Chapter 1

 

Belinda smiled nervously, her long, black hair twitching in the slight Arizona mountain breeze as she placed her two suitcases on the porch beside her. For a brief moment she wondered if she should have worn something more conservative than the low cut white blouse and black, knee length skirt currently adorning her petit frame. But she wanted to impress him. She always did. Even her heels were worn to impress the man into whose care she was placing herself.

Shaking free of her thoughts, she made a fist and raised a hand to knock on the door. To her surprise the door opened; there, standing before her was Harper, wearing blue jeans and a tight fitting, white t-shirt, his large frame virtually filling the doorway.

For a brief moment Harper took in her lovely form. "It's about time!" he said.

Instantly she was in Harper's arms, warmly embracing the large man as he held her. "Traffic was Hell!" she told him, thoroughly enjoying the firm warmth of his embrace.

Harper looked up to see the cab leaving his circular drive. He let her go and invited her into his large home. As Belinda bent to get her suitcase he chided her and demanded she leave them to his attention.

Once inside the pair sat down beside one another on his brown leather couch. After quickly hugging him another time she leaned back and looked over the place.

"White and brown, eh?" she mused, noting the simplicity of his home's décor. "No pictures, nothing. Just a couch, a couple of recliners and your television. Just like you. Simple."

He leaned forward and knocked on the oak coffee table. "Don't forget the coffee table."

Belinda smiled and nodded her head as she rolled her eyes. "I'm sure the bedroom is far more opulent."

"Well, yeah. It's where I torture my victims."

"What no dungeon?"

Harper laughed. "I have a work shop out back. It used to be a barn. I make some fun things there. I have a few fun things already made, too." He grinned. "But, yeah, the bedroom is more 'opulent,' as you say." He made air quotes with his fingers.

"Well, I expect the guest bedroom is a bit less dungeon-like."

"Oh, that's so sad!"

Belinda giggled. "I think this time we should keep things on a friendship only basis. The last time I visited you nearly killed me."

"You're just saying that because you had a hard time walking afterwards."

Belinda giggled. "It's hard to walk when every step makes you cum."

He laughed. "I can only imagine. And it's quite a feat considering how much you dislike anal sex, but you should know, I thoroughly enjoyed fucking your ass. Even if you claim to have disliked it."

A snort escaped her and she shook her head. "You're a bad man. It isn't just a claim. It's a fact."

"I disagree about it being a fact. As for being bad: Why, yes, yes I am!"

After a pleasant time chatting, wherein Belinda related to Harper her more recent travails, the pair sat down to dinner. There they made more small talk as they enjoyed a lovely and satisfying meal of chicken, baked potatoes and steamed broccoli.

"I really appreciate you taking me in," Belinda told him. "I was really shocked when you offered - even more so when you bought my plane ticket."

Harper stared at her for a short moment, noting the slight cleavage peeking out from her close fitting, white blouse. Glancing at her form, largely hidden by the dinner table, he thought to times past when she had belonged to him; to memories of other times, long after their breakup, when she had visited and given herself to him for brief moments. He remembered her strapped to a bench, knees brought up beside her head and with arms wrapped round her thighs, wrists strapped behind so she was utterly helpless to be used as he pleased.

It had always been that way with Belinda. She could never give him what he wanted. Nevertheless, he had taken. It was, in truth, what she needed. He knew it. They both did.

"You needed me," was Harper's simple reply. "And I do love you. You know that."

She nodded. "I know. I love you, too." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I do wish I could be what you need," Belinda told him. "It would make life so much easier for us both if I could. And I know you would take good care of me. You already do, and we aren't even together."

"Why did you leave exactly?"

She rolled her eyes, wiping her lips with the white, cloth napkin and placing it on the table beside her empty plate. Belinda leaned back and shook her head. "You always ask me that." She shook her head and laughed. "You know why I left."

"Because you couldn't be a slave. That's what you say."

"And because I couldn't do the things you wanted me to do."

Harper grinned. "You did them anyway. And you liked doing them."

"No. I liked pleasing you. That's why I came like I did. Otherwise," she paused and looked up at the ceiling and back at Harper, "otherwise I would never have let you force me into doing those things."

"Let me?" Harper cocked an eyebrow.

