Chapter 5: Designer Restraints
The silence in the office had lasted for a full minute after Shane left. It was Erin who moved first, uncoiling from the chair with a shaky breath. She looked down at Valerie, still on her knees, and offered a hand. Her smile was weak but genuine.
“Come on. My legs are jelly, too.”
Valerie took it, letting Erin pull her up. The thick rug had left a patterned imprint on her knees. “Be prepared,” Valerie muttered, smoothing her skirt down. “What the fuck does that mean tonight?”
Erin shrugged, but her eyes were alight with a nervous energy. “Nothing good. Or… nothing easy.”
They moved through the quiet house, a shared current of anticipation thrumming between them. Dinner was a surreal exercise in normalcy—roast chicken, roasted vegetables, a bottle of pinot noir. Shane was attentive, asking about their days, discussing a film he wanted to see. He served them both, his touches casual: a hand on Valerie’s shoulder as he refilled her wine, a finger brushing Erin’s wrist as he passed the salt. Each contact was a brand, a reminder of the phone call, of the control he had exerted so effortlessly.
He waited until the plates were cleared.
“Upstairs,” he said, standing. “The walk-in. Both of you.”
Valerie felt a cold trickle down her spine. The master closet was his domain as much as the office; a place of meticulous order where every garment, every shoe, had its assigned place.
They followed him. The closet was vast, softly lit, and smelled of cedar and clean cotton. He walked to the center, where a long, polished brass clothing rod ran the length of one wall. He looked at Valerie.
“Your belts. The black Hermès, the brown Gucci, and the leather one from Florence.”
She retrieved them from their hooks, the supple leather cool in her hands. He took them from her without a word, testing their strength with a sharp, professional pull.
“Arms up.”
Confused, she raised her arms above her head. In one fluid motion, he looped the first belt around her right wrist and then around the thick brass rod, pulling it tight through the buckle until her knuckles brushed the polished metal. She gasped. Before she could process it, he had secured her left wrist the same way. She was standing on her toes, arms stretched high, anchored to the rod by her own luxury.
“Shane—” she started.
“Quiet.” He turned to Erin, who was watching, her mouth slightly open. “You,” he said, his gaze sweeping the rows of dresses. He pulled a few from their hangers—a heavy velvet Valentino, a structured silk Alexander McQueen, a long, twisted Rick Owens gown. “Arms at your sides.”
Erin obeyed, her eyes wide. Shane began wrapping her. He used the dresses like bandages, winding the velvet around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides. He layered the silk over it, tying the sleeves tightly behind her back, then used the long, draped sleeves of the Owens gown to create a complex series of knots that crisscrossed her chest and thighs. He worked silently, with the focus of an artist or an engineer. When he was done, Erin was encased in a cocoon of priceless fabric, immobilized, the dark materials swallowing her form. She looked like a captured bird, wrapped for storage.
“Sit,” he told her, guiding her down to the plush carpet, her back against a lower set of drawers. She wriggled, testing the bindings, but they held firm.
From a storage compartment at the top of the closet, Shane withdrew an object that made Valerie’s breath catch. It was a set of wooden stocks, old and finely crafted, meant for restraining ankles. But this one was modified. It was shorter, designed for thighs.
He placed it on the floor directly in front of where Valerie hung. He opened the hinged top, revealing two carved semi-circles.
“Lift your right leg,” he said, his voice devoid of all warmth.
“Shane, please,” Valerie whispered, the plea automatic.
“Now.”
She lifted her leg, balancing precariously on her left toes. He guided her foot through the stocks, then her thigh, settling it into the cold, smooth curve of wood. He repeated the process with her left leg. Then he closed the top half and slid a heavy brass bolt home, locking it.
She was utterly exposed. The stocks held her thighs wide apart, forcing her weight forward onto her strapped wrists. Her skirt was rucked up around her hips, offering her nakedness to the room, to Erin’s wide-eyed gaze from the floor.
Shane knelt. He ran a single finger along the inside of her trapped thigh, from knee to the very apex of her. She jerked against her restraints, a sob lodging in her throat.
“You both need a lesson in incentive,” he said, his voice low and conversational. He looked at Erin. “She can’t come unless you make her. And you can’t use your hands.” He then looked up at Valerie, his eyes dark. “And you can’t come unless you use her. Properly.”
He stood and walked to the closet door. “The rules are simple. Valerie, you need to climax. Erin, you are her tool. You will not be released until she does. And Valerie…” He paused, his hand on the knob. “If you fake it, I’ll know. And the consequences will make this feel like a picnic.”
The door clicked shut. The lock turned.
Silence, save for the hum of the central air and Valerie’s ragged breathing.
“Fuck,” Erin breathed from the floor, struggling against her silken bonds.
“This is insane,” Valerie panted, pulling against the belts. The brass rod didn’t budge. The wood of the stocks was unyielding against her flesh.
“Yeah, no shit.” Erin’s voice was strained but held a thread of her usual fire. “So. How do you want to do this? Because I can’t fucking move.”
