Magic Has a Price

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2021 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; mpov; bond; dungeon; cell; strip; cuffs; manacles; naked; cons; X

Inspired by somebody I met recently, and written from the male perspective…

…You never know what life will throw at you, case in point my next customer was apparently new in town, and wanted an alarm system for her fine new home. This wasn't "my town," and wasn't some cookie cutter Mc-mansion in a sub-division either, but a beautiful massive stone building way out in farm country that reeked of wealth, both the original owner's well over a hundred and fifty plus years earlier, and apparently this older woman's who was to be my next customer. The stone construction was timeless, and I like the aesthetics of such buildings personally, my own humble stick constructed home - that wasn't really mine any longer - almost certainly dust one day, where this fine home will still likely be standing long after we're all gone.

I thought it must be nice to have such a place, to be able to write that proverbial check, as it were. I also knew that such thoughts were a form of envy, and I tried to avoid them in my line of work; it just wasn't professional, nor healthy for one's mind. Plenty of people had material things that I didn't, not to mention the other more important things that I no longer had too, and to dwell on those things could make you bat-shit crazy if you let it.

I could see on my dispatch tablet that her name was Jane Smith, and I was told by my manager that her bio said that she was in her mid sixties, and that she had purchased the deluxe protection package for her fine new home… well to be perfectly accurate, "new to her'' as it hadn't been new since well before the turn of the last century at least. I won't bore the reader with the technical details, but as the saying goes, "you get what you pay for," and the technology of these things is truly awesome these days…

I easily find the address with the aid of my tablet - it's indispensable in this line of work, but a little like an electronic leash to me at times - but it's still a nice long drive out into the countryside to get there. I then drive through the open wrought iron gates, down the long winding driveway, and finally park my service van in an out of the way part of the circular driveway. The center part of the circle is even complete with a statue of some nude Greek goddess holding a perpetually spilling pitcher of water. I look at that statue for perhaps a few seconds longer, and her classic lean and fit body structure that seems never to go out of style, that Greek goddess just as stunning today as she would have been countless millennia earlier. I laugh at myself, lusting over a piece of well carved marble, or granite, or whatever stone it was, but being recently and bitterly both single and celibate will do that to you. It was a raw deal, very unfair, but I'm trying to put that behind me, by working still more, it's all I have now. These out of town remote jobs are helping with that, although they are at the same time partially responsible for my somewhat common predicament in the first place.

Best looking thing I'll see all day, I thought to myself in a foolish error, I then took my ever present tablet and approached the massive timber front door to introduce myself. This home is huge, this is easily a multi day project, as I don't like to ram and jam the components in place like some others do; I consider myself far more of a craftsman, rather than a butcher. The extra time likely spent doing it this way is okay with me, it's a nice and quiet place, and I make a commission on the upcharges I sell. As I said, she had already ordered the deluxe package, but this magnificent home must be at least six thousand square feet, not to mention the out buildings, so the potential is still there.

I stand at the massive entry door, itself up on the covered stone porch, under the carport that was no doubt originally a buggy port, or whatever they used to call such things way back before automobiles were invented. I feel insignificant standing before this massive door, on this grand porch, but I suppose that was the idea that the original builders wanted to convey. There is a shiny brass knob to the left of the door, and I only know what it might be from watching far too many very old black and white movies - in cheap motel rooms on my many out of town jobs - those old movies ironically made well AFTER this fine stone home had been though.

It was during one of these out of town remote assignments that my wife first met up with her new man friend at the gym, the same gym that I paid for so she could remain sexy and fit for me, although not exclusively, as it turns out. The two then became workout partners, and then bedroom partners at some point after that; for an entirely different, but just as strenuous kind of exercise. I could forgive the physical infidelity as she was a very good looking and desirable woman, but she had easily fallen in love with him, and just as easily out of love with me. This no doubt happened during the exact same times that I was away, working extra hours remotely to earn a larger paycheck, so that we could build something together, and then have a better life together, ironically enough. The rest they say is history, and legal bills, but I digress…

In any event the knob is surely for the doorbell, and I hesitate to pull it, not wanting to break something so old and most likely fragile. Knocking on the massive door just won't do though, not in a home this large, unless the owner, or one of her servants, was close to it on the other side.

I then become aware of movement on my right, and I turn naturally toward it, but this takes the low mid morning spring sun from my back to the corner of my right eye, backlighting my dirty glasses and making the approaching figure difficult to see for a second or two. It's definitely a woman though, oh boy is a woman, maybe five ten, one hundred thirty pounds or so, and oh so fit. She has long straight hair, light in color, and she is wearing long blue jeans and a long sleeve thin sweater, both fitting her magnificent form perfectly. I come to the instant and erroneous conclusion that this must be Mrs. Smith's highly attractive daughter, or perhaps even granddaughter… I don't know for sure, but whoever it is I think she might just be a model of some kind, or maybe even a yoga instructor. I don't know if Mrs. Smith even has any children, living at home or otherwise, but your mind tries to make logical sense out of things at times like these, or at least mine does.

…I realize this entire line of reasoning is a giant misconception just a few moments later as I stand there smiling, frozen in place like a deer in the headlights; this woman's boots striking the long stone porch have a certain rhythmic sound to them, it's almost mesmerizing as she approaches. This is no twenty-something year old, this woman's walk has confidence and power that only a great many years on planet earth engaged in successful pursuits can forge. Her stare as well is focused on me like a predator's as she gets near, and I try not to stare back, but it's impossible not to…

We are soon three feet apart, and I'm both smiling, and staring into a pair of grey eyes that are staring back into my own. Her hair is long, straight, and silky smooth, but also shockingly grey white, and her face as well is not that of a twenty something year old, but one of maturity. This is not to say that this woman isn't stunningly attractive, she just isn't exactly what her stunning body suggests she is at a distance; a different vintage one could easily say, as if we were talking about fine wine, a subject that I have little knowledge of. I suddenly remember my manners, extend my hand and introduce myself as John Renolds from Acme systems, and she shakes it and confirms that she is indeed Jane Smith, an impossibly common name for a most uncommon woman.

