Woman In Chains Read online

  Woman

  In Chains

  Bridget Midway

  Published by Phaze Books

  By Bridget Midway

  Adam and E-V-E

  C-A-I-N and A-B-E-L

  Walls

  Fascination Street

  Corporate Seduction

  Corporate Needs

  Corporate Desires

  Original Sin

  Love My Way

  Sodom and Gomorrah

  Suburbia

  Licorice Whips

  This is an explicit and erotic novel

  intended for the enjoyment

  of adult readers. Please keep

  out of the hands of children.

  www.Phaze.com

  Woman In Chains

  Copyright © 2014 by Bridget Midway

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Edited by Kathryn Lively

  Cover Art © 2014 by Fiona Jayde

  First Edition March 2014

  eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-60659-782-8

  Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-60659-783-5

  Published by:

  Phaze Books

  An imprint of Celeritas Unlimited LLC

  6457 Glenway Ave., #109

  Cincinnati, OH 45211

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, Celeritas Unlimited LLC, 6457 Glenway Avenue, #109, Cincinnati, Ohio 45211, [email protected].

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

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  Production by Celeritas Unlimited LLC

  Chapter One

  Dakota Ricci hesitated before patting the hand of the woman sitting across from him at Gertie’s Diner. Dak hated this part of the assignment—the handoff.

  “What’s your name?” He scanned the nearly empty diner while making sure his rescue remained calm. The habit of being aware of his surroundings would never break. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL.

  In a whispered tone, she started to say, “I was called—”

  “No!” Dak didn’t mean to snap at her, but after everything he’d gone through in the last couple of hours, and after what this woman had experienced, she didn’t need to hold onto any former labels. When he saw her jump at his exclamation, Dak softened his tone. He had to remember that he didn’t have a captured enemy in front of him. “I want to know your real name. What name did your parents give you?”

  “Julianne.” She wrapped her small, pale hands around the coffee mug sitting in front of her and hung her head low enough that her chin touched her chest.

  Dak sighed in relief. At least this one acknowledged her real name. He’d saved some submissives and slaves who weren’t ready to give up the BDSM names associated with their abusive relationships. Thankfully the responsibility of retraining them went to another group.

  Steam rose from the mug as Julianne struggled to bring it to her mouth. Dak didn’t have to sit next to her to notice her hands shaking. Coffee splashed outside of the cup and onto her fingers and the table.

  “Sorry. I’m so sorry, Mast—”

  “It’s okay.” Dak cut her off before she called him something that no longer fit him. He pulled out a couple of napkins from the dispenser and helped clean up the mess.

  As though he’d chopped the heads off kittens and set them in front of her, Julianne stared at him with her mouth agape. Dak had to show her that she didn’t have to be stuck in her role. She could break free like he had. She could be her own person.

  “I should wipe up the mess, Sir.” With her slender fingers, she attempted to take the soiled napkins from him.

  “It’s not a big deal. You just relax and drink your coffee.” He held onto her hand.

  As soon as he touched her, Dak noticed how cold she felt, despite it being a fairly warm September night. In the sweatshirt and plaid flannel jacket he’d brought for her, Julianne appeared tiny in the oversized clothes.

  Dak could bring all of the provisions in the world, but there would always be an aspect that fell through the cracks. Even with clothing two sizes too big, Dak still considered the recovery effort a success.

  He set her hand back on the tabletop. She rolled one of the sleeves of her jacket up, exposing her wrist. Seeing the black and green bruises, and the cuts that ringed her bony wrist, twisted Dak’s gut into a knot.

  Discipline and bondage he could understand. Hell, he’d doled out enough of both in his lifetime. He’d left some cuts, welts, and bruises on the submissives and slaves he’d played with in his past. He couldn’t condone or support torture in any form.

  When Gordon contacted him about Julianne, about the abuse she’d endured from her former master, Dak had, as usual, felt compelled to do what he did best, swoop in and rescue her.

  Luckily for Julianne’s Dom, the man hadn’t fought when Dak took her away. Usually confrontations like that didn’t go over very well. Then again, the Dom stood a good foot shorter than Dak’s six-foot-six inch height. Backing down had been the wisest thing the Dom had done.

  As soon as he thought about short Doms, Dak glanced at his watch, wondering what kept Gordon from getting to the pickup place on time. He’d called him almost forty-five minutes ago to let him know he had completed the assignment. Then again, after this handoff, Dak would go back to an empty home...alone.

  “Am I making you late for something?” Julianne flattened the palms of her hands onto the table and kept them there.

  “No. Just wondering where your ride is.” Dak had chosen the table where they sat because it allowed him a great bird’s-eye view of traffic going by the diner.

