Chaining Hym

Author's note:

This is the sequel to my story Claiming Khym. I hadn't initially planned to go further with these characters, but with encouragement from readers (thank you!) I realized there was more to their story.

As with the first installment, I had assistance with the female perspective. A friend of mine (a Lit contributor) read drafts and fragments of the story as I wrote it. Her assistance was vital for getting inside the head of the female character, Khym. I hope that my writing does justice to that help.

This is a work of fiction. All characters are over age eighteen. Thanks for reading!

*****

"Full house, tens and twos. Pay up, ladies!"

"Son of a bitch!" said James, throwing his cards down in disgust. Kelvin gleefully collected the pot as the others groaned, leaning back in their chairs or staring ruefully at their shrinking piles of chips.

James, though he had lost more hands than he cared to admit, nonetheless smiled. The evening of male companionship, poker, and whisky was the perfect antidote to a rough week at the office. Blues played in the background.

"You're doing well tonight, Kelvin," Marc said. He was the youngest of the group, and the newest addition to their sporadic poker night ritual. "You sure you don't have something up your sleeve?"

Kelvin had finished collecting his winnings and now stacked chips into neat piles. "No. I have something in my pants, though. You wanna see?"

"Sure," said Marc. "Lemme get a microscope or something."

Neil snorted. The four were gathered around James's dining table, well into their second hour of cards. James, who handled his liquor well, was wrapped in the pleasant glow of a mild intoxication. His glass was empty.

"Kelvin," he said. "Your turn to pick."

"Huh? Oh." Catching James's meaning, the stocky man went to the liquor cabinet to peer within. "Did we try the Balvenie? The fourteen?"

"The Caribbean Cask? No." All four men shared an appreciation for Scotch.

"Love this one," said Kelvin, bringing the bottle to the table.

It was Marc's turn to deal, but the group took a break to enjoy the spirit. A favorite blues guitarist played. The track deserved to be louder, but James was too content to get up and adjust the volume.

"Just a touch sweet," James said to no one in particular.

"I can't make that out," Neil said. "I like it though."

James's phone buzzed in his pocket. A rare text on a Friday night. He checked.

Miss you

Khym. Irritated, James pocketed the phone. She knew not to pester him, especially on the weekends. Didn't she have a life?

"Marc, you still bangin' that chick? That tall chick?" This from Kelvin. As the youngest, Marc's sex life routinely was the object of curiosity.

"Yeah," he said casually. "We bang. What about you? You bangin' anyone?"

"No," said Kelvin. "I'm married. Married guys don't bang. It's like you're not paying attention, Marc." Both Neil and Kelvin were known to gripe about their home lives.

"She's alright," Neil said, referring to Marc's girlfriend. "Any chick who'll let you out on a Friday night and bang you on a Saturday is a keeper. Don't lose that one."

"Don't lose her," agreed Kelvin. He took a sip. "And don't marry her."

James's pocket vibrated, announcing another text. Sighing inwardly, he checked it, and almost choked on his whisky. Instead of a text, Khym had sent him a photo of his backyard. The young woman must be in the alley. Incredible. He considered his options. Absolutely, his sub couldn't be ignored. She'd be sure to become increasingly anxious, creating in her mind fantastic scenarios in which James had lost interest in her or found another sub. Equally concerning, she shouldn't be lingering in the alley. James's urban neighborhood was gentrifying but still rough around the edges. A beautiful young woman like Khym would be nothing more than prey.

"What is it?" Neil had caught James gaping at his phone.

Making up his mind, James made a loud, exaggerated sigh. "It's my neighbor. He's hauling out a piece of furniture and wants my help. Just take a few minutes." He rose.

"What?" asked Marc. "It's almost ten. You want some help?"

"No, it's cool, thanks." James turned up the volume on the stereo. "This is a great track!" Before anyone else could object, he popped down the stairs.

James's basement was in transition. The previous owner had laid it out as a kids' playroom. Having no need for such a space, James had pulled up some of the carpet to make room for a workbench. In addition, he had roughed-out a small room that he planned to finish as a wine cellar. For now it was little more than studs, wiring, and a bare patch of concrete floor. A small guest room and bath remained.

