Whips & Chains
CHAPTER 1
Authors Note: A role-play between my favorite Alfred Jones and I. Posted exactly as it was originally written for your enjoyment (and scrutiny.) It is a completed RP, but uploading all of the chapters will take me some time. Thank you for reading.
"Master, Kirkland?" There was a timid knock at the door. Arthur's newest secretary poked her head in to survey the scene before fully stepping over the threshold. She was a hesitant, little thing - nothing like the professional mistresses that strolled from room to room beyond the front lobby. Her shyness was refreshing; something of a treat for Arthur to witness - Submissive.
"Your newest client has arrived. He is- has been prepped and is waiting in playroom #5. This one is aum...a...first-timer." Arthur allowed a daunting silence to fill the room as he finished reading a document of consent. He had been examining it before her interruption and planned to finish before she left. The woman squirmed. "…Thank you Hilary. You are excused."
Arthur sat comfortably for several moments after the door to his office was closed. He was in no hurry. Allowing his newest client to wait was all part of the game. Waiting would build tension. Yes, Mr. Kirkland had all the time in the world to slip out of formal wear and into 'business attire'. Arthur smiled to himself while attempting to picture the body that would be at his disposal for the better part of four hours.
Was his new client comfortably settling into his accommodations? Doubtful. The 'play room' was, after all, quite dark. Not pitch black, but it lacked sufficient light. #5 was only equipped with a lavender bulb which provided an eerie (albeit lovely) glow. The walls were chiseled stone -cold, black and smooth. Fastenings for cuffs were present. And a large, particularly threatening, metal table sat as the room's centerpiece. It was a dungeon; A sterile, modernly decorated, dungeon - The ideal setting for any masochist.
Alfred glanced as his smart phone one more time to make sure he was at the right place before pocketing the device. His blue eyes traveled up and down the street before returning to the building in front of him. His throat felt tight but he forced a deep breath of the cold London air down into his lungs before exhaling heavily, the warm breath misting in front of him.
So this was it... it was his first time in London, and his first time ever entering such a place. The American glanced at his watch, he was a bit early, but better late than never. He tried to swallow his nerves.
The blond walked up to the plain grey building and entered as smoothly as he could, the last thing he wanted to do was trip or something and pull attention to himself. Upon entering, the building was much better looking on the inside, the plain outer face hiding certain elegance. Tiled floors greeted his leather shoes and dim yet warm lights lit his path as he made his way to the small desk just a little ways in.
"H-Hello?" Alfred hated the small stutter that accompanied his words as he addressed the brunette woman sitting at the desk. She was cute, slightly mousy and appeared a little meek, her bangs seeming more for something to hide behind rather than as a particular style. He would probably have attempted to flirt with her, had this been another place.
"Oh," She said lightly, looking up from whatever had been holding her attention on the computer in front of her. "Can I help you?" She smiled cutely, her faint welsh accent unfamiliar to Alfred, but he found it fetching anyways.
"Yes, I have an appointment." He kept his eyes on hers and smiled back, though his anxiety made his eyes want to wonder.
"Alright," she nodded before turning back to her computer. After pushing a few keys she glanced back up at him. "Name?"
"Alfred Jones."
"Ah, yes, we have you right here." She clicked her mouse and typed a few things before standing up. The woman straightened her back and pulled her shirt back into place before coming out from behind the desk. She stood about a head shorter than Alfred. "If you'll follow me I will show you to your room." She smiled lightly before turning around.
"Sure." Alfred followed her, though he paid attention to the way they went through the building he found the silence was only making him more uncomfortable. "So... I didn't catch your name?"
"It's Hilary." She glanced over her shoulder quickly, but kept walking.
"Can you tell me anything about the... person I will be seeing? There wasn't much on your website, not even a picture. I'm a bit curious."
"Master Kirkland? He's well thought of here. His customers always leave happy." She laughed a bit, as though something about that sentence was funny. "Is this your first time in London?"
