Who's to say how you should find the lifestyle that's right for you.
This is the final chapter in this six part story. I hope you enjoyed it, and I would love any feedback you have.
Thank you to slickNick2412 for his input and suggestions.
*
Pouring out another Scotch into the heavy crystal glass, Chris stood alone in his Study, his head throbbing from too much booze, too little sleep and worry about the woman laying upstairs, chained by her ankle to his bed, her back healing.
The past couple of nights he had fallen asleep drunk on the big leather Chesterfield, too ashamed to face her, his days spent trying to decide what to do.
Realising he was in love with his little captive, and probably had been since he had laid eyes on her sitting opposite him scared and unsure what was going to happen to her, had made him vulnerable.
He had thought that he owned her, but now he realised it was the other way round. She was the one that had control. Total control of his heart. It was a feeling he had never felt before, and it scared him.
He had hurt her, treated her no better than he would a slut, and now she must hate him, while he loved her with every fibre of his being.
If he kept her here, captive and secure, he would see the hate in her eyes when she looked at him, and that was something he didn't want to see. But if he let her go she would run straight to the Police, and his freedom and his life as he knew it would be forfeit.
A mess. A complete and utter mess.
And one of his own making.
Hearing the knock on the Study door he called out for whoever it was to enter. Looking up as he drained the glass of the amber liquid he watched as Dave came in and walked towards him.
"The Doctor's been to see her again and just left. He say's the wounds are healing and there shouldn't be any marks left once the welt's completely fade. Said to keep giving her the gentle sedative for another twenty four hours and then to start letting her up. You want to go up and see her yet?"
"No!"
Settling down into a chair Dave looked up at his friend as he poured himself another drink.
"Look Chris, me and the staff didn't sign on as nurses, she's your woman, your problem, you go up and look after her. She needs her wounds tended to with the balm the Doctor left and it should be you doing it, not me."
Chris looked across the room at the man sitting scowling at him, "What do you mean? You've been putting balm on her wounds? Who told you that you could touch her or look at her body?" a possessive wave of anger started to flood his drink muddled and tired brain as he started to move towards Dave, his fist clenched.
"Whoa, slow down Chris. Who did you think was dealing with her while you sat here feeling sorry for yourself, getting drunk for the past two days? She needed to be looked after, and I haven't noticed you rushing up there to take care of her."
Stopping dead in his tracks, Chris stared at Dave, feeling more of a shit than he had before.
"You're right. It should have been me. I've been so scared to face her though. Has she said anything?"
"Yeah,"
"What?"
"That she wants to go home."
*
Sitting on the side of the bed, the bottle of balm in one hand, the soaked cotton wool in the other, Chris gently dabbed at the couple of ugly red marks on her body that hadn't completely faded.
"How's that feel baby. A little better?"