She is smiling back at me though, and obviously amused at my reaction to her, but I'll bet she's had to deal with this her whole life, looking as she obviously does. Her hand that I just shook is also not that of a twentyish year old, but the hand of a woman who has seen and done a great many things. Most of the younger guys at the office fantasize about meeting a stunning and willing customer, one that they even might get lucky with, but the reality is that such never happens for a host of reasons. For myself, a friendly customer of either persuasion is just fine with me, but then again, I'm not exactly the classic textbook definition of an alpha, or even a stud of any kind, or so I've recently and bitterly been told. As a rule I simply can't stand nasty people, and I don't like confrontation either; just ask my ex-wife's new body builder boyfriend all about that. I wished them both well the last time we spoke, instead of telling them a thousand other things that I may have preferred to; talk about taking the proverbial "high road."

This is however anything but confrontational, and Mrs. Smith briefly averts her gaze from my eyes to look at the antique knob that had caught my attention when I had first seen it.

"Go ahead" she tells me playfully, her voice tantalizingly seductive to my ear, "you know you want to."

"Ma'am?" I ask. I don't quite know what to call this stunning woman, and ma'am is my backup term of respect that I revert to at times like these. It's easy and natural in this case though, as this woman deserves this kind of respect, I can just feel it.

"The doorbell; I saw you looking at it when I started walking this way. It works flawlessly, the mechanism itself is almost a work of art… I just love old things, especially old things that still work," she then tells me, perhaps even with a hint of a double entendre in there somewhere, but this could just be me seeing what I wanted to see and hear, living the celibate life that I now do, post marriage.

"Won't that bring whoever else is here to the door ma'am?" I ask reasonably.

"It would, if anybody else were presently here besides the two of us, John. Do you mind that I call you that?" she then asks.

"No ma'am, not at all, and thank you."

"And while we're on the subject, as much as I like the deferential tone of 'ma'am', I think that'll get old real fast between us, so could you please call me Jane instead?"

"Yes ma'am… Jane, I like that better to be honest, but I didn't want to be rude."

"I sensed that. I read people very well, it's kind of a gift that I have. I also took notice as to where you parked your van, a more presumptuous man would have parked right next to the door so that nobody else could, maybe even making his job just a bit easier in the process. I notice little things like that John. So anyway, go ahead and pull my knob and see, or is that hear, what happens… if you still want to?"

"Another double entendre?" I ask myself.

I turned and did as the stunning Jane offered, and the knob extended outward heavily until a tripping point was passed, and then I was rewarded with a series of bongs of different tones that reverberated throughout the massive stone home. It was a magnificent noise, almost like church bells, and I felt like a little kid that had just done some mischief.

Jane asked me if I would like the grand tour so that I could do my thing, or at least get started doing my thing. I already decided that this job of mine might not get done in a single day, perhaps even two if I could somehow manage it. The first stop on our tour was the mechanism that made the antique door bell operate, and Jane was right, it was mechanical art in itself, something charmingly out of place in this modern age of digital everything. She even had the actual mechanism behind glass and backlit, so that her visitors could see for themselves how it worked.

Jane's home was magnificent to say the least, one oil painting taking up a good part of the entire wall of the grand room, it a combination ballroom and dining room, depending of course on how it was set. The painting was of George Washington crossing the Delaware river on Christmas night, 1776, although in this version he wisely wasn't standing in the boat bouncing roughly over the frigid waters of the Delaware. I have little appreciation for art in general, but despite this I stared at this massive painting, the detail in Washington's eyes stunning, as was the rest of it. Jane then told me all about the painting, confirming the artist and date in the lower right hand corner of the massive work.

The home was like this everywhere, works of art of various kinds on display as if this were a gallery in New York or something, and her need for security became even more obvious to me. Alarms are one thing, security another, and while not my specific thing, it looked like Jane would need some of the latter for this home at some point, like yesterday! The kitchen was modern and massive, and the bedrooms also quite grand. Jane's bedroom and ensuite were easily the size of my new apartment, or maybe even bigger.

"Are you ready to see the dungeon now?" she asks me playfully. I have spent way too much time on this tour of ours, but Jane had been most accommodating of her time, and I couldn't think of another thing I would rather be doing anyway. The "dungeon" turned out to be the basement, rough hewn boulders and smaller stones making up the walls and foundation the massive home was resting on. There was modern lighting down there, and a wine cellar, but other than that it felt almost original and untouched, reflecting the true age of the home. This is where I would do some of my work, the main control unit living down here, the rest of the sensors wireless, with perhaps a signal booster or two due to the size of the structure. I had everything I might need - or at least I thought I did - with me in the service van, these extra components stock items in my line of work.

I then looked up at the rough hewn beams well over my head, and I spun around in place as Jane curiously watched; I knew something wasn't quite right down here, dimensionally.

"Where's the rest of it, Jane?" I asked, the length, girth, and direction of the timbers, combined with the footprint down here suggesting at least half of the large basement was missing. The rest of the home could have been built on grade, as in without a basement, but nothing I had seen on my grand tour had suggested that the original builders of this fine mansion had cut any corner in its construction. There are of course exceptions, as in they could have run into something that made it impossible to put in a full basement, back in the day before heavy machinery. But, they still had explosives back then, so this again was curious.

"You've got a great eye John, the movers that placed my vintage down here never noticed the discrepancy. Do you want to see the rest of the dungeon? Who knows, you might even have to spend some time down here… installing your electronic gadgets," she tells me as if an afterthought, again with just the hint of a smiling double entendre. There is an element of kink in this for me as well; I just find dungeons exciting for some strange reason. I'm also trying to keep this little odd interest of mine well hidden, so I don't look pervy or dangerous to this very unique woman, although I get the distinct feeling that Jane could see through any subterfuge I might attempt.

