The Contract
by Kijegam

Chapter 2: Room Service

So far as Ruth knew, the only way to serve drinks while handcuffed was to use the trolley. She had discussed it with the other girls a few times, and they had wondered whether they could hang a tray round their necks, like the women that sell ice cream in the intervals at theatres, but they had not worked out how, with their hands securely chained behind them, they could put this down and distribute the drinks when they got to where they were wanted. So, the trolley it was. Fetters jangling merrily as she moved, the shapely brunette carefully transferred the coffee pot, milk jug and cups to the trolley. Her wrist rings, held closely together by their radio-operated padlock, allowed her just enough freedom to do this without spilling the hot liquid. The trick, she had discovered, was to know the exact extent to which she could move, so as not to try anything that her bonds did not permit. It was the sudden jerk of restraint that caused spillages. Of course, it had taken practice to perfect her technique, but she had had plenty of time. What was it? Nine months now? She seriously wondered if she would be able to do it if her hands were free, so used was she to them being constantly pinioned behind her.

With a rattle of leg irons, she moved to the front of the trolley, and grabbing its conveniently positioned handle she pulled it into the lobby. She did not need to press the lift call button; the electronics on her collar sensed she was waiting and saw to that automatically, just as they opened the doors through which she was permitted to go uninvited. The Estate was well organized like that. She supposed it had to be, given the fact that most of its inhabitants spent their lives in chains.

The lift was taking a while, so Ruth took to considering herself in the mirror. It was a full length mirror, one of the many spread throughout the house. How naked she looked! It always surprised her, whenever passed one of the mirrors, for she no longer felt particularly naked. She no longer thought of it at all. It was just normal to her to have no clothes. She giggled! Unless of course you counted the chains as clothes. They were a uniform of sorts, after all, and a very beautiful one at that. Ruth turned, looking over her shoulder and raising her hands up her back as far as she could, admiring the bright metal of her manacles. The enticing curve of her breast, seen in reflected profile, and the flare of her hips made, she thought, an alluring contrast to the sharp edges of her collar, cuffs and anklets. Turning once more to face the glass, she stretched her legs as far apart as her fetters permitted and jiggled her wrists in their cuffs, feeling the action of the metal that linked her limbs together. Enjoying the mastery of the bonds over her flesh. Noting, not for the first time, the tingle between her legs as she considered her lot. She smiled happily. She had always known that she would love being chained, right from when she had first come to the Estate, but she had not realised quite how much her bondage would come to mean. She looked in the mirror once more, her eyes now drawn to the exposed muff of soft brown hair and the softer still lips of flesh that nestled between her thighs. Pulling somewhat harder at her cuffs, Ruth stared forlornly at her femininity refelcted in the mirror. Exposed, but sadly well out of the reach of her manacled hands. Giving a final, futile heave at her unyielding shackles, Ruth sighed. She loved being chained, but there was always a down side.

The lift opened onto a long corridor, again well furnished with large mirrors. Beautiful mirrors, spreading natural light through the depths of the house, but functional too: reminding the Estate's female staff of their chained and naked state, and providing discrete screening for the many cameras that followed their every move. As a guest had once commented, there is no point in spending a fortune filling your house with nude and manacled women if you are not going to watch them all the time.

Ruth made her way to the study door, the little trolley wheeling smoothly behind her. On arrival she spoke softly, her collar microphone relaying the message: "Coffee, Sir, as you requested." The door opened silently.

The study had always intrigued Ruth. Perhaps it was that it was the inner sanctum of the Estate, from where all the various security, surveillance controls and locks were operated. Or perhaps it was the overpowering maleness of her employer's dominion, with its dark wood shelves and leather seating, its lines of books and its humming electronics. Either way, it made a girl curious. Curious, but also nervous, and in Ruth's case more than ever grateful for the reassuring embrace of her chains. Entering this room she felt like a child who was somewhere she shouldn't be, and about to get into trouble. The metal on her wrists and ankles was her loving parent, giving a welcome restraining hand.

Ruth entered the room, pulling the drinks trolley behind her, and was greeted with a cheery hello from Emily, who was the Master's current PA. Emily stood to greet the new arrival. She was a blonde girl, with smiling grey eyes, hair just brushing her neck, cutely uneven teeth illustrating her grin, smallish breasts, a slim waist and well filled out hips and thighs. Being a female on the Estate, she was nude, and she was shackled just like Ruth, her exposed flesh imprisoned with perfect security in collar, handcuffs and fetters. Further, because she was stationed in her employer's domain, she had an extra security measure: a bright metal chain, its links about an inch long, depended from a radio-padlock which secured it to the front ring of her collar. As she stood, It passed down between her unclothed breasts and snaked sensuously across the floor to a metal ring, about four inches in diameter, set into the base of the wall. Another radio-padlock secured it there. It was a long chain, perhaps twenty feet long, allowing Emily to reach most areas of the room and the small bathroom in the corner, but it did not permit her to come too close to the security control panel set into the left-hand wall.

At the sight of the chain on the PA's neck, Ruth felt a surge of jealousy. The bond was really the most beautiful thing, the way it draped and dangled across the pale flesh of its helpless prisoner, its links reflecting the sunlight from the window. And the way the blonde girl wore it! Seemingly oblivious to its presence, to its restraint, to its barbaric loveliness.

Of course Ruth had herself been confined by such a device, many times, for it was part of the deal when any of the women accepted an invitation to spend time in the apartments of either their employer or one of his guests, that they would be chained by the neck to a metal ring. Ruth well remembered what it felt like to be held captive by such a bond: to feel the coldness of its links against her naked body and to know beyond doubt that, however long the chain might be, it would hold her implacably within its radius, regardless of anything she might do, until a man chose to unlock it. Ruth's eyes followed Emily's chain to its anchoring point, where, she noted, three or four other bonds of various lengths were also secured. They lay roughly coiled, ready to restrain women at a moment's notice. Ruth's pussy itched. Her gaze lighted on the padlock, open, waiting, looped through the end of one of them. God. She pulled silently at her cuffs, trying to maintain composure. She was sure she was gushing down below.

"Ah, there you are my dear. Thank you for the coffee." Behind her, his voice soft in her ear, his breath on her neck, making the little hairs stand on end. She could feel the closeness of him, his bulk towering over her, his power, his maleness. The warmth of his hands, poised half an inch from her hips, ready to grab the narrowness of her middle and draw her naked form back against himself, sliding his fingers forward and down as he did so. Goose-bumps on her flesh, she went weak at the knees.

But she did not turn round, for she knew he was not really there. It was just the effect of the clever , surround-sound speakers in her collar, combined with a poor, naked, horny and helplessly manacled female's over-active imagination.