Still cursing with irritation, James flicked off the outside security lights and stepped into the late spring night. His eyes slowly adjusted. He caught a glimpse of movement.

"Master," Khym said quietly as James approached. They stood on either side of the chain-link gate that separated James's backyard from the alley. "I'm sorry! I missed you!"

"What the fuck, Khym?" James shook his head in disbelief. Khym had come to the house once with Chip when they were still dating. That must be how she'd known where to find him.

"I'm sorry, Master!" Khym repeated. Dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a torn tee, she looked feminine and enticing. She wrung her hands nervously about, darting a look down the alley before returning her gaze to James. "It's been a month. I... I didn't know..."

"It's only been two weeks, Khym. Goddammit!"

Her eyes pleaded with him. "I want... can I stay with you, please?"

"What?" James was incredulous. "No, no, Khym. We talked about this. You can't stay. You aren't even supposed to be here." It was James's turn to look around the alley. "Go home. I'll call you tomorrow." He turned to go.

"No, no!" Desperate hands clutched at him. "No, please!" There was a frantic edge to her voice that James hadn't picked up on before.

Before Khym could further raise her voice James spun. He clamped one hand across her mouth and with the other seized her shoulder. "Shhhhhh!" Her eyes were wide, feral. Whatever was going on in her mind, he had no alternative. James would have to find some way to take her in. He cursed.

Unlatching the gate, James guided his sub to the back of the house. He pressed his ear against the door and was rewarded with the thumping bass of the stereo. He'd be able to take Khym inside without the others hearing him.

James opened the door before something stopped him. He was treating Khym like a guest, not property.

"Top off," he said.

"What?" Khym took a hesitant step toward the door.

James barred her way with a raised arm. "Take your top off," he repeated, resolve heavy in his voice.

Again Khym looked longingly at the open door, then to James. She lowered her head. "Yes, Master." She wriggled out of her top. Khym's skin looked pale, almost ghostlike in the near dark. A simple black bra protected her modesty.

James felt a tinge of arousal. With two weeks passed since their last session, he was more than ready. He grabbed a breast roughly, pawing the girl's firm flesh through the fabric of the bra. He pinched her nipple hard. Khym gasped.

"Shhhhh," James cautioned. "Be a good pet and don't make a sound." Locking his eyes on hers, James again pinched her nipple. He held it firmly. Khym's lips parted, but this time she kept silent. When her brow knitted in pain, James let go.

"Good. Now your bra."

The girl scrambled to comply, unhooking the bra and quickly sliding the straps down her arms. Her buoyant breasts popped free. Eager to play with her body, but increasingly attentive to how long he had been absent from the game, James merely took in the sight before proceeding.

"Jeans and shoes. Quickly now."

Again, Khym obeyed, kicking loose her sandals before awkwardly wriggling from the tight fabric of her jeans. Amazing, James thought, how quickly a touch of pain made her compliant. Without being told to do so, Khym tugged off her thong panties. She stood naked, protected only by the incomplete darkness of a city night.

"Hands and knees," he said. "Crawl."

Flashing him a brief, unreadable glance, Khym sank to the grass. Her black hair spilled across her back and over one shoulder. The girl's splendid ass was raised invitingly. A flicker of distant light moved across them, followed by the crunch of gravel. Music pounded from an approaching car.

"Crawl," James hissed.

Khym did, passing from the tender grass to the cold floor of her master's basement. The door shut behind her.

***

Her mind torn with conflicting impulses, Khym crawled into darkness. Her knees scraped first against concrete, then the steel and rubber of the door frame. She sensed James close behind, urging her forward before the approaching car again might throw its light upon them. At last her hands felt the carpet. She was safe. Music, dulled to only its bass, pressed in from above.

With a soft click, James flicked on an outside light. Enough wan illumination reached into the room for Khym to make it out. The basement was split. Utilitarian carpet covered one half of the room and continued up the plain stairs to the upper level. The opposite side was bare concrete with a workbench and a wheeled, bright red tool locker. It was in this direction that her master now steered her.

"You missed me, huh?" James's voice was a barely audible but menacing whisper. "Don't say a

fucking

word!" At some point he must have picked up her things. These he threw down beside her.