This woman is flirting with me, and I feel both honored, and a little intimidated by it, all at the same time. She's well, well out of my league, and we both know this, but still she treats me like anything but a contractor, in to do a job for her. It's simply impossible not to be charmed by the very charming Jane…

"Yes ma'am!" I accidentally reverted to ma'am again, with the wonder and curiosity obvious in my voice. This was a mystery, and I was naturally curious deep down, it's how I found out about my wife's infidelity, although innocently motivated at first.

One wine rack - this particular one full - had a hidden latch that allowed it to swing out, and behind that the wall was heavy timber construction, instead of stone. Jane explained that the wine rack only moved that easy when it was filled, it counterbalanced on the other side for this exact purpose. The heavy timber "wall" behind it really wasn't a wall at all, but a massive door with an antique keyhole in it, although it wasn't presently locked. She bid me to open this second door, throwing on a light switch just inside the doorway behind me. I felt suddenly less than courageous with her behind me.

This "room" was far more cave than basement, with stone overhead instead of the home's timbers. "This is cool" I caught myself saying out loud, despite my fear of the unknown that ran contradictory to my natural curiosity. Not five steps into the chamber, motion straight in front of me down low causes me to freeze in my tracks, Jane bumping into me from behind and laughing at my reaction to her robotic vacuum.

"No worries John, without that thing this place gets impossibly dusty in no time" she tells me reassuringly. I feel less than masculine in her presence, but I have a feeling that if I were to pretend to be some kind of macho alpha kind of guy that she would see right through my little act. I decided to just be myself and laugh at my own frightened reaction, it turned out to be the best thing I could have possibly done, Jane a woman with uncanny perceptions…

…This hidden "cave" is heated and humidity controlled, I can feel it in the air, and I instinctively know that there is more to this tour of Jane's; she didn't really have to show me this for me to do my alarm system installation. In other words, it's a secret she didn't have to share…

The cave opens up a little, both in ceiling height, and room diameter, but the silence in here is amazing, I become aware of it as I look around and I hear and feel my own heart beat. There is even a for-real jail cell cut into the rough hewn stone walls, with iron bars and a cot hanging from some chains, hanging from some iron rings embedded into the walls themselves. There are some other rings in the walls of the small jail cell as well, and the kinky part of me doesn't have to wonder what one could do with those. There is even a rough wool blanket and small pillow just waiting on the cot, hinting that it has been used in recent history.

I feel my arousal, and when I realize that I haven't said a word for several seconds I turn to see Jane studying my reaction to her dungeon. I'm not feeling very professional at the moment, and I know I have to get it together lest I spook Jane into thinking I'm some kind of freak. Something I haven't really told anybody about though is that medieval dungeons, and even old jail cells in general, turn me on like mad. I don't want to be the jailer though, I envision myself instead being the lowly chained and frightened prisoner, awaiting interrogation, and then punishment; blame it on all those old movies I love to watch, and my less than alpha personality…

"What's the story with this room?" I ask in as vanilla a tone as I can muster, the words feeling forced and unnatural, even to me. My eyes and face have given away my interest already though, but we perhaps both pretend otherwise. Jane indulges my original question anyway, explaining that this cave structure was here first, and the home built on top of it for some reason or another. I detect less than total honesty from her for the first time since meeting her, and it makes me curious.

"You didn't have to show me this," I observed honestly, the words not thought out, but rather naturally occurring. I know I have to be careful with such things, it might not look professional, or worse yet spook this nice woman into feeling less than comfortable out here all alone with a just-met man, even a nice one with a uniform and an identification badge like myself.

"No, I didn't, but I thought you might find it interesting."

"I do, I just love old movies with this kind of stuff in them. You don't happen to have the key, do you Jane?" I ask as nonchalantly as I can. Honesty is certainly the best policy with a woman like Jane, I instinctively know this, but who wants to freely admit their innermost kinks to anybody?

…As a result I try to walk a fine line here, although this hidden jail cell certainly suggests that Jane's interests and my own might have some common elements. To admit one's kinks is to show weakness and vulnerability though, something to be held back until that other person is ready for the "real you." I had thought I had even done that somewhat successfully, with wife number one, but the evidence suggests quite the opposite…

"I do, John."

My charming and alluring host then walks over to the far wall, and there next to some closed rough hewn wood cabinets, hanging on a very rusty spike embedded into the stone wall itself, is an antique key ring. There are several cartoonishly large keys on that ring, and Jane walks back over to me with that same mesmerizing step while twirling them in her right hand seductively. I had watched her walk away from me while staring at her magnificent form from behind, and if not quite lusting for this fine woman, at least appreciating the way she walked and looked dressed as she was. This woman was simply the "whole package" and I wonder why there was no man in her life to share it with. Not that it seems as if she needs one though, Jane apparently quite capable all on her own, she radiates that as well.

My host then selects the proper key and unlocks the door with a very dry sounding kerclack sound, the heavy mechanism obviously old, but well up to the task of keeping the door closed. She then swings the door open with a drawn out squeak, sounding just like the sound effect from an old horror movie. I'm forced to reconsider how such things might have sounded back in the day, perhaps this particular sound is something that they actually got right in their old movies.

Jane has walked the door open from the outside of it, left hand on one of the bars near the lock, and her right on the actual key helping. I find myself inside that jail cell, but my legs have taken me there on their own, without conscious thought on my part. I turn around once while in there, and I feel the little boy on Christmas morning wonder in my expression, and I simply can't hide this from perceptive Jane, so I don't even try.

Jane is smiling back at me from her side of the door, but the door is still open. She could close and lock that door on me, likely before I could even stop her, if she had wanted, and her smile hints at this. It's a playful smile, full of promises of fun to come, or perhaps I'm just seeing what I would like to, as opposed to what's real.

"Have you ever been in jail before John, even for an hour?" she asks me playfully. She HAS to know how much this stuff excites me, and she therefore is playing with me, taunting me. It's good natured though, this woman doesn't seem to have a bad bone in her body, although some mischievous ones to be sure.

