, we do okay with girls," one of them, maybe the one called ‘Parks’, declared with a sneer.
"Sure you do," Logan said, the laughter in his voice not quite blatant but nonetheless distinct. By that time they were past the group and none of them had yet moved. It looked like they would be content with words.
Jayla’s shoulders stayed hunched in tension until they reached their car. Her fingers clenched ineffectually as she tried not to tug at the strings binding her wrists. Though he never looked hurried, Logan quickly helped her in and reached his own side, locking the doors before he started the engine.
"Whew," he breathed in relief.
"That was not fun," Jayla declared.
"No," Logan agreed. "I’m glad that’s over."
"I’m sorry . . . ," Jayla began, but Logan’s raised hand cut her off.
He smiled to take any sting from his abrupt gesture, but he didn’t relent on his demand that she be quiet for a moment.
"I’m not," he declared with implacable certainty. "I’m glad it’s behind us, and I sure don’t want a repeat, but now that it’s done I’m glad it happened."
"Why?" she asked in surprise.
"Well, for one, it was exciting, in a frightening sort of way," he answered as he put the car in gear.
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