  Traffic. More like two two-lane roads that met at the corner stop sign in front of the restaurant. The far out country section of Virginia Beach tended to be almost Mayberry-like. Living at a slower pace suited Dak and his new lifestyle.

  “Are you a Dom?” Julianne chewed on her lower lip as she peered at him from under a veil of her dark brown wispy bangs.

  Hoping she asked simply to know how to address him, Dak answered, “You can call me Dak.”

  Julianne stared at him, her large brown eyes drawing him in and making him feel guilty. He had seen this woman naked when he’d rescued her from Master Iron Hand. Maybe she expected Dak to open up to her a bit, too.

  “I’m not a Dom.” Anymore.


  Not since he’d released Lil’ Mary, his last submissive. Releasing her had bruised his ego. She’d desired a type of discipline that he couldn’t accommodate. He could wield a whip and handle a cane like other trained Doms and Dommes. When it came to dishing out verbal humiliation, he couldn’t and wouldn’t do it.

  What had started off with Lil’ Mary as names said in the heat of passion, like calling her his little slut or whore—her idea, not his—quickly became her need for further humiliation.

  The more humiliating the names, the happier Lil’ Mary became, and the more repulsed Dak had become. He blamed his aversion to the derogatory name-calling on his time in Naval Academy training and hearing his commanding officer calling him worthless and stupid.

  When Dak realized that he couldn’t fulfill Lil’ Mary’s needs and they couldn’t come up with a compromise, he’d released her. Last Dak had heard, she now served Master Blade, a Dom known for being mentally and physically rough with his submissives.

  Blade kept a low profile around the local BDSM scene, but if Dak ever caught up with him in a darkened alley, or even in a well-lit, full city street, he would have to shake some sense into the man.

  Dak never thought that releasing Lil’ Mary would make him want to turn away from the Lifestyle completely, the one thing in his life that gave him comfort, control, and satisfaction. He’d never quit at anything. Her release screamed of failure. If he couldn’t give this one submissive what she wanted, how the hell could he be any good to anyone else?

  “I would have pegged you as a Dom.” Julianne twirled her mug around on the table. “How did you know, um, about me?”

  The waitress stopped by the table. Flashing a pleasant smile at both of them, she topped off both coffee cups and asked if either wanted the pie of the day, cherry. Dak shook his head.

  Once he answered, Julianne brought her gaze up and stared at Dak as though waiting for him to give her permission to respond. Old habits, he surmised. Dak sighed. Had she been his submissive, he would have been proud of her response. Since she didn’t owe him her servitude, her hesitation felt more like a punch in the gut rather than giving him that familiar jolt of lightning through his body from watching a properly trained submissive.

  He raised his eyebrows, and the gesture prompted Julianne to respond. She shook her head. Then she went back to staring at the table again.

  After the waitress walked away, Dak continued, “A Dom, Sire Steel, heard from another Dom about you. I guess you and your former Master attended a play party recently.”

  The mention of the party Dak had been told about made Julianne wince as though the rough memory haunted her. Dak had heard about just one instance of this asshole’s abuse of his submissive.

  Although some submissives and slaves liked their faces slapped, a hard punch to the face that rendered a person unconscious qualified as a sign of abuse, especially since other party members had heard her uttering her safe word for the play to stop.

  Dak took a sip of his hot coffee before continuing his explanation. “Someone at the play party informed Sire Steel. Steel contacted me.”

  “Why you?” The more Julianne spoke, the stronger her voice sounded.

  Dak hoped that it wouldn’t take the pale beauty long to find her voice so she could tell her next Dom or Domme exactly what she liked.

  “Sire Steel and I started an organization called SAFE. It stands for Security Away From Extremists. We all understand that BDSM is a lifestyle that can be demanding on a person’s body and sometimes their mind.”

  “Demanding?” Julianne smiled and snorted a laugh.

  Seeing her smile finally made Dak grin like a kid finding the last colored Easter egg.

  “Okay, rough, hard, painful. Overall, though, everything should follow our credo: safe, sane, and consensual.”

  Julianne cringed again and slumped down even lower. “My Master will be so upset.” She fidgeted on her bench seat, wringing her hands and alternating her gaze from the window to the front door and back down to the table. “If I go back, maybe Master will allow me to continue serving him.” She stood, and Dak bolted to his feet, jarring her so that she jumped.

  “Don’t leave.” Dak held her small hands in his. “You should want better for yourself.” He paused, trying to think of the other pat statements he and Gordon had memorized to tell these troubled and abused submissives and slaves. “You deserve to be treated in the way you want to be treated. Did you really like what your Master did to you?”