"No ma'am," I answer, in full submissive deference to this magnificent playfully smiling woman just on the other side of the bars from me. I find my hands clasped behind my back as if I'm already wearing handcuffs, with my head slightly bowed, my very body language alone telling this fine woman what she likely already knows. I'm also about as erect as I can be, but maybe my boxers and bulky uniform pants are hiding this fact from Jane. Maybe. Her knowing smile says different, but she doesn't call me out on it, although she's not exactly staring at my guy parts either.

"Well, now you have a decision to make John, step on out of there and we'll finish the tour, or ask me to close the door and you can then tell all your friends that you've actually been in jail once."

"Would you lock the door too ma'am?" I ask hopefully.

"I don't think it would technically count if I didn't."

I haven't exactly asked her to lock me in, but my leading question about locking the door makes my desires known; that and the fact that I haven't moved towards the door to affect my escape is apparently all the "permission" that Jane needs to playfully swing the heavy door closed on me. I'm in nirvana, never have I encountered a woman like this one, even in my kinkyest dreams and fantasies.

The squeaking sound of that door closing on its hinges will live with me forever, as does the noisy actuation of the locking mechanism as Jane becomes my actual jailer for the very first time. I can't suppress my open mouthed expression, and I can't deny the sexual overtones either as I step to the bars and stare out at the very stunning Jane, and freedom, just on the other side of that now locked door. The feeling is just indescribable for me, this further loss of control - my very ability to come and go as I please - is just the pinnacle of submission for a less than dominant man like myself. I've just given my freedom to a woman I've just met, for free even, she could keep me down here for an hour, or the rest of my life, it's all up to her to decide, not me. This giving myself away for free-feeling, for me, is well beyond lust even, I feel it in my core, but there are elements of that emotion wrapped up in this too.

"What should my sentence be, ma'am?" I ask, not knowing another way to ask how long she planned on keeping me here without ruining this fragile moment, and in my present frame of mind "forever" even sounded like a good option to me. If she had only planned on a few seconds of incarceration experimentally to gauge my reaction, my words perhaps let her know that I was "up" for something just a bit longer, and therefore highly receptive to games such as these. Jane has read me well though, but she told me when we first met that she had this ability…

"How do you like your tea, John?" Jane asks, by way of a polite answer, or perhaps this is just her way of redirecting my question with one of her own. The subject is my freedom, but I have already given this away, and her polite refusal to answer tells me just a little more firmly that I truly am her prisoner now, under her control. I'm certain that a lot of guys would have been feeling a lot of conflicting emotions at this point, even in Jane's stunning presence, but I instead meekly surrendered to her will, telling her I would like some cream and no sugar.

"Why don't you try out the cot John, while I make our tea? You might as well have the whole experience," she adds. I'm apparently to be down here for as long as it takes her to make tea, but I'm way good with that.

I watch her walk away without looking back, her steps just as mesmerizing as before, but in reverse fashion as she leaves me behind. The moment she's out of my sight I feel very alone, and I realize a little more fully how trapped I am. I follow her with my ears to the heavy door behind the wine rack, and then the lights go out, possibly just a habit of her's when leaving a room, just as it is for me? I hear the heavy thud of the door next, and then the clank of that lock as well, although the tone is different because it's mounted in wood, and not iron.

It's very dark in there now, and utterly silent too, the little robotic vacuum has apparently even stopped it's endless labors. I considered yelling out when Jane had shut the lights off on me, but quickly thought better of it. She was my jailer, and if she wanted the lights off, or even if she had done so out of reflex habit, who was I to complain? The cell was quite small, so taking my boots off blindly and then finding the cot and blanket was not as hard as it might seem. I did shake out the blanket first, just to rid it of any hiding spiders, as I hate spiders.

I put my head down and truly relaxed like I haven't in months, ever since I'd discovered my ex-wife's infidelity. There was nothing but silence, just my own heartbeat and respiration, and the occasional sounds of my clothes on the rough blanket when I moved, or the slight creek of the old chains that suspended my cot. Eyes closed, eyes open, it was just as dark one way, as it was the other, although with my eyes open I could see the static spark discharge of the wool blanket when I moved. Somebody else was in control now, my stunning jailer, for the next few minutes at least, and I wished to absorb all this "peace" that I could, while I could…

…My eyes opened, there being a slight light for me to see by now, but the illumination was so slight that I initially just thought my eyes had finally adjusted to the low light conditions. These were in the form of less than night light lamps hidden creatively in the rock itself. It was eerie and cave-like, but then again this was a cave, a cave with a jail cell in it that just happened to be under a fine stone mansion.

I even felt well rested, my burdens lifted, at least temporarily. This is usually a good feeling to wake with, except under these particular conditions. I swung my stiff legs to the floor and took notice of my tea just inside the bars of my prison's door, stepping into my cold boots and wondering where my stunning jailer was.

No, this wasn't a dream, this was real, and with my boots tied I folded my borrowed blanket and made my way to my tea, expecting to see Jane emerge from around the corner at any second when she heard me move. The delicate cup was presented on a fine china saucer, both likely passed in between the bars of the cell's door, but when I picked it up it was cold, telling me I had slept far longer than I may have liked. I considered yelling for Jane, telling her at least that I was awake now, but I wondered why she didn't wake me earlier when my tea was actually hot. Sleeping on the job was unprofessional, but then again, having one of your customers lock you up, or flirting back with them, even if they flirt with you first, is as well.

I sit on my cot and wait, reflecting on how crazy this is, and how utterly dependent I am on Jane and her good wishes for my very freedom. She is empowered at my very expense, the thought exciting to me, but at least my guy parts have settled down. I eventually hear those boots approaching with that same rhythmic step, I follow them all the way to my cell, realizing that the door to the dungeon must now be open, so she could have potentially heard me yell from upstairs if I had chosen to.