Alfred chuckled a bit himself. "Yeah, first time. It's different from the States, but I think I'll get the hang of it eventually."
Hilary stopped and pulled a door open before gesturing inside. "Here you are. I'll let Master Kirkland know that you are here. Just wait patiently."
Alfred nodded his head as he went inside. "Thanks for your help." The woman just smiled before closing the door. It was dark in the room, a soft purple light the only thing to see by. He waited for a little, standing still while his eyes adjusted. The room wasn't something Alfred was used to, cuffs and things hanging from the walls, and a strangely intimidating table in the centre of the room, though he didn't really know what it was for.
The blond man took another deep breath, before he started to fidget with the cuffs of his jacket. He wore a white button up, blue tie, tan slacks and brown leather shoes, all under a dark beige coat. He'd had no idea what sort of thing to wear, so he didn't bother to change after he got off work. Alfred had been transferred to the London branch of his company last month. Uprooted from his nice comfy life in New York to somewhere that was like home, but so different he knew it would take him a while to adjust. Every time he talked to someone they always seemed to look at him funny, his accent marking him as a clear stranger. Not to mention he had to take a taxi almost everywhere since he hadn't had time to practice driving on what he still called the wrong side of the road.
Alfred cleared his throat. His mind was wondering. He was tempted to sit down but the only options were the floor or that table and neither seemed appropriate. He looked to the door. How long was he going to have to wait? Not that he really knew what he was expecting specifically. He'd had an... Interest in this sort of thing for a while, but he'd never had the ability to really explore it. It wasn't exactly something the he would consider "normal". Still... with the stress of the move and having to deal with not only being in a completely new place, but not knowing anyone there... he felt maybe this is the time to try something reckless. Alfred shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his nerves starting to build again.
Alfred's waiting room would prove just as silent as it was cold. There was no intercom and no window to allow a glimpse of the outside world. The room's purpose was to gift solitary confinement during the anticipatory moments before meeting one's 'Master'. An occupant could listen with his entire being for days and hear nothing more than his own heartbeat. The surrounding stone walls were Alfred's only companions. They seemed come to life only to observe and readily echo back every movement. Every breath. Every thought. Seconds dragged; trying their best to imitate hours.
When a noise finally penetrated his chamber, it would seem too loud - a welcome, but frightening interruption of internal thought. It had come from the (only) door. A rectangular, metal sheet had slid open near the doors bottom, allowing just enough space for a blindfold, a pen and a small note to slip though. Then, it closed. And Alfred was once again left with nothing but his own mental monologue. The note was composed of fine calligraphy. The ink was rich and the hand that had written it was confident. This was not a mass-produced piece of garbage meant for flocks of costumers. It was personal - It had been written specifically for the occupant in room five.
Sign below to signify you are a willing participant.
Our session will end at half-passed midnight.
Don the blindfold and knock when ready.
Alfred stood in the room alone, still. It felt like ages. He was never a very patient person, but he did his best. He was here voluntarily, and he was paying for a service. He'd get what he came for... it just seemed he'd have to wait for it. Patiently, like the girl said. Even if that time seemed to just make him more and more nervous. What if he had been forgotten about? Or had he done something wrong already? Were they playing a trick on the poor stupid American who had wondered through their doors?
The grating sound of metal on metal shocked Alfred from his thoughts, an audible gasp coming from his lips has he turned towards the door as quickly as he could. A sliver of light, and then it was gone. The blond man hurried to the door and spotted three objects lying on the ground. He dropped to one knee to look at them. The first thing he grabbed was the note, the texture of the paper distinct from the plain old printer paper he was so used to touching. It was hard to read in the dim light, his eyes straining to make out the words written in beautiful lettering.
