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night.
        The blindfold stayed, no matter how much she ranted at her captor to remove it. He took to caning her if she mentioned it too often. This was not your ordinary blindfold. Although fabric-covered and reasonably comfortable, it was more like a formfitting mask than a standard blindfold and it seemed to lock in back, although she couldn't say for sure since she was never allowed to touch it. Overtime, its unrelenting presence had become oppressive. Her hands were only free when her captor was in the room with her. And the one time she attempted to shove the blindfold off her face, he caught her, stopped her, bound her hands behind her back again and made her belly crawl around the room while he whipped her until she understood the price she'd pay for violating this key rule.
    "Don't fuck with me, doll. You ain't gonna win and you'll only piss me off."
        He had a way of making his wishes stick; the duration of the pain was more than she could bear. She refused to try that stunt again and instead, tried to plead her case – which didn't get her much better treatment. Thus, even when it might have been possible to remove the blindfold, she didn't try. She learned instead to move with ease about the almost empty room, as if guided by a sixth sense.
        Returning now from the papers on which she peed, she stopped no less than three feet from the man and waited like an obedient dog for her next command.
        "Here, hold them in your hands." She felt something dangling before her and reached up, although on first touching the object, her fingers immediately recoiled as if she'd just touched hot coals. It wasn't heat she felt, but the cold chill of metal. "C'mon, take them," he urged. She reached out again and felt the weight of iron shackles make her cupped hands sink to the floor.
        "What—?" she looked up in wonder.
        "Pick 'em up, feel them. I want to know what you think." This time lifting the heavy weight, her grasp didn't weaken and she quickly identified the objects.
        "Shackles," he confirmed.
        The fact was obvious, and her hands grew hot as the truth dawned on her beleaguered mind.
        "Two pairs." She could hear the familiar note of triumph in his voice. "Smell them. Put them to your nose and smell them."
        The raw, cold, untainted smells of steel and new leather seeped through her body like an insidious aphrodisiac. To be so peculiarly aroused, when her initial impression was complete revulsion, seemed very odd.
        "What are you going to do?" she asked, in a voice so soft it almost seemed as if she was in a trance. With her hands continuing their journey over the thick shackles, her body heat was rising fast.
        "What do you think?" He was suddenly on her, clamping her wrists inside the cuffs and following with her ankles. He then connected one wrist to another with a connecting chain, one ankle to the other with another heavy chain. Once he finished, she sat back, kneeling as before, realizing only then what the heavy weight of the cuffs would require of her when she tried to move.
        "You are lovely?" he stood above her and walked around. She could see his smile in her mind's eye, the same gloating smile that appeared tauntingly in her dreams. "You're so damn pretty. About the sexiest slave I've ever owned."
        He'd never referred to her that way, and she immediately blanched, angrily blurting out, "You don't own me!"
        He laughed again, mocking her petulant outburst with a fresh dose of scorn.
        "Please, won't you please stop!"
        "Stop what? Admiring my prize? Keeping you bound? Teasing the desire from your hungry body? What should I stop doing?" His mocking voice seemed to leap out and grab her by the throat. "Which of my foul passions would you have me put on hold?"
        "Oh, you will be found…" she fumed.
        "And that is where you're wrong. I fly way under the radar, Kat. No one will ever