I can't hide my expectant longing stare as she enters my field of view once again, it's as honest a yearning for another's company and attention as I've felt in quite some time. She's smiling though, although looking down at me at the same time; she is standing, but I am still sitting on my cot. I have left myself purposely in a lower physical position than her, it just feels more natural to be like this before her, although one could make an equal argument for standing respectfully in her presence.

…I find myself babbling in anything but a masculine sounding way, apologizing profusely for falling asleep on her. I feel like a student that has disappointed her teacher…

"You looked so content in there that I didn't have the heart to wake you," she tells me. "And, I must as well apologize to you, I didn't realize that the night lights had been turned off, I know it's quite dark in here without them."

"I know I shouldn't ask, but what time is it Jane? I seem to have left my tablet…"

"…near the wine rack." Jane finishes for me. This woman hasn't known me for a day, and she can finish my sentences, this is simply an incredible woman!

"Approaching dinner time,” Jane tells me, answering my original question.

"I'm so sorry," I tell her, "I've fouled up the whole day, I need to get to the hotel, oh boy, I've got to get to work, I've gone and wasted your whole day." I'm rambling, my thoughts not even coming out in logical order, and Jane laughs at this, her laugh is even seductive. It calms me down though, if Jane's not worried, why should I be?

"I obviously have a lot of extra rooms John, why don't you pick any one of those to sleep in, cancel your reservations, and join me instead for dinner? This way you can get a nice early start in the morning… Do you know how to cook John? I just love a man that knows his way around a kitchen."

In less than five minutes Jane has taken me from, "oh boy, I'm going to get fired," to, "would you like to have dinner with me and spend the night?" Not that I thought she was offering up herself in that bargain; I couldn't possibly go that far, fantasies aside, I'm simply not worthy of that. But, Jane was most certainly a fun and playful woman to be around, and her solution was at least more logical that mine.

"I couldn't impose on you like that, ma'am," I tell her, she being back to a "ma'am" to me, I keep reverting back to that term of deference to her stunning self. She easily deserves this level of respect though.

"It's not an imposition at all," Jane assures me. "And besides, I happen to like your company, but if you don't lose that 'ma'am' business I may just have to leave you locked up down here a little longer next time," she tells me with a big smile. I find myself wondering if it would be too pervy if I were to ask her to lock me up for the night, down here, with her in control once again of that key? I slept like a rock down here as her prisoner, and the selfish part of me would like to try it again, but maybe all night long this time.

"I am humbled beyond words by your offer, and your kindness too, are you sure it's not a bother to host me?" I ask, my words are honest, but unusual ones for me to use in normal conversation. Jane has this effect on me, but I'm a very honest guy to begin with, so that part at least makes sense.

"I offer you parole from my dungeon John, in exchange for your help with dinner and your losing the word 'ma'am' from your spoken vocabulary. This and accommodations for as long as you may need them, if you accept."

"Thank you Jane," I answered, hearing the not so subtle offer in her words, specifically not using the word "ma'am" though.

Jane then let me out of her jail cell and I washed up, and she and I started cooking together in her fine kitchen, this a necessity as I didn't really know where anything was. I can cook just fine, it's a minor passion of mine, but I didn't exactly know what she liked, nor how she liked it prepared. Cooking elaborately for oneself alone is a bother too, so I don't get to practice all that often these days. Seasoning another's food is also something to be learned, as is what to do with the potatoes, for instance; boiled, baked, mashed, or fried?

I was therefore reduced to prep work this first time, but that led to me following Jane's orders, which again seemed natural enough. I served our collaborative efforts at my insistence though, and retrieved the specific bottle of wine that Jane had told me to get, specifically to "pair" with our meal properly. "Pairing" wine with a meal was something new for me, but I was eager to learn from this woman. I opened our wine and poured her first like a waiter might though, serving this fine woman as well seeming quite natural.

We talked quite a bit during dinner, and yes, Jane had been married, more than once. She also had noticed my "telltale" little dent on my ring finger where my own slightly undersized wedding ring had lived twenty four seven; and up until several months ago a full time commitment for me that my former significant other apparently didn't feel the exact same way about. I had a piece of that blame to be sure, but I didn't go into that with Jane, such would open me up to explaining another kink of mine, this one apparently quite self destructive in the end…

I cleaned up from dinner, also at my insistence, all as Jane sat at the island and watched me work, talking to me about just about anything we drifted into. She was a history buff, which I thought was pretty wild, most people not caring a whit about what happened a hundred years ago, let alone longer. "Washington was a hell of a man," she told me honestly, as if lost in reminiscent thought, but then again, she owned a giant antique wall painting of him, so it made sense that she revered the man. There were others as well that she spoke of, from back in that time, and even after, but I was reminded of her library, and the many volumes stored there. I couldn't remember the specific titles when I had seen that room on my tour, they were just books to me, and I had been a little overwhelmed with Jane's presence at the time as well.

Jane could be playfully flirtatious and sexy, but logical and educated, and historically well read too, all at the same time. She was the total package, and despite our age and societal differences, I was smitten. Her husbands had all been lucky men, of that at least I was certain. My phone was still in the truck, my ever present tablet who knows where, and I didn't miss any of them. Just Jane and I in her magnificent home. It was spotless and clean, I noticed things like that. I knew about the robotic vacuums, but a home of this size needed attention, constant attention. I then asked Jane if she had somebody come in to clean for her, or if she did it herself.

I have just poured her a second glass of wine when I do this, she is now sitting in an overstuffed high back chair, likely an antique. She seems like a regal queen on her throne to me like this, less the stunning dress and crown, as she still wears the well fitting blue jeans and sweater from earlier. Her right leg is crossed over her left and bouncing slightly, and I imagine what that leg would look like in a dress, with a nice pair of heels dangling from her bouncing toes… I just love heels on a woman.