Alfred swallowed nervously, his mouth going a bit dry. He grabbed the pen, the instrument cold in his slightly shaking hands, and signed his name in his best penmanship, for some reason feeling that his usual sloppy scrawl may disappoint someone with such lovely hand writing. He placed the two items neatly before the slot and grabbed the blind fold, the fabric soft in his hands. Alfred stood up and pulled his glasses from his face before folding them neatly and putting them in his inside breast pocket for safe keeping.
The blond felt his heart speed up in his chest as he put the fabric over his eyes, the already dark room now completely gone from his sight. He tied a secure knot, making sure the fabric was tucked above his ears so it wouldn't droop. He reached out his left hand to find the cool stone wall, a feeling of helplessness threatening to over take him. His right hand found the door. He hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, and then knocked on the door twice before backing up a few steps using the wall as a guide.
The sound of his own heart beating nervously filled Alfred's ears. He couldn't see. He'd been given a choice, and he'd willingly removed his own eye sight. He'd always harbored a secret phobia of going blind, his eyes bad since he was a child. Still, given the situation... he couldn't deny the excitement that was building right beside the fear.
Arthur enjoyed his profession. His work relieved him of stress that the 'real world' regularly placed upon his shoulders. Arthur's nerves were never as calm as when a client clutched at his legs and begged forgiveness. He felt no shame, no pity, and no anxiousness. To him, the ominous halls of his pleasure establishment represented the one thing he craved most - control. He gained no sexual pleasure from his duties. He had little ability to connect to others (physically or mentally) - which left him viewing his clientele as pawns. They were each a necessary task that would allow him peace at the end of the night. He acknowledged this fact dully while pressing through his costume closet to find tonight's attire. His own numb thoughts muted the metal twang of sliding hangers.
He would settle on black vinyl, solely for the way it reflected light over its ebony surface. Tonight, its appearance resonated with him. Arthur was a firm believer that one's attire directly affects their behavior. He was prepared to be everything his client needed. A 'first timer'? That meant one of two things. 1) The guest in room 5 was experimenting - confused and ashamed of his own fantasies or 2) The guest was someone who had been aware and active for quite some time and was looking for a new level of thrill. Regardless of which situation he was dealing with, Arthur was aware that he needed clothing which emphasized his movements with sound. Thigh-high boots, string bikini brief, under-bust corset and a silky, tie. All black, all vinyl. The final touch was a pair of wrist gloves. His customer would not see him, nor feel the flesh of his fingertips. After all, this was a business...and Arthur was a professional.
Arthur would make a point of stopping by the front desk. "Hilary." The young woman jumped. She couldn't help but look over his attire with the shy awe of a virgin. "Y-yes, Mr. Kir-" "-Deliver a blindfold to Five." He reached over the desk, offering her the permission note he had written moments prior. "This as well. I am aware the proper documentation was sent out and returned. But I like to be sure my clients are truly prepared upon arrival. Especially if they've been made to wait." Arthur could have delivered the items himself, but felt no need to kneel when he had a perfectly able secretary to do such menial tasks for him. As she moved hurriedly around the desk to take her leave, he interrupted with another calling of her name. "Hilary. They will be needing a pen." She doubled back, offered an awkward smile and then rushed to do her boss's bidding. Arthur would follow with well-paced steps and patiently waited after the task had been completed.
...Knock. Knock.
Arthur entered sharply. His heals clicked across the stone floor with enigmatic rhythm. There was an elegant scrape as he booted aside the paper and pen that had so considerately been left in his way. No sooner had his stepped halted, than the door behind him was pulled shut and dutifully latched by Hilary. "I am your Master." No polite introduction. No 'You may call me' or 'Good evening.' Arthur allowed a moment of silence before moving to circle his guest. "I would have liked to assume that you have been properly briefed, but my assistant is incompetent. One of her more important and, no doubt, neglected tasks was to inform you that we have a safe word. That word is Aqua." He paused behind Alfred, taking a moment to appreciate the man's broad shoulders and tall stature. "You, at least, seem competent enough to apply a blindfold. Would you say you're 'competent'?"