Valerie looked down. Erin was sitting about two feet in front of her, wrapped like a mummy, her face level with Valerie’s spread sex. The reality of Shane’s directive crashed over her. Humiliation burned her cheeks, but beneath it, a darker, hotter current pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
“You’re going to have to… get closer,” Valerie said, the words ash in her mouth.
Erin laughed, a sharp, unsteady sound. “Okay. This is going to be elegant.” She began to rock her body, using her heels and shoulders to scoot incrementally across the carpet. It was a slow, awkward shuffle. The effort made her face flush. After a minute of laborious movement, she was close enough that Valerie could feel the heat from her body.
“Okay,” Erin said, her breath coming faster. “Now what, boss?”
The word, the dynamic, sparked something in Valerie. A shift. This was her task. Her release. Shane had given her this. He’d given her Erin.
“You know what,” Valerie said, her voice gaining a new strength. “Get your mouth on me.”
Erin’s eyes flashed. There was a challenge there, a mirror of Valerie’s own brattiness. But she leaned forward, straining against the dresses binding her arms. She could only move her head and neck. She pressed her face into Valerie’s inner thigh, her nose nudging the slick folds.
“You’re gonna have to help, V,” Erin mumbled against her skin. “I can’t… I can’t reach like this.”
Valerie groaned in frustration. She had to move. She bent her knees as much as the stocks allowed, lowering her hips a few precious inches. Then, using the strength in her core, she began to rock forward and back, grinding herself against Erin’s waiting face.
The first contact was electric. Erin’s mouth was hot, open. Valerie felt her tongue, tentative at first, then more confident, licking a broad stripe through her wetness.
“Yeah,” Valerie hissed, moving again. “Just like that.”
Erin found a rhythm, working her tongue in circles, then flattening it to lap at her. Valerie fucked her face in short, desperate thrusts, the wet, filthy sounds loud in the quiet closet. The pleasure was acute, sharpened by the strain in her shoulders, the bite of the leather on her wrists, the helpless, muffled noises coming from Erin.
“Use your tongue, you little slut,” Valerie commanded, the power of the order intoxicating. “Get it inside me.”
Erin moaned, the vibration traveling straight to Valerie’s core. She obeyed, spearing her tongue as deep as she could. Valerie rode it, chasing the building pressure, the coil tightening in her belly. She was close, so close, the image of Shane locking the door flashing in her mind.
But the angle was wrong. Erin was tiring, her movements becoming sloppy. The peak hovered, maddeningly out of reach.
“I can’t,” Valerie cried out, a sound of pure frustration. “Fuck, I can’t get there like this!”
Erin pulled back, panting, her chin glistening. Her eyes were dark, frustrated. “Then do what he said. Use me.”
The words were a key. Valerie stopped trying to be gentle, to be anything but what she was in that moment—a woman desperate for release, given a tool. She changed her motion. Instead of grinding, she hooked one foot behind Erin’s bound shoulders, pulling her in brutally close. Then she began to fuck Erin’s face in earnest, driving her hips forward, mashing her cunt against Erin’s nose and mouth with a force that was almost violent.
Erin gagged, but then opened wider, taking it, her tongue working frantically against Valerie’s clit with every thrust.
“That’s it, take it, you fucking dress-up doll,” Valerie snarled, the obscenity fueling her. The world narrowed to the slap of skin, the choked, eager sounds from Erin, the blinding need. She looked down, saw Erin’s beautiful face obscured, used, and it sent her over the edge.
Her orgasm ripped through her, a convulsive, shuddering wave that made her scream and pull against the belts. She ground down hard, milking the sensation, until she was spent, trembling, her weight sagging against her wrists.
She went still, breathing in ragged sobs. Slowly, she released the pressure on Erin, who fell back onto the carpet, gasping for air, her face a wet, ruined mess.
The lock turned.
Shane stood in the doorway, taking in the scene: Valerie hanging, limp and glistening; Erin bound and breathless on the floor. He walked in, his expression unreadable. He first went to Valerie, unbolting the stocks, freeing her throbbing thighs. Then he carefully unbuckled the belts from the rod, lowering her arms. She collapsed against his chest, her muscles screaming.
He held her for a moment, then guided her to sit beside Erin. He began methodically unknotting the dresses from around Erin’s body. The fabrics, now stained with sweat and arousal, fell away.
He crouched between them, a hand on each of their necks, his grip firm, possessive.
“You both performed adequately,” he said, his thumb stroking the pounding pulse in Valerie’s throat. “Valerie, you led. Erin, you submitted. But it was messy. It was desperate.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Next time, I expect elegance in your desperation.”
He stood, leaving them there on the closet floor, surrounded by the disarray of their lesson. “Clean this up,” he said, gesturing to the scattered belts and dresses. “Then come to bed.”
He left them in the fragrant darkness, the taste of each other on their lips and the deep, aching knowledge that his preparation had only just begun.