"I don't have anybody come in,” she tells me cryptically, not exactly answering my question directly though, but I let the subject drop. It only matters if I can somehow work up the courage to ask to be locked up again, this most inconvenient if the housekeeping service were to show up early the next morning, and then find me locked up in Jane's jail cell.

"Why do you ask?" Jane presses; I feel like I have just hit a nerve with her, and feel the need to explain myself. Her stare is penetrating, not quite angry, but more as if searching for truth.

"You said I could choose any room in the house," I reminded my gracious host.

"I did, and I always keep my word too."

"Wellllll… I slept really well downstairs, and I was wondering…"

"You were wondering if I would lock you up again, for the night this time, and also wondering if I had anybody scheduled, coming over to perhaps catch you as my prisoner?" Jane asks, her tone playful once again, whatever had almost happened between us instantly diffused.

"Yes ma’am," I answer intentionally, knowing this will set her off playfully, and tell her what I really want. I can say two things in one sentence with Jane, as she apparently can with me. It's a closeness that's hard to forge with anybody, and her and I have done this effortlessly and in little time.

"In that case then John, I officially revoke your parole, put the bottle back in the wine fridge and use the facilities, unless you want to have to use a bucket instead?"

"No, ma'am," I answer, Jane's orders are both easy and natural to follow.

"And John, bring in one of the clean cloth napkins, and a long wooden spoon too" Jane tells me, as I scurry away to do her bidding. I instinctively know this is for me specifically, but what exact purpose the spoon and napkin are for is a mystery. I for a fraction of a second think she intends to paddle me with the spoon for my misbehavior, this something quite taboo from my list of kinks that I have yet to try in the flesh, but I so want to one day.

I do as told and report back to her in her regal chair, head bowed and hands once again clasped behind my back, once I've respectfully handed over the items. I'm playing, I just hope she's playing too, but then again, maybe not.

Jane then pops out of her chair like a teenage gymnast, full of energy and belying her apparent age, and the late hour after a very full day and two glasses of wine. She's like a coiled spring, where I have less than that level of energy myself, with one long nap thrown in there to boot. We are intimately inches apart and face to face, and her body language suggests, perhaps, she's about to kiss me, but I let her take the lead. Leading comes naturally to Jane, just as following comes naturally to me. Her energy suggests interest to me too…

I don't get my kiss though, but Jane does remove my glasses for me instead, the move feeling intimate, although obviously not as intimate as the kiss would have been. The chemistry isn't quite right for that kiss yet, I'm instead to be Jane's prisoner, by my own choices and actions. She then bodily spins me around so that my back is toward her, I could obviously resist her, but I have no desire to. I then watch as her hands come around my body, after she bumps my arms up into the air. I feel like I'm about to get frisked by a cop, although I only know about this from watching dramas on TV.

She reaches around me and starts to unbutton my long sleeve uniform shirt, starting from the top button and going down. I watch her hands, the sight surreal to me. I haven't been undressed by a woman - even my own wife - in years, ever since that passion had abated for us shortly after the honeymoon. Jane pulls my tucked in shirt from my pants, then unbuttoning the cuffs last she pulls it from me, I about as erect as I've ever been.

My tee shirt is next, but Jane only pulls my head and left arm from it, using it to pull my still trapped right arm behind my back. I passively allow this as well, enjoying this quasi-sexual attention from this magnificent woman. She was standing behind me in intimate closeness, so close that I noticed how wonderful she smells, reminding me how wonderful women in general smell, but she then had to back off to do her thing with my tee shirt.

I slip my arm back into the arm hole, but behind my back now at her insistence. It's as if I'm in a trance and extremely open to her suggestions; she could tell me to do anything at this point, and I blindly would. I can still slip my wrists from the arm holes if I want to, but this almost feels like a form of restraint, a very comfortable pair of manacles even, although ones with a lot of chain between the cuff parts. I have seen antique manacles before on tours of old jails and prisons, the thought of actually being in them exciting to me to be honest. Jane is really pressing my unique buttons here, but I get the feeling that even with her overt confidence, she is approaching this line between us cautiously. Had I been an aggressive alpha I'm sure things would have been much different, just as they would have been back home.

Anyway, I hear Jane aggressively snap out the folds of the napkin behind me; she tells me to close my eyes, which I do. She then blindfolds me with it, tying it tight behind my head, ramping up this game of ours. In my fantasies a gag of some kind comes next, the more senses and input/output my body loses, the hotter I tend to get, fantasy wise at least. I'm giving myself over to this woman incrementally, I just don't know where it will lead, although my natural curiosity drives me on.

Once blindfolded Jane asks me if this is what I had in mind, to which I tell her it's way more than that, but my tone conveys the excitement I feel. I'm in nirvana, this night could last forever as far as I'm concerned.

"Good," she tells me, "because we're just getting started."

Jane then takes the long spoon and inserts it into the neck area of my tee shirt, and out of what would be the bottom part of it had I still been wearing it. She then twists it over and over again from behind me, telling me to tell her when it's tight enough, which I do. Each wrist is now trapped behind me and reasonably securely too, Jane fabricating a good ad-hoc set of cuffs to keep me under her control. With the addition of the blindfold I'm even more at her mercy, the feeling simply off the charts wonderful and surreal. Jane isn't done yet though, she loosens my belt and snakes it halfway off of me, then back on once again, capturing both the spoon, and the center section of my tee shirt cuffs. She buckles it up tight once again, and I'm quite helpless before her, manipulated into this with no real resistance on my part, her ad-hoc cuffs and belly chain working flawlessly.

She then grinds up against me from behind, one of my hands close enough to feel the heat that she generates THERE, but I resist the urge to paw at her with my trapped hands like a horny teen on a back seat car date. Almost any reasonable straight guy on planet earth - or so I think - would want to make love to Jane at that very instant. The other more aggressive alpha ones surely would like to roughly fuck her senseless instead, raveging her body until their lusty passion was eventually sated, using her for their own selfish bodily needs. I know guys like this, plenty of them, one of them is presently sleeping with my ex-wife, treating her in a way I never could, but also in a way she apparently needed.

I want neither for myself though, at least not aggressively so, as I would much rather serve a woman like Jane, than be served by her. In my perfect fantasy scenario, Jane would instead force me to my knees, strip, and ride my face until SHE was sated, using ME, perhaps even while pulling some of my hair out, or whippine me with her belt for good measure if the passion was high enough. I simply don't think I'm deserving of putting anything of mine near, let alone deep inside, a woman like this one; call it humility, a lack of manly aggression, or even extreme submissive tendencies.

Jane might think differently though, as once I'm secure and somewhat helplessly under her control, she rubs a hand across my bare chest and tells ME that she just loves the way a man smells. A slight moan escapes my lips, not exactly the most masculine of noises that I could have made under the circumstances. The same hand then strokes across my lower stomach once, just above my belt, and I have all I can do not to thrust my pelvis into the air like some rutting barnyard animal. Wow, am I hot!

"Come on my little prisoner, best get you under lock and key before things get away from us here" she tells me in a husky tone.

Is this an offer to pursue this line of thought, or a warning not to? I wonder in my mind. She is pushing my unique erotic buttons though, she has to know this, teasing, but not going all the way with a firm offer either. This is possibly the most interestingly sensual woman I have ever met in the flesh, she could teach classes on the art of seduction at any university campus.

"It's been quite some time since I've had one like you in my jail cell, you know," she tells me in her needy-sounding tone, at least "needy-sounding" to me.

Are these more made up playful words for me to chew on? I wonder, didn't she just buy this fine home? I don't want to spoil the moment with logic though, I just want to see what Jane intends for her willing prisoner. I am led to the basement stairs, and then down them by Jane's firm grip on my bicep. She's surprisingly strong, but I can also tell she's quite fit too. My uniform pants are tenting, I can feel it even though I can't see this for myself at the moment. It's only a matter of time until Jane sees this too as she's still behind me, but all this kinky stuff has pushed my buttons, and Jane's powerful manhandling of my arm has only added to that.

There is just something about strong confident women taking charge that does something for me, not only between my ears, but down lower as well. I could still escape if I really wanted to though, but this is as close to being helplessly bound by another's hand as I've ever gotten to so far, and it's even better than I thought it might be, possibly because of all the unknowns in this strange situation.

I follow our progress to what I think our destination is. I've been here before so this isn't as hard as one would think, but instead of being led into the cell itself, with it's noisy hinges, we instead turn left. Jane then instructs me to bend forward with her free hand on the back of my head, my forehead eventually touching off on the cold stone wall of the chamber someplace.

"Don't move," she admonishes, to which I very naturally reply, "yes ma'am."

Am I pissing her off? I wonder, or am I just being respectful to a powerful woman who could do almost anything she might like to me at the moment? It's her home, and I'm her guest, so her rules apply, no matter what they are.

I then hear what has to be one of those wood cabinets opening, and the sound of ancient chains in Jane's hands…

"I think you should have the whole experience John, and a little old and frail woman like myself must take some precautions with a big and strong man like yourself, for her very self preservation. Who knows what mischief you'd get into otherwise?" Jane offers.

With this reasonable sounding explanation Jane then puts a very cold and ancient manacle on my right wrist, behind my back and just above my tee shirt bindings. She then pulls my left wrist over to my right and does the same, the chain between the manacles apparently quite short. She locks this one, and then the first with a clack; I am about as bound and helpless as I can be. Only then does she release my tee shirt bindings, trading a temporary fabric restraint for the permanence of an iron one.

I think this can't possibly get any better, and my little guy down below obviously agrees…

Jane guides me from the wall with one hand on the back of my neck, and the other once again firmly on my bicep. I feel overwhelmingly controlled by this woman, and I know for most guys this wouldn't do a thing for them, but I'm not exactly "most guys." Jane owns me at this point, she could do anything she might like to me, and instead of frightening me, the concept excites me to my core.

Jane walks me blindly forward, and now I hear the squeak of the jail cell door, the sound both familiar, and ominous. She's going to lock me up for the night in there, cuffed behind my back, where I can't possibly take matters into my own hands and relieve this over the top sexual desire this treatment has generated in me. She has to know this, Jane by all accounts a very sultry and knowing woman. She could feign innocence at what her actions have caused, but we'd both know better.

She backs me toward "my" cot - I am already thinking of this space as mine, oddly enough - and she guides me to sit down without falling. I can't use my arms, they're firmly captured behind my back, wow this is exciting as hell, and off the charts kinky too. I had tried to play like this with my own wife once, simply with handcuffs at first, but she just went through the motions, her heart more in alignment with a man who wanted to roughly dominate her, and perhaps do things like this - and so much more - to her instead. Anyway, then the blindfold comes off, and Jane goes to her knees in front of me, but not to do THAT, I'm simply not worthy of that, if anything I instead belong on my knees before her, head bowed in humble offered servitude. I would do anything for this woman that I just had met that very day, "smitten" not even covering it.

She instead unties my work boots and pulls them and my socks off, placing both neatly next to her. I feel like I should say something, but I don't want to out of fear, not fear of Jane and her intentions for me, but fear that I'll say the wrong thing and ruin this magic and kinky moment. We make eye contact, and it's like Jane can see what I'm thinking, see the turmoil in my mind.

"Is this what you expected, John, when you misbehaved with me earlier?"

"No ma'am, I thought you were going to beat my butt with the spoon," I tell her honestly, the words flowing from my lips as if by magic, but only after being asked. I feel like I don't have a secret that I could keep from my stunning jailer if my life depended on it, it's a tremendous feeling of freedom for my mind.

"Good, I like to keep my men guessing… Do you think you deserve the spoon for your earlier cheek?"