The sudden sound of the door opening, the pen skittering across the floor, and then of heels on stone made Alfred back up a few steps, though his hand remained on the wall to keep him steady. Still blindfolded he did his best to follow the other person by their sound, not hard considering not only were they talking, but they seemed to be wearing something that kind of squeaked.
The high British accent coming from the other person, he could only assume Kirkland as he had introduced himself as his Master, was another layer of control on his mind. It was foreign, but sounded full of power, something Alfred was sure his voice would never posses. The safe word, aqua, that was quite important, though he admitted to himself that he was slightly insulted. Yeah, this was his first time, but he was pretty sure he could handle anything thrown at him. He'd played football when he was in high school and college; he'd both dealt and received a certain degree of pain.
The voice, still so different from what Alfred was used to, moved around him and Alfred felt his muscles tense when he knew the person was behind him, but he remained standing straight up. The nervousness coiled in his belly like a serpent, intent of robbing him of what bravery he had left. Competent? "Depends on what I'm being asked to do, I guess." Alfred was proud that his voice didn't shake, though he knew his body language tended to give him away even when his words did not. He had a bad habit of hiding behind humor, something he had a sudden feeling wouldn't be all that great of an idea here.
No chuckle would rise from the figure at Alfred's back. Arthur was not amused. There was only a solemn silence before he continued his circling. The lithe blonde would stop dead ahead of his guest, observing the man's sturdy jaw and well-sculpted lips. What a shame that such a pleasant face had been cursed with such an unpleasant accent. Damned Yanks. Surely there was a dose of arrogance lying dormant ahead; the infamous American sense of entitlement. Arthur took personal pleasure in seeking out such behavior and curing it...permanently. "Strip."
No response to his little remark. Nothing. Alfred felt that serpent form into a cannon ball of worry heavy in his gut. Again the person, his Master he guessed, circled him before stopping in front of him. What he was waiting for, the blond had no clue. Silence was heavy in the air, almost like a weighted coat he could feel being laid across his shoulders.
That single word echoed through the room, dominant, a no-questions-asked sort of tone. Alfred hesitated and then backed up so his spine pressed against the wall before bringing his arms up and out of his coat while he toed off his shoes, his socks coming off as well. His hands shook slightly as he tried to fold the bulky coat before setting it down on the floor next to him. He had a decent enough body, slightly tanned and well toned from regular visits to the gym, though he would admit to a little pudge tending to stick around his mid section. Probably all those hamburgers... still, it was not these things that made him nervous. He thought of the scar that marred his chest; the darkly puckered flesh that stretched from just below his right collar bone across his chest to stop just below his ribs on the left side. Alfred pulled at his tie now, the silken cloth coming undone easily as he tugged it from under his collar before dropping it on the pile of clothing pooling next to him.
Alfred took a deep breath. What did he care if some stranger saw him naked? Who knows, he may never come here again. There may be nothing to worry about. A feeling of vulnerability that he was not used to started to creep up into his mind as Alfred undid his belt, pausing to chuckle slightly as he remembered the pair of underwear he was wearing. As he dropped his pants boxer briefs patterned with Union Jacks, a joke-present from his brother Mathew, came into view. The blond man folded his pants as best he could and they too were dropped onto the growing pile.
The American brought his hand to his collar, pushing the buttons through the holes seemed to take more precision then he was used to. "Heh, look away if you have a weak stomach..." The paper pusher muttered. The scar stood out from his chest like a beacon always to remind him of his previous stupidity. Yet here he was, being stupid again. He pulled the shirt off quickly and tossed it into the pile, knowing he could barely fold those shirts when he could see and deciding not to give it a go without his sight.
The man stood, trying his best not to look as worried as he was. Standing around in one's boxers in a chilly room with a complete stranger had a tendency to make one a little... anxious.