Belinda grinned and pushed back her chair. "Yes. I never would have allowed you to do those things to me if I hadn't wanted to please you, Harp. And, yes, 'allowed' is the correct word."

"Why did you 'allow' me to do those things, exactly?" he asked, sarcastically emphasizing her chosen phrase.

"Because you love me. Because I liked pleasing you, and I know you would never do anything to hurt me." She stood just then, telling him she wanted to get into her pajamas. "Where is my bedroom?"

Harper smiled, wiped his lips with his napkin and stood. "Right this way," he said. Stepping away from the table, he gathered her suitcases and led her to the guest bedroom.

After Harper departed the bedroom, and as Belinda opened her suitcase to remove her things, she took a deep breath and sighed. The man was far too attractive and knew her far too well. Already she found herself wanting. Regardless, she well knew that giving into her wants would be far from productive. There was simply no way she could fathom being what he wanted. Besides, his fetishes were ridiculously beyond her, regardless of the many times she had indulged him. Granted, she had enjoyed herself immensely. But living as he wished was simply too much to imagine.

This time, she told herself, things would be different. She would not fall into the trap of being 'friends with benefits,' nor would she allow herself to hope for something more. Harper was, for all his wonderful characteristics, not the man for her. Thus, no matter how she might want to enjoy his tall, muscular body, she would refrain. So she decided.

 

Chapter 2

 

Once in her loose-fitting blue and white pajamas, Belinda made her way to the living room. There, seated on the couch, and still wearing his blue jeans and t-shirt, was Harper. Handsome as ever, Belinda wanted nothing more than to be with him. His presence alone made her wet with desire. Regardless, she dismissed those wants as she approached, flopping down on the couch beside him.

"Do you remember - way back when - when I wanted to make you into my slave?" asked Harper.

She nodded. "You did make me into your slave. I was your slave for a year."

"No. I mean into a permanent slave."

"You mean with the permanent bondage stuff?"

Harper nodded.

"Yeah. It freaked me out."

Grinning, Harper eased up and reached behind the couch. "I thought you would come to your senses," he said, holding up a set of wide, metal cuffs and holding one out to her. "I made these after I got all set up here. The edges are all rounded so as not to be uncomfortable."

A sudden wave of arousal came over Belinda. She shook it off, though not without effort. "They look nice," she said, taking the proffered cuff and looking it over. "You aren't using them on me, though."

"They aren't round like a lot of cuffs. I made them to fit the wrist. Your wrist specifically. I have a collar, too."

"You still aren't using any them on me."

Ignoring her, Harper continued. "See the hinge and the little holes in the back?"

"Yeah."

"Close it. You'll notice the hinge is invisible."

Belinda closed one of the cuffs and nodded. "Yeah. You can't see it. But how does it lock shut? All I see are the little rings on either side. I don't see a lock."

"Well, I have a couple of little pins that fit inside. They thread in one side and snap into the other." He reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew the pins. "See how the one end is threaded and the other is sort of like an arrowhead?"

"Yeah."

"Once they close the little arrowhead compresses a little. Note the slight notch in the tip?"

Belinda took the tiny pin and held it up to the light. "Yeah. Pretty groovy. But how do you get it apart?"

"You don't. Not without some very careful cutting."

Belinda shivered, her nipples suddenly hard as she realized the cuffs were meant to be permanent. "Is the collar made the same way?"

"Yes."

"I hope you get a chance to use them some day," Belinda said, suddenly avoiding eye contact. She shifted in her seat and handed the cuff back to Harper.

"I have a set for your ankles, too."

"Not my ankles, mister! There is no way in Hell you are making me into a permanent slave." She got up suddenly and stretched. "I think it's time for bed."

"It's nine, Belinda." His voice became suddenly stern. "Sit down."

In spite of her words, Belinda's arousal would not be denied, and she found her will evaporating.

Suddenly on the couch beside him, she shook her head to clear her mind. Briefly recovering, she shook her head. "I can't be what you want, Harp. I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not that girl. I have a life to lead. I can't just be a sex slave, serving you and your wants."

Again, he asked, "Why not?"

"Because it's not me. Because I don't like the things you like. More importantly, I don't want those things. They aren't for me."

Harper smiled and nodded. "Okay." He turned and picked up the television remote and pointed it at the television where it hung on the wall. "What do you want to watch?"