Khym dared a look at her master. James had a stern, determined set to his jaw. He stared down at her with a range of emotions she couldn't hope to decipher. Anger, certainly. She had been convinced he would be glad to see her. Or was she lying to herself? She missed the man. She missed the certainty of their relationship, the absolutes that made up their shared vocabulary. With James, there was none of the dance that more conventional relationships demanded. No negotiations. He commanded and she obeyed.

Tugging at her hair, James yanked Khym half upright. She tottered, knees complaining against the unyielding concrete. Somehow, she resisted crying out in pain.

"This is what you wanted." Something cold brushed her, bouncing lightly against Khym's back. Before she could puzzle out what was happening, James released her hair and began tying her wrists. Lashing tighter, he moved on to bind her lower arms together, then elbows, then with a final loop, her upper arms. Khym's shoulders were pulled back, thrusting her chest forward.

Still standing behind her, James stroked her face tenderly, then not so tenderly. She felt the press of something rough and unyielding against her cheek. "Or rather," James said, "

this

is what you wanted." It was the collar. Khym could smell the leather, and something of her own scent, the combination both cruel and comforting. She raised her chin, exposing her neck to accept the leather band.

Instead, James tossed it to the floor. It skidded to lay empty on the bare concrete of the garage floor. Her master walked to the bottom of the stairs. He called back to her in a low, flat voice.

"Do you want to wear that again?"

Fear shot through her. What had she done? Khym tried to speak, but found her throat tight. She could only nod mutely. The collar lay stark and lonely, meaningless without the hand that bound it to her.

"Think about it then," James said. His voice carried a hint of fatigue, of disappointment. "I'm going to play cards now. If you make a fucking sound it's over." He trudged to the top of the stairs before stopping again. He flicked off the light. "You better hope I win a few hands."

***

"... no, I'm saying that without struggle, without something to fight for, life is meaningless." Neil was lecturing the others.

"So, hold on," Marc said. He raised his eyes, registering James's return, but returned to the conversation. "You're saying I give you all the money you need, beautiful women throwing themselves at you, no need to work, a big fucking yacht... whatever." He spread his arms. "Everything. And you won't be happy?"

"For a while, of course. But you're going to get bored. There's no purpose, no meaning to it." Neil spoke with increasing animation. The man was several years younger than James, and had a runner's slim build. His glass was empty, but nonetheless he waved it for emphasis. "Life has to have meaning!"

Kelvin sighed loudly, turning toward James. "See what happens when you leave us unsupervised?"

"Does someone need to go into time out?" James spoke with forced humor, but inside a swell of relief surged. There was no sign the others had seen or heard anything of his encounter with Khym.

"Help me out here," Neil said, exasperated.

The group was still assembled at the dining room table, a scratched and weathered slab that James had claimed in the divorce. It still bore the marks where decades prior Chip had attempted to carve his name. He sat.

"I am going to back you up, Neil." He poured a touch more whisky while the others gauged him, unsure whether to expect sincerity or a joke. "Everyone needs something, either work, a challenge of some sort, someone who depends on them..." He let the sentence trail off, thinking of Khym. Exploring the woman's need to be controlled had woken in him something unfathomed. It was more than just sex.

Marc nodded his head in mock acceptance. "There

is

someone who depends one me," he said, emptying his glass. "His name is Johnnie Walker."

***

The door eased shut, muffling the sounds of Neil, Kelvin, and Marc as they argued their way toward the street. James exhaled. The detritus of the evening could wait. He was more than a bit buzzed, and during gaps between the last few hands had fantasized freely about the young woman, naked and bound, in his basement. It was time for play.

Leaving the basement lights off, James navigated the stairs by feel, letting each thump of heel against step hang in the air. Khym would be able to make out his silhouette, but not read his expression. As his own eyes adjusted, James could see that she hadn't moved far from the workbench. With his approach, Khym hung her head.

James said nothing. He stroked Khym's hair, tenderly at first, then grabbed a fistful of black curls. He twisted her head toward him. Her eyes were wide and fearful, searching him for some clue. Still holding her, James fished out his cock. He pressed the full, soft organ against her face, sliding it across her cheek and mouth. Khym parted her lips, but James ignored the offer. Instead, he continued to her other cheek, a trace of saliva on his shaft. He repeated the motion.

