A little while ago I reviewed the kinky debut of VN Dare's Claimed. It's been receiving some great attention, and now I'm thrilled to announce the release of Part 3: Bound!
At the end of Claimed Part 2: A Taste of Leather, Caleb left Anna with a choice to make. If you haven't read parts 1 & 2, you'll want to go pick them up so you get all the hot scenes and so part 3: Bound makes more sense!
Claimed Part 3: Bound
On Twitter you can find me @VNDare, and on Facebook, I'm under the same name.
I hugged my journal to my breasts likean old friend I hadn’t seen for years. I’d been a week without it, but it feltlike months. I was torn by two desires. The first was to read the rest of whatCaleb had left me. The second was to run to my bedroom and write the jumble ofthoughts and fantasies down in my recently returned journal. The second impulsewon out. I was too afraid I’d forget something. I grabbed my journal, tuckedthe pages inside and took the whole box into my bedroom with me and laid myselfout on my bed. When I opened the top out to reveal the writing slope, I alsosaw he’d left me three antique dip pens, three modern pens, and two bottles ofIndia ink. I grabbed one of the ballpoint pens and laid my journal open on theangled surface. For a moment, I had no idea what to write. Then my hand seemedto move on its own.
Calebbeat me tonight, Iread. The words shocked me. Had I just written that? I came so hard when he whipped me. I deserved it, though; I was a badgirl. He gave me eleven strokes from the belt and told me I was forgiven. Hecalled me his good girl and held me in his arms. The pen dipped and swirledacross the page, my jumbled thoughts falling from its tip almost at random as Idetailed every moment of the past week like a teenager. No detail was toosmall. Once I got myself caught up on the narrative of the week, I ended with arefrain of the words I’d started the entry with. He whipped me for lying to him. I’m a good girl again. I wassmiling as I wrote the last entry, and a warmth had crept down to my pussyunnoticed as I detailed my week-long ordeal and punishment. I went back to thebeginning and drew a smiley face on a whim, so there was no mistaking that Iwas happy that he’d beat me.
My fingers wanted to dive into mysweat bottoms and play, but I forced myself to keep going. Next I wrote out thefantasies the week had inspired, including a new variation on the Red Dressfantasies that skirted the edges of forbidden territory. When I finallyfinished, I tucked the journal back into the box and slid my hand into thewaistband of my sweats. But for once, fantasy seemed out of reach. I hadn’ttouched myself all week. Frustrated, I rolled onto my side and buried my facein the pillow. Slowly, sleep crept up on me, and I fell into dreams of beingheld by Caleb, my hands drifting downward but never quite making it below hiswaistband.
My text alert woke me. I pushed myselfup on my arms and looked around wondering where I was, and who was supposed tobe with me. The little red light on my cell phone blinked, reminding me whathad brought me back to the waking world, and away from the place wheresomeone’s hand was wrapped in my hair. I rubbed the back of my hand against myeyes then covered my mouth as I yawned. Then the thought hit me. What if it wasCaleb? I grabbed the phone and opened the text screen.
Dreamedof you. Sending a discreet service by today. C. I smiled at the first line. He’ddreamed of me. I tried to imagine what he was doing right then. Was he layingin bed, aroused by thoughts of doing wicked things to me? Or was he in hiskitchen, making breakfast and watching TV, sending me a message on the spur ofthe moment? The sentence after that made me curious, though.
Dreamedof you, too. What kind of service? A.I texted back.
You’llsee. Good girl. Thewords made my heart beat faster. I climbed out of bed and shuffled to thebathroom. If someone was coming to my apartment, I wanted to look decent, evenif they were a total stranger. I’d finished my shower, slipped into a pair ofjeans, a plain gray t-shirt under a navy blue cable knit sweater and hadbreakfast made and halfway finished when the knock came at my door.
The man who stood on my welcome matheld an empty dry cleaning bag and a clipboard. He wore khakis, a sweater andloafers, and his hair had the look that only a salon cut could accomplish. Hiseyes and skin tone showed some Asian heritage, but when he spoke, I could hearIvy League in his voice.
“Good morning, ma’am” he said with awinning smile. “I’m Steven, with Black Tie Services.” He handed me a card thathad the business name, a phone number and a website on the front.
“Good morning,” I said as I looked thecard over. “Caleb said you’d be coming, but he didn’t say what you did,exactly.”
“We take care of your wardrobe.Discreetly, of course.” He gave me a conspiratorial smile, as if we weresharing an inside joke, and handed me the dry cleaning bag and a small envelopewith my name on it. My heart sped up as I recognized Caleb’s handwriting. Withshaky fingers, I opened it.
I’veopened a tab for you with Black Tie to have your pretty red dress andunderthings cleaned. They will take good care of them, and have them back toyou quickly. You looked beautiful last night. I’d love to see you in that dressagain. I will not contact you again until you have decided to go further. Youmust make this decision on your own, with no undue influence from me.