  Julianne struggled to look Dak in his eyes. Instead she dropped her gaze back down to the floor. Within seconds, he heard her sniffling. She pulled one hand out of his grip and wiped her face.

  “I don’t know what else to do. I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she said between gasping cries.

  A good former Dom would have told her to hold her chin up and be assertive in what she wanted out of life. Being a submissive didn’t equate to being someone’s punching bag.

  A good man would have told her she could be more than someone’s property. She could have her own life and still be a submissive. Even as a slave, it didn’t mean she’d lost her ability to say “no.”

  Instead Dak gave her a pat on her shoulder. Julianne, however, surprised him by pressing her face right into his chest while she sobbed. Dak kept his arms by his side. Scanning the diner, he noticed the two waitresses watching their display. A lone customer at the bar turned to stare at Dak and Julianne.

  Stares like those that made Dak appreciate his solitary sanctuary, away from intrusive people. While she cried, he thought about what he could say to comfort her.

  “Someone is going to take you to a safe place.” Dak swallowed. “There will be other Doms and Dommes there to help you in this difficult period.” To show his support, he patted her back again. “You’ll be retrained. And, when they think you’re ready, they’ll help find a suitable Dom or Domme for you.”

  Julianne sniffed again and peered up. Pink colored the whites of her eyes. In a move teeming with desperation, she grabbed his jacket and moved closer to him.

  “Why can’t you just take me to your house? I could serve you. I could be happy serving you.” She took a couple of steps toward him, and it made him retreat.

  Just few seconds too late, but arriving in the nick of time, Gordon barreled through the front door. Dak released a long, ragged breath.

  “Your ride is here.” He pulled her hands off of his jacket, turned her around to the door, and guided her toward Gordon.

  As usual, Dak’s out-of-shape friend huffed and puffed as he waddled toward him. Gordon adjusted his black horned-rimmed glasses, then smoothed his hand over the few sprigs of hair on his sweaty head. Good thing dominance in the BDSM world had everything to do with state of mind rather than body.

  “You’re late.” Dak positioned Julianne in front of Gordon.

  “I know. I was tied up.” Gordon smirked, showing off his newly-capped teeth. “Actually, I had someone else tied when–”

  Dak held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear it.” He pointed to Julianne. “Julianne, this is Sire Steel. He’ll help you get situated and find you a safe house while you recover and retrain.”

  Julianne had a look in her eyes like she wanted to hug Dak. He interpreted appreciation from her wide gaze. She started to raise her hands in the air and walk toward him. The smile that curled at the corner of her mouth clued him in to the impending embrace. To deter her, he headed to the front door and swung it open for them.

  When Julianne walked by him, he said, “Good luck on your journey. Today is your first step.” More trite words, but he felt relieved she would be out of his hair.

  “Thank you for taking care of me, and for–” The words choked in her throat.

  Dak nodded, not wanting or needing further explanation.

  “If you aren’t one already, you should really think about being a cop.” She offered a sweet smile as payment for the work he’d done for SAFE.

  The intended complim
ent instead felt like a slap in Dak’s face. He didn’t need to hear any comments about a real goal he’d had since leaving the Navy. Dak had felt cold feet about his goal. Just like with Lil’ Mary, he felt he couldn’t be great at being an officer of the law, then he knew he shouldn’t pursue the dream. Why bother going through the disappointment?

  His feet would have to stay frozen for a while. Now that he’d finished his save, he could crawl back to his cave.

  When Gordon walked by him, Dak grabbed his arm. “This is it. Don’t ever call me again to do a job like this. I’m done.”

  ****

  Feeling the pat on her head, This Slave knew the next step. Master Blade’s toughness matched his predictability, which suited her since she had to serve him. She knew exactly what to do, right and wrong. Today she felt obligated to push his buttons.

  “So I told the jerk-offs at work that if they wanted the report done by Friday, then they needed to get off their asses and do it.” Her Master, Master Blade, laughed the loudest in the room full of other Doms, Dommes, submissives, and slaves.

  At this luncheon, submissives and slaves sat obediently by their owners’ sides. Although she and Master Blade were the only African-Americans there, she never felt out of place. The other guests made her feel like a part of the group. She’d never had that feeling of inclusion growing up. The familial feeling warmed her insides.

  Master Blade picked up his glass and shook it, making the ice cubes clink. The signal came through loud and clear.

  “This Slave will get you another drink.” She reached for the glass, then waited, holding it aloft while staring at him. “Master does want another drink, correct?” She watched the vein throb in the middle of his forehead. Her father’s vein used to do the same thing. This Slave fought not to smile.

  “Yes,” he answered between gritted teeth.