"You know I can get laid, get a blowjob, right?" Again, James rubbed his cock against Khym's face, smearing the globs of saliva. He pushed his cock against her eyes and nose. "I mean, I don't have trouble getting pussy."

Khym nodded quietly, eyes downcast.

"So what makes you special, Khym?" He was hard now. "Why should I put up with this? Someone who doesn't listen to what the fuck I tell her?"

"I'm, I'm sorry," she gasped. "I didn't know-"

"You don't have to know! Goddammit!" James pressed the head of his cock against her lips. "You only have to listen to me, do what I say." Still gripping her hair, he began to push. His cock violated her mouth. "Take it."

Khym obeyed, stretching her mouth to accept his eager shaft. Her eyes slid shut. Roughly, James stuffed her mouth with cock. He would take what he wanted tonight. If in the morning she still wished to be his slave he would consider it. She would have to earn back his trust.

***

The wait was excruciating, as much for the press of the unyielding concrete against Khym's flesh as for the gnawing uncertainty. She sat, shifting positions every few minutes, hoping to keep the hard chill from her bones. But no amount of mental gyrations could protect Khym from her own misgivings. Coming to him so impulsively had been a mistake. It was so clear now. Fears played in her head without relent. Fears that he would discard her, cast her away as he had the collar. The minutes dragged.

Now, with James's cock stuffed into her mouth Khym again wrestled with her demons. On one hand, their relationship fell at least partially back into place. Kneeling, mouth stretched to accommodate him, Khym found herself in the comforting territory of sub. She had but to please her man. If she could satisfy him, accept his punishment, and prove her worth, things between them would be set right.

And yet, it was incomplete. He hadn't bothered to collar her. That had been their constant these many weeks. James would collar her before taking his pleasure. With the collar her place was clear. She was his property. Her man would take care of that which he owned. But what of a woman he merely used?

There was no time to consider such abstracts. The organ filling Khym's mouth demanded her attention, would not be denied. She accepted it, the now familiar bulging veins rippling past her lips before journeying deeper, the steadying presence of James's hand clenching her hair, keeping her mouth in the optimal position. The older man pulled out before plunging forward yet again.

Khym remembered one recent session. James had lain, almost passively, while she sucked him to the brink of release. With his hands curled into her hair there had been the ever-present possibility of a correction, but he hadn't forced himself into her mouth that day. Instead, careful to recall every clue her master had offered her, Khym had relentlessly pleasured him. With plenty of attention to his plump balls, and doing her best not to gag when his cock jerked and bucked into her mouth, Khym had coaxed a crashingly powerful orgasm out of James. Her mouth had filled with thick seed as her man howled with ecstasy.

Their encounter tonight would follow no such script. Angry and buzzed, James was in no mood to let Khym control their encounter. Rather than let her adjust her position to please him, the older man kept a painful grip on her hair while pumping her mouth like he might her pussy. Again and again his cock invaded the back of her throat. Khym nearly retched.

"That's right," James said. "Offer up your mouth."

"Guh, guh, guh..." The rhythmic sound of Khym's gagging filled the room. Saliva flowed in thick strands down her chin and neck, sometimes swinging free to slap against her breasts. She was at her limit. And yet, hope surged in her. The familiar contours of his cock comforted her even as the fat organ tested her abilities. James was ragingly hard. The man still wanted her.

***

"Fuck," James groaned. He pulled free, his cock springing up eagerly. Khym, crouching before him, looked up, desperation in her eyes. The girl's face was slick with saliva and tears.

"You didn't answer my question." James pressed his cock against her face.

"Wh-what question?" She searched him for any clue.

"What's special about you?" His eyes bored into her. "Why should I put up with your shit?"

"I... I... I don't know, master."

"No," agreed James. "I don't know either." He pressed his cock against her cheek, smearing her makeup. "Except..."

"What?" Khym clung desperately to the possibility of an answer.

"You give yourself to me completely. Not just your mouth and your pussy." James eyed her, an even deeper arousal growing within him.

"Yes!" Khym's eyes were bright. "Yes, everything!"

"Stand then," James said, yanking his sub to her feet. Her eyes flickered toward the collar, still laying empty on the floor. "You want that?"