Mia: Ch 19: Unchain My Heart



shibari_20131024_0016 (Photo credit: eddy vanhaesebrouck)


Unchain my heart, set me free.”


Unchain My HeartJoe Cocker



Seattle 2006


Christmas had been lonely and cold, just like her heart. She had just arrived back for the semester when she ran into him in the quad. He looked drawn, sickly, like he hadn’t eaten properly for weeks. She hoped that he hadn’t. For a moment it seemed that he hadn’t seen her and while her heart ached she decided that not being noticed was a good thing. Then he looked up and caught her eye. A flash of pain appeared behind his eyes but she was too raw to recognize it. Instead she closed her eyes against the pain, wishing that these small glimpses, the mentions of his name, didn’t rip her apart. Wishing she could just forget that he even existed. Wondering if there would ever be a time when her heart might feel whole again. When she opened her eyes he was gone.



Seattle 2011


He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and toned. His skin was bronzed with the sun and he had a light dusting of hair over his chest. It wasn’t unattractive. His half-head mask was firmly in place so I couldn’t see the color of his hair and he wore black leather trousers that hugged his hips and his muscular legs. The dusting of hair extended to his stomach and trailed into the top of his waistband. It reminded me very much of Ethan and, irrationally, I wanted to lick it. I also wanted to check my mask but my hands were tethered again and I knew by now that any movement would result in punishment. Sometimes with a flogger or a paddle but mostly he would simply withdraw and leave me standing in the middle of the room.


The voice, deep and resonant was enough to have my body reacting. “Good evening, beautiful Mia. You are looking delightful, my dear.” There was a trace of an accent but it sounded fake. His assistant had prepared me for him. Now he would take over and begin to engage in the power-exchange. Just the thought of it made me tetchy.


I tried to stand still. I wanted to please him. I had no idea that I would want that so much. But poised here with no clothes on, only my stockings and heels, had me vulnerable and squirming in his presence. He laughed.


“Stop moving, Mia.” How could I, when he was tracing the line of my body with his flogger? I loved the leather tendrils trailing across my skin like a promise. I sucked in a breath, my stomach muscles contracting. “You are so perfect, my lovely. You have good lines.”


Did I? I had curves and bulges that other girls scorned. I was muscular and fit with an ass like J Lo. “I am too rounded, Sir.” I had never been self-conscious in my life but standing around in one’s birthday suit with a relative stranger tended to make one a little more self-aware. Perhaps my curves would not be good for this mission.


The slap on my fleshy butt cheek came quickly and from out of nowhere. It was also quite resonant. I should have expected it. Talking back was forbidden. “You will not contradict me.” And… I contradicted him. Obedience just wasn’t coming easily to me. Probably why I was better suited to the CIA and not the FBI.


We had been here every night for the past week and I knew that I must be doing alright because Elena barely spoke to me and Rory had backed off with the intimidation. Ethan had had a hell of a week but I knew he was working on projects of his own. Like making sure that certain photographs were removed from Elliot’s war room at the tree house. And his own training for the mission. He had also had to attend the memorial service for Kate and Elliot’s baby which had left him emotionally rung out. I rented a motel room near the tree house that night to make sure he had a soft place to land. Sneaking around to make love to his wife at 2am didn’t exactly make him a happy camper but I’m pretty sure that my blow job skills have improved from all of my study because my husband got the release of his life.




“Your mind is wandering, Mia. You must focus. I have a guest joining us tonight. I do not want you to disappoint.”


What does he mean? I’m not ready for guests. A blush creeps over my body as the embarrassment of having yet another set of strange eyes settles over me. I haven’t mastered control of the body blush yet.


“You’re worried, Kotyonok. You must not let your emotions show. Your guest must never sense you discomfort unless that is his desire.”


Shit! Breathe deeply, think cool, calming thoughts. And release. A little moisture runs down my leg. I’m excited as well as embarrassed. Great. I must smell like a Russian fish factory.


The door opens and I see another two bodies shift into the room. Their dress is similar to my trainer and they share a similar stance. Both are masked which suits me just fine and dandy. God, I don’t want to recognize these people on the street. My trainer retreats to the corner of the room without a word. I don’t understand. Surely he would not hand me over without some sort of exchange of information. Elena is not here either. That is at my request. I don’t need to have my mother watching me standing around in the nude every night. Some things we should never share. I know that she watches from behind a screen but it is usually a case of out of sight, out of mind. I’m hoping that this is something she will want to scrub from her memory too.


