What the World Doesn't Now

The Party

It was a charity fundraiser. All eyes turned towards them as the Jacobs made their entry. They always did. Neil and Joe Jacobs made a stunning couple. His muscular, well-built body at six-feet two-inches looked commanding in the perfectly tailored black suit. His left hand was at its familiar place, around the slim waist of his wife's five-feet six-inches frame, her head managing to reach up to his shoulders to rest against them thanks to her high heels. The height of her heels looked incongruous with the modesty of her dress, and the minimal, natural make-up, but she could be forgiven that one vanity. As the wife of Neil Jacobs, she could be excused many more frivolities, which she didn't choose indulge in. Her black sandals matched the black dress she was wearing, which contrasted wonderfully against her pale skin. The lace gloves made her delicate hand look tantalizing.

The look of melancholy in her dark eyes, usually fixed on the ground or at some point in faraway distance; the way she leaned against her husband, her body fitting perfectly in her arms; and the fact that she was never to be seen alone gave a mysterious aura to her persona. Those who approached the couple and managed to strike a conversation found her to be an intelligent and soft-spoken, humble woman. She didn't speak a lot though. Unless someone specifically directed a question at her, her husband usually had to ask her for her opinion before she opened her mouth. She was, as the tabloids had correctly reported at the time of their much speculated about wedding, an editor with a small, independent publishing house, which specialized in literary fiction and narrative non-fiction. The story of how they had met was also well-known. Jacobs' movie production company had picked up the film rights of one of the novels she had worked on. She was present at the launch party of the movie along with her team. Neil Jacobs had also been around.

Anyone trying to steal her away from her husband's side was duly thwarted by him. He found some polite or threatening excuse to tell off the person. Neither of them ever drank at the parties. He would usually pick up a glass of juice, while she would refrain from even that. Sometimes people would find him feeding her a gulp or two of the juice from his own glass. If that wasn't proof enough of just how lovey-dovey the couple was, you had to follow their routine in the parties that involved formal dancing. He would dance with her for the first one or two songs, and then they would excuse themselves. After two songs it would have been rude for them to not allow other partners. They, obviously, were not in the least interested in those prospects.

This turned out to be one of those parties. They were on their way out, after taking leave of the hosts, when they were accosted by a page-three reporter.

"Mr. Jacobs!"

He stopped short and pressed her waist more firmly to ensure that she didn't stumble because of the sudden stop.

"Yes?"

"Would you say that you are over-protective and obsessive about your wife?"

She flushed, but his face remained stony. He gave the reporter a piercing look. "Which newspaper do you work for, young man?" he asked in steely, calm voice. Joe stole a look at the reporter and saw his face blanch. He was intelligent enough to understand the threat and withdrew silently. Her husband turned to her and planted a quick kiss on her lips. The moment was duly captured by another paparazzi lurking around the corner. Then he gently pushed her forward to their car.

He helped her climb in, then took the driver's seat and drove off. He stopped on a curb shortly afterwards. It was then that he restored her to her car-ride bondage. He hadn't wanted to do it in the sight of more prying eyes at the party venue, despite the tinted glasses. That's not the kind of risk he was prone to taking. Since they were going home now, and there was a direct lift from the basement parking to their private chambers, her bondage was going to be more severe than it was while they were coming for the party. He unhooked her right arm first, giving her the freedom of both arms for a short while. With careful motions, she tried to get the kinks out of her recently freed arm. He reached forward and picked up an innocuous-looking plastic box from the glove box. There was nothing innocuous about its contents though. He first took out a black ball gag and tossed it at her. She obediently thrust the ball in her mouth and reached back to fasten to the straps.

Next he took out a pair of industrial strength steal cuffs and manacled her hands. Her wrists now could go no further apart than her hobbled ankles.Then he connected another set of hobble chains between her wrists and corresponding ankles. She had to bend forward a bit, which was an excruciating exercise given her waist-cinching corset. The seat belt didn't make it any easier. But she had lost her voice with the gag and could not complain. To be honest, after ten months of their wedding, she had learned to endure enough that even if she had not been gagged, she would not have uttered a word. She had vowed to be obedient to him. And he knew how to make her keep her vows!

Now that she was bent forward, she could not see what he was doing. After a minute or so, he yanked her hair forcing her head back. When she was almost staring at the ceiling, he let go of her hair warning her not to move her head. Then he forced one of her eyes open and quickly pushed in a lens on her retina. She realized that it was the blinding lens. She could see nothing through her invaded eyes. He repeated the exercise with her other eye, taking away her eyesight completely.

"Relax," he told her then.

She hung her head in front and tried to relax. As best as she could in her circumstances.