Fascinated

'Oh, please…' Oh, he is jealous… he is-

'Oh, please what, since your express intention all along has been to attract his notice. Well, let me tell you, he noticed and he will come sniffing around you. Only he will find me in your bed, or barring that, he will find irrefutable evidence that someone owns you.'

'Truly,' she murmured, thrilled to the bone by his possessive tone. 'And what will he find?'

He held up his hand, and dangling from his fingers there was a thin gold chain at the end of which was a tiny lock. 'You will wear my chain as a symbol of my possession so no other man can penetrate you.'

She held out a shaking hand to take it. It was such a fine, thin chain that it was a barrier to nothing, and it excited her beyond all measure because it was a tangible sign that she was his mistress indeed and he wanted her body to the exclusion of any other woman. Who would not enchain her body for the pleasure of the man who owned her?

'I will wear your symbol,' she said huskily, 'but he will not come.'

'He was riveted by your breasts, fancy-piece. By your nipples. I saw him.'

'You were there?' She felt triumphant. Not all for naught. Not a waste when it had resulted in this unleashing of his undeniable lust for her.

'Watching you. Watching him. I think this game is over, fancy-piece. I am the only one whose interest you must fix.' He reached out his hand and hooked his fingers in the bodice of her dress. 'The only one for whom you ever reveal yourself.' He pulled, and the bodice gave, freeing her breasts. 'The only one…' He took her nipples one in each hand as her dress dropped to the floor. 'These are mine…'

She caught her breath as he took them, expert now as to how much pressure, how light, how tight, and both at the same time which sent her senses spinning, made her molten with need.

She wanted nothing more than this, to be half naked with his fingers playing with her nipples; from pure innocence to pure passion on the tight hot pleasure points of her nipples.

Just like that, just like that… harder, softer-desire and lust rippled through her body, fusing deep in her core, centering on the skeining sensation from her nipples as he fondled them.

Just her nipples. No where else?

No.

Hot gold now, the feeling, sliding down down down down… yes… hot and thick and bright-gold-enfolding her, enslaving her, pooling deep deep deep, breaking in the center like stone hitting water, and radiating explosively outward, yes, all that heat, all… that… thick, all… that… go-old…

She wrenched away from him, covering her turgid breasts with her hands, and she sank onto the bed. What was that-? What WAS that?

He lifted her hands and pulled the dress away from her breasts, and then knelt so he could remove all her clothes, one piece at a time. Her dress, her undergarments, her slippers, her stockings, the band in her hair.

'A mistress is always naked.'

'When she knows the man who keeps her is coming,' she said tartly, to rip the mood. She wasn't sure she could bear any more this evening.

What he had done to her was more than enough. Her nipples felt irritated, used.

'He is always coming,' he muttered, pushing her on her back and removing her undergarments. 'He is always there.' He dangled the chain in front of her. 'Like all men. Thus, we claim the one we fuck.' He slipped the chain around her waist, and it was then she saw that there was another chain hanging vertically from it. And that chain he looped between her legs just tightly enough so it caressed her there, and he attached it and locked it at the small of her back.

'Stand up.'

She stood, feeling the thin strip of chain keenly. It didn't hurt. It was barely there; but she knew it was there, and that was what made the difference. He had the key, and another man could not get to her while she willingly let him bind her body.

He made her walk around the room. The enchainment was perfect, settling just on her hips and encompassing her lightly between her legs and enticingly in her crease. Now she was wholly his, her nipples, her body, her cunt. And when she was dressed, she would feel him, and when she was naked she would feel him, and never would a moment pass that she wouldn't feel him possessing her in some way.

The thought made him wild. He was hard to bursting to get to her. But the excitement was heightened by his restraint and by her submission to his will. The chain glimmered in the candlelight which cast erotic shadows all over her naked body as she paced around him.

And those breasts, those nipples… he would never get through an hour without touching her. Without… shit-he came. Damn and hell. He ripped open his trousers and let it come, let it spume all over to show her just what she did to him with her nipples and her compliant naked body.

She licked her lips as she watched him. Such a waste when he could have pumped it all into her. But he always said he had enough for her and more. And it would dry. By morning, it would dry, and by morning, he would be dry-if she had anything to do with it.

She pushed him onto the bed and began to undress him.

How many times had he fucked her? She couldn't even remember. All she knew was that it was morning, he was gone, and the slender chain was locked just between her legs where he should have been.

This mistress business is wearing. He's not here enough. I can't get enough. And now this.…

This was Reginald pounding at her door. 'It's nearly noon, Regina. I'm worried about you. You never sleep in.'

'… right there,' she mumbled, grabbing for her clothes.

Five minutes later, she was downstairs in the dining room once more pouring tea, as if it were the second night of a play in which she was a performer.

And that was just what she was doing: performing.

She felt the containment of the chain, and she shivered. Jeremy knew just what he was about. He wanted to make her hunger for him, yearn for him, and what better way than this erotic reminder.

Which she didn't need. She craved him enough already. Her nipples were stiff with wanting his touch just from the memory of him touching her.

Desire was the most insidious thing.

'… theater tonight and… after…' her father was saying.

Oh, it was too much. She didn't care a whit what her father was saying, and she felt so disgraceful, she couldn't even look at him.

'What day is it?' she muttered, her voice muffled.

'Friday, of course,' Reginald said, thinking that the best course was just to ignore her lapses this morning. Better than censuring her anyway, and he hardly had the heart to do that as it was. 'The papers have come, my dear. Do you wish to have one?'

She was scared to death to have one, given the gossip columns, but she took one anyway. Friday. Four days… five?… since she had formed her ill-considered plan to wreak revenge on her father and Jeremy. And look at the end result: her father still believed she was interested in Raulton (did she not predict it?) and she had willingly become Jeremy's mistress.

How had this train of events happened? How had she gone from virgin to vixen in the space of less than one week? And how had she ever lived without that explosive pleasure?

It was enough to make her brain burst, to think about it. All of it. Or plan what to do next. Or deal with the fear there might not be a next.

Well, there would be a next because Jeremy had claimed her. But when he tired of her-it didn't bear thinking about… She opened the paper instead.

The morning line had opened at White's, and marriage prospects were all the talk, his, Raulton was amused to see, in particular.

It wasn't as if he weren't aware of it, but the fun was in seeing who made the Book. It was always vastly entertaining.