Arthur watched patiently. His green eyes shifted from one article of clothing to the next, noting the lack of grace his American guest's fingers displayed. It was fortunate Alfred could not see, as his Master's expression slowly numbed to one of boredom. He had seen this a million times. It was always so tedious - starting a new game. Arthur looked towards the room's surgical table, absently nodding to himself. As Alfred began unfastening his belt, Arthur strolled away, approaching the table's edge and opening a hidden compartment on its underside. There was a wide variety of tools within the table's womb. He chose a basic riding crop, sliding its shape over his palm. In that moment, he was like a doctor admiring his tools before an operation. He traced the edge of the crop's head with his index finger before slowly meandering back to his disrobing client. It wasn't until a little chuckle escaped Alfred that his attention fully snapped up.
Arthur would silently sneer with a mix of disgust and humor as he noted the others choice of undergarment. Was this cheeky yank really attempting to insult Great Britain? Was he really so bold as to stand in Arthur's midst and consider his situation a joke? A lighthearted- 'Heh, look away if you have a weak stomach...' Arthur quirked a brow and uttered a singular, cynical comment: "Careful. You've almost caught my interest."
The scar revealed was beyond anything Arthur could have hoped for. He couldn't help the crooked grin that pulled at his mouth, nor the spark that ignited in his eyes. He was tempted to lick his lips, to reach for the jagged mark of past pain...but...such a childish reaction would have been unprofessional. "Am I supposed to be impressed? I've inflicted worse." Alfred would feel a stern touch of leather against his right shoulder. Arthur's crop trailed across the others clavicle before lifting away and returning with one, swift SNAP. Directly over the others scar. He wasn't going to coo or baby the man for enduring hardships. He wasn't going to gasp with shock or beg the other tell his story. No...Alfred would be treated as a fully functioning toy. Not a broken thrift-shop bobble.
"From this point on, I am 'Sir'. I like the title...and I expect to hear it a lot. I am your God until you leave this room. Your soul purpose is to please me. You will not think. You will do. You will prove you are worthy of my time. You will prove you are a /competent/ pet. Confirm that we're clear."
Alfred didn't even want to think about what sort of things could inflict a scar worse than the one he already bore. He felt his stomach muscles tighten at the touch of the leather instrument, before it cracked across his chest, an involuntary sound rising in his throat, but he smothered it. The flesh stung in remembered contact, it was a quickly fading pain though. The blond felt a rise of shame as the thought of "More." raced across his brain; the word rolling into his mind and threatened to take away his ability to think on his own. This... this was what he wanted: Both a challenge and a complete lack of control. He was a paper pusher, a number cruncher -All day long had had to be in perfect control. Be on time, stay late, get everything done, correct any mistakes made by others before they were sent up to upper management. Keeping track of everything... was exhausting. Lips parted and the words spoken were filled with surrender. "Yes sir."
"Good." The phrase was spoken through a smile. Alfred would feel his Master's leg angle behind his right knee. It was a slick contact, as though a snake was coiling his lower body. The vinyl of Arthur's boot emanated heat, hinting at the flesh restrained within its shape. It seemed so welcoming...right up until it crooked and delivered a piecing heel into the back of the Americans ankle. He would have no choice but lower, palms outstretched with the immanent fear of slamming to cold stone.
"You were inconsiderate with your waiver, leaving it directly in front of the door to be /trampled/ upon. You could have at least placed it in my hand." Arthur stared down at the other; voice suddenly chilled and chins held high. As his guest attempted to recover some dignity, the Englishman carelessly pressed the toe of his boot against Alfred's left buttock and kicked forward. "Retrieve it for me."
Should Alfred try to rise to his feet or even his knees, he would find himself slammed back to the stone via the heel of his Masters boot. "Stay down. Crawl." He could do little more than scramble blindly - providing a show for the humorless Brit beyond his vision. Once his fingertips finally stumbled upon aged parchment paper his efforts were met with a sharp, angry correction. "No. /With your mouth./"