"I hadn't thought it through that far to be honest, I'm just enjoying my time with you, interacting as we are," I tell Jane. These are possibly the most honest words I have ever spoken to another human - certainly to a woman at the very least - and they just flowed from my lips all on their own. I don't really have to think first when I speak with Jane, and this causes me to evaluate the guarded way I ordinarily speak to others, always fearful of disappointing, of sending the wrong message…

"Well that's too bad, because it looks like you'll have some time to yourself down here to ponder your misbehavior, kind of like a naughty boy in 'time-out'," she tells me playfully.

Her tone was sultry to my ears, but the message was one reminding me that she was taking on an elevated role here, not quite parental, as that would have been anything but sexy to me, but definitely in charge, as in the ultimate authority figure down in this dungeon. I'm excited beyond words here, but it only gets better.

"See that bucket in the corner there John? That's for in case you can't make it through the night, and if you pee on my walls or floor there will be consequences, and not with any spoons either."

"Yes ma'am," I answer, respectfully. I wonder how I'm to get my pants off and shorts down with my hands cuffed behind my back though, but here Jane has the answer, upping the ante on this "game" of ours.

Jane stands and then helps me do the same, but now barefoot on the cold stone floor. Somehow being barefoot in this environment makes me feel more vulnerable, maybe even more so than the manacles, as odd as that sounds. She then undoes my belt, button, and zipper, wiggling my uniform pants and shorts down my hips as I will my little guy not to get any harder than he already is. It's so hard that it hurts, and I'm embarrassed that she'll see this, but she has to know what effect she's having on me, as a man.

Jane is possibly the most sexy woman on the planet to me at that moment, and my little guy must surely agree, because as my shorts and pants clear him he stands straight out from my body as if a soldier saluting his general. Jane is bent over and helping me out of my pants and shorts though, relatively close to my painfully erect member as she strips me naked. I don't know if she's pretending not to notice the condition she has put me in, or even if she is amused by it, because I can't see her face.

Next thing I know she's down on her knees before me again, but helping me out of my clothes and not to do anything else; she tells me that prisoners should be kept naked at all times, so that they know their place and don't run off and escape. She does this playfully, but I agree with her by nodding my head. If she was looking for some sign from me to pump the proverbial brakes on this kink, she hasn't gotten any.

Standing naked in that jail cell while cuffed with a pair of manacles is pushing a great many buttons for me, the fact that a powerful and experienced sexy woman has done this to me makes it even better. My little guy is still about as hard as he ever has been, I'm not exactly porn star big, but every bit average, or even maybe a little more than that. Still I'm no alpha stud though, and I know this because my ex-wife has told me it time and again, after she had found another with which to play rough with though.

As if to finally acknowledge the proverbial eight hundred pound gorilla in the room, Jane picks her jail keyring up off of the floor and looks at me, her smile one of mischief.

"Don't you dare drop these," she warns, as she places the ring about halfway back on my straining manhood, hanging her keys there. I feel the weight and cold there, and I have to lean my body back so as to aid in "hanging" the weight of the keys, but at least Jane has drawn attention to what she is doing to me physically, and mentally too.

Jane then folds my clothes and places them and my boots outside the door of my cell, my sleeping quarters for the night, all by my request. As her back was turned, the cold of the key ring, along with its weight, had the "swelling" going down slightly, the keys dropping on the floor in front of me with a clank. Jane snaps her head around in mock surprise when this happens, shaking her head from side to side with a knowing smirk on her stunning face.

"You do have problems following simple instructions, don't you John?" Jane asks me in mock seriousness. "Now this is a second thing that we must discipline you for, but I think we should finish the first before we go there."

I smile sheepishly in response, but my little guy is once again fully saluting.

"You'll never be able to sleep like that though John'' my jailer tells me matter-of-factly. I wonder if she intends to do something about that for me. Her words are almost hinting at this, but in my mind I'm still way not worthy of that. I actually don't want her to; for her to demean herself for my benefit like this. I realize that I likely have just removed myself from the man club permanently with these thoughts alone, or at least from the alpha man club at any rate.

Jane takes to her knees before me, but not to do that, she's retrieving her keys that I "dropped" accidentally. I oddly feel things relaxing down there with her face literally inches from my erect manhood, instead of a more predictable type of physical response. At some subconscious level I really don't want her to do this, and my body is telling both of us this in very obvious ways. I have liked it just fine when other women have done this for me, I in fact had begged them to do so, but not this one.

"Curious," Jane says to no one in particular, obviously referring to my now less than fully erect little guy. She then does something incredible as I watch; she wetly kisses her right index finger, and she uses it to firmly tap the base of my manhood. It instantly deflates and goes fully limp, as if a balloon that just had a hole put in it.

"That's better John, now at least you'll sleep" she tells me, as if she's just thrown an electric switch and shut off the lights. My body's physical response was instantaneous, I didn't even think it could deflate like that, it was like magic!

"Thank you, I think" I told Jane, as she stood back up with her face inches from my own.

"How did you do that?" I asked, the wonder in my voice obvious.

"Just a little magic John, you can't have lived as long as I have and not learn a few tricks here and there. Lets get my little deflated prisoner all tucked in for the night."

With that Jane helped me lay down on the cot, on my side; cuffed as I was, this was about the only position that would be even remotely comfortable. She then pulled the rough blanket up over my naked self in a very caring way. She lastly kissed me goodnight on the forehead in a very sweet way, my face nestled between her breasts briefly by her move. She smelled good there too, I noticed.

"I'll put your things in the laundry for you," she tells me, taking my things with her, leaving me with not a stitch to wear, nor the means to even put it on if I did. She closed and locked the door to my cell with the familiar sounds, and turned to speak from outside the now locked door with a smile on her lips, before leaving me in her dungeon for the night, amusement in her voice.

"When I said that you could pick any room in the house John, I meant 'any' room, to include my own. Just something to think about tonight while you're resting down here in my jail cell, and maybe even tomorrow too. I like you John Renolds, you have a good heart. Goodnight." And with those final words to me she was off, and my prison shortly thereafter dark and very silent…


Continues in

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