One of the newcomers stands very still. There is so much tension in his body that he frightens me. I can feel the anger radiating off him in waves. His whole stance is making the other two look like rank amateurs. The other, my trainer’s assistant, crosses the floor and talks to my trainer. I can’t hear them and I can’t see them but I know that there is a meeting of minds going on. The other man holds all of my focus and I feel my pussy fairly flood with anticipation. God, I wish Ethan was here. I also wish that the angry man would step out of the shadows and into the light so I can see his eyes. I hear a door open and close behind me and the two other men are gone.


I would say that a good five or ten minutes pass before he moves a muscle. That doesn’t sound long on paper but believe me, when you’re tethered, naked, in the middle of dimly lit room, awaiting your punishment for apparently existing, ten minutes can seem like four hours. I try to keep my breathing even and quietly thank the BDSM gods that my arms are not restrained above my head. I cast my eyes down to the floor hoping that if I ‘do’ demure and submissive that he will get this show on the road and I will be able to get my clothes back on. At least the rules of the training are quite strict on the no sex clause. Naked is optional but recommended and compliance is non-negotiable.


Finally he walks forward, which I sense more than see. Given how furious this guy appears to be, there is no way that I am going to add fuel to the fire by looking at him. He has bare feet and instead of leathers he is wearing worn jeans, undone at the waist. I see his feet, he has sexy feet. Beautiful feet. I close my eyes. He walks around behind me and leans into the side of my neck, inhaling. Still, still, still….


There are no pieces of equipment in his hands. He simply takes the back of his hand and lightly traces a sensory line with his fingernail from my ear down over my collar bone and down the side of my right breast. My nipples are hard as rock. If they weren’t stiff already then they wouldn’t have stood a chance against that little onslaught. I keep my eyes down hoping that I can resist any temptation to look at anything other than those feet and jeans that seem to be hanging of his hips. Fuck!


My training dom has a great body and I have had some quite visceral reactions to the things that he does but nothing like this. This is taking me over like a Category 5 hurricane. Hard nipples are now the least of my worries as he snakes a hand around my waist and pulls me back hard against him so that my ass is firmly packed against his massive erection. Another difference between this one and my trainer dom. My trainer likes to remain in control and while there is often a swelling there, it is pretty well hidden behind the leather and at no time have I been permitted to touch it with any part of my body. That suits me fine.


But this dom is rigid as rock, both his body and his… appendage… which I would do anything to break free of right now. He slides his hand down my belly to my hips and then pauses before stepping away from my body with a sigh. Glad to hear he might be human after all.


“Kneel.” The instruction is quiet but firm, brooking no argument. I’m on my knees before I can think ‘go fuck yourself, you dominant ass hole’. This is good. Yet another sign that the training might be taking hold. Problem is, that when I get down to the kneeling position I am smiling at my success. Guest dom doesn’t take kindly to that because he walks over to the rack and grabs himself a flogger. I prepare for the licks to start. Instead he drapes the flogger over my face letting me smell the leather. I close my eyes and lift my face into it to inhale but he bounces it down and around my neck. A slow and sensual drape that has me leaning towards his hand as he moves from one side of my body to the other.


I feel him squat down beside me before he whispers into my ear, “You want this too much.”


My eyes fly open and I try to turn and look at him but he grabs my head and bows it forward. Without removing his hand he walks around the front of me. I study the feet carefully and then peer further up his legs toward his stomach, careful not to raise my eyelashes. He’s too tall for me to see what I want to see.


“Don’t try.” Oh, I’m 99.9% sure I want to try but I’m kind of scared of what the conversation in the viewing room might be. This is obviously a test and if I stuff it up then I will be replaced. Leaving Ethan and some other CIA skank to play out this mission in a few weeks time. Not gonna happen. Using all of the skills that my mother has taught me – yes, even that sounds disgusting to my ears – I concentrate on my breathing and stillness. His hand is still in my hair and he begins to massage my scalp. It feels so good but to move would be strike two on my ass. I let him do his thing. I can survive this.


“Good girl, I’m going to tie you up.” At this point I resist the urge to point out the bleeding bloody obvious. I  am already tied up. But I’ll play his game. He walks over to the wall and selects some lengths of rolled jute. He tests some of them out by rolling them in his fingers, rejecting one roll in favor of another. All the while I am sneaking looks from under my eyelashes and hoping like hell that he doesn’t turn suddenly and catch me out. Watching him, I don’t think he is willing to do anything suddenly. Everything is very carefully measured and considered in his movements as if he is having to think through the consequences of each one very carefully.


When he returns to me he drops two coils of rope at his feet before unraveling the third. Once he starts to wrap my body in the rope I know that we are about to enter into a real power exchange. The shocking realization of what is about to happen has me angry, tense. I sense my humiliation is about to be made even more complete knowing that he will hog tie me for the pleasure of the viewing public behind that two way glass. I want to fight, kick, scream but I hold it all back like the perfectly trained little compliant that I am. Not. Bile rises to my throat.


“Breathe out.” I obey instantly. I have to trust him, completely. I have no choice. If not, I will be in pain, or worse, danger. I exhale and he carefully places the rope under my breasts, effectively securing my arms hard against my body. When he has wrapped over the same place three times he manipulates a knot in the center of my back. I begin to pray quietly to Ethan’s god, that this man, this dom, knows what he’s doing. The rope then travels over the top of my breasts in the same manner and what were sizeable appendages anyway, now have the added bargaining power of the rope thrusting them out and forward. Our backs are to the window where the others will be watching. He takes advantage and allows his hand to travel over my left breast checking the skin to ensure circulation. He’s copping a feel as well because I feel him shuffle a little behind me as if getting himself comfortable. I hate him. I bite my tongue trying to draw blood to take my mind off this ritual degradation.


“Trust me.” Pfftt!


The rope is now threaded down my back to secure the two levels of rope and tied off. He then deftly maneuvers the knots down in my lower back and begins to loop the rope around my waist. I half expect him to secure me to the rigging that dangles above our head. He doesn’t. Instead, a second rope, slightly thinner than the original rope is added in and he continues to wrap my torso repeatedly weaving the new rope into the old down the center of my back. Over and over he repeats the action with quiet confidence, his fingers barely touching my skin. The more he adds the more I begin to trust in his skills and I even find myself feeling more comfortable. As he completes the secondary wrapping of my breasts, I understand that he has not only secured me as part of this power play but he is effectively dressing me with the rope. Clothing my body and my modesty. All the while he leans over from behind to check the ropes rather than kneeling in front of me. Now that I understand his intent I want to see him even more. Instead, I close my eyes and use my other senses to determine the identity of my new dom. His sound, his touch, his smell. As the senses feed me the information and my brain processes what I have seen, felt and heard I relax even further. All the while, the rope goes around and around taking me with it, into a state of pure calm.


Finally, he picks up the third rope and walks around to stand before me. My feeling of security is so complete now that I don’t need to look up. He has me completely under his control and a serene smile plays across my lips. He kneels down before me, his large hands grasping my rope clad arms and he raises me up so that I am kneeling straight. As I rise up, my eyes lift automatically and I am just about to mentally castigate myself when his eyes catch mine. No smile reaches his lips but his eyes are sad, longing. They state quite clearly, “Mine”. I feel tears start to form in mine. My heart in my mouth. My eyes reach out for him as my body can’t. My master, I love him so much.


He glances over my shoulder quickly and then looks back at me, pleading silently. I blink to show that I understand and then lower my eyes once more. The third rope is thread onto the main rope again at the waist, and this time he begins to thread between my legs. My breathing evens out with every touch, now that I know it is him. Slowly but surely he begins the process of threading between my legs and up to attach at my waist. A carefully placed half hitch ensures that the ropes do not tighten. The clothing of my body continues and with each pass of the rope he is careful not to touch my skin. I release myself to him, surrendering completely, the tears falling with startling regularity, as any fear or anxiety leaves my body. This is more powerful than all of the flogging and paddling sessions that I have endured at the hands of my trainer. This is more powerful than any of the orgasms I have experienced at the hands and body of my lover.


As he completes the last of the threading he wipes the tears from my eyes and holds my face in his palms, kissing each of my eyes in turn. Then he bows my body forward at the waist, leaving my ass in the air but bringing my head gently down to rest in his lap. He turns my face side on so that I can breath comfortably and he strokes my hair. Finally he reaches over my body and secures the last knot in what I can feel must be a work of art. I didn’t know. I had no idea that he had this in him. We hold our position, him kneeling with my head in his lap, me kneeling submissively and demurely with my body bowed before him. He could do anything to me right now but I trust that he won’t.


The door opens and I register in my subconscious the footsteps of others entering the room. There might be yet others entering the room, I don’t know.  My trainer is the only one I see as his leather clad legs pass my face. He places one hand on my master’s shoulder and there is a spontaneous round of applause before he drops a soft garment next to his feet and then turns to leave the room. Once more the room empties and it is just me and … my master. His hand continues to brush the hair from my face and we hold our positions for an indeterminate amount of time. I don’t know how long, I have no desire to move. The only way I know that it is time to move is the ache in my back from holding this position for so long. He helps me to stand and then drapes the silk kimono around my shoulders without untying the knots. I wouldn’t want him to. I am content to wear my costume.


Instead of making me walk, he sweeps me up into his arms and carries me to the couch, lowering us both down so that I am still cradled in his arms, on his lap. The ropes are barely there for me now. He is all that I feel. I maintain stillness so that he knows I will obey. I am happy to do this. I will not move or speak until he gives me permission. He knows this. He does not abuse the privilege. More time passes.


At some point he removes the ropes, I have lost track of time. I no longer care. He covers me again with the gown before walking me through the club. He stops at a door and briefly leaves me while he gathers his shirt and shoes. My eyes do not want to look up. I don’t want another soul to disturb my peace. He emerges fully dressed and carries me out to a car. Someone holds the door for us. I don’t care to know who. Someone else drives us back to his apartment. This is the first time I will enter the apartment to stay. I am sure that he will not send me home.


“Mia, I need you to walk inside on your own. Can you do that?” I nod. I can’t recall the last time I breathed.


“Feed her, bathe her, let her sleep.” A voice rumbles from the front seat. Christian.


“I’ve got this. I know how to take care of my …” He stops. Why did he stop? What am I now to him? Am I his wife? His lover? His partner? His sub? What have I become.


“Just make sure you do.” The door slams and the car pulls away from the curb before we even make it to the door.


Once we are inside he takes me straight to the bedroom. I stand in the middle of the floor while he moves around the room. I hear him turn the bath on and my tears return. Master will care for me. Master will love me. He leaves the room for a short while and still I cannot bring myself to move. It is not my place to do so. I am still back at the club. I have gone from fearing the role, playing the role, to being…just being…all in one night. And it was him. Always him.


Soon he returns with cups of tea. He carries them through to the bathroom and shuts off the water. He returns to me and lifts my chin. “Baby, come back to me.” Again, he kisses away my tears. “Mia, please, speak to me.”


“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be.” His lips are on mine. Firm but gentle with both hands securing my face, anchoring me to him.


“You do. You don’t have to be anything other than who you are.”


“But you are…my master,” I whisper.


“Only when you need me to be.”


“But it is your job to take care of me.”


“We take care of each other. Honey, please. Leave it back there. Please. Here, we are anything we want to be. We don’t have to play their games.”


But it wasn’t a game. I want to yell at him. To throw myself at his feet. I can’t explain what has happened. It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t… it wasn’t.


I am on my knees sobbing and so is he. “Mia, sweetheart. You have to turn it off. I won’t be your master 24/7. I refuse. I want you. I want my wife back. I want my friend. Please.”


My hands hold his face as his hold mine. We both kneel up and look into each others eyes. His willing me back into the room, mine fighting not to submit.


“I love you, Mia. I can’t love you and dominate you. It isn’t in my nature. We have to find a middle ground or I am going to tell Rory that neither of us can do this.”


“But you did. You did dominate me. And I loved it. I wanted it. I trusted you.” I had said these words before. Yet he continues to resist.


Ethan stands and extends a hand for me. He leads me into the bathroom and strips off my shoes and stockings. Finally he turns me to face the mirror and removes the robe. As he does, I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth. The marks from the ropes are all over my body, red imprints in perfect lines as a testament to his skill.


“You knew how to do this. Before we started the training.” His eyes focus on mine. I’ll take that as a yes. I recall his time in Japan. A mission to infiltrate a drug ring. The seedy Japanese underworld had been smuggling arms as well. Ethan had tracked the money. He had obviously picked up a few other skills.


He handed me into the bath tub before stripping off and settling in behind me. The sponge in his hand was ministering to my skin with extreme care. This is the type of care that I would hope to get from my master.


“You’re caring for me. Why?”


His hand paused. “Because I love you. I respect you. I would do anything for you.”






“Then stop resisting what we have. I’ve never been more sure after tonight that we can make this part of our lives. I want this with you. I want to submit to you. I want you to care for me.”


“Is any of this up for negotiation.”


“Always. You treat this as if it is something bad. Something abnormal.”


“I was brought up to respect women. Nothing disturbed me more in my childhood than my father cheating on my mother. Nothing disturbed me more as a teen than the way they used you because you were young and vulnerable.”


“And female?”


“Maybe. I think that helped. They manipulated you and they used me to do it.”


“So who got used. They used you, too. That had nothing to do with respect for women. They were ethically and morally wrong. Yet, we continue to work for them.”


“I don’t want them manipulating you again. Not like this. I won’t have them use you for their own ends.”


“But that’s where you’re screwing this up. I was so invested in what you did tonight that nobody could have reached me but you. That is the ultimate in trust. You and I, we have something really special. They don’t get to touch that. Not ever. Not even when they think they have us jumping through hoops for this mission.”


His arms wrapped around me tight and he snuggled his face into my neck. “I just love you so much Mia. I can’t lose you ever again.”


“You won’t lose me ever again. I think we need to come clean with someone… about us. So that there is somebody in our lives who knows what we mean to each other.” The only question was who?




9 thoughts on “Mia: Ch 19: Unchain My Heart

  1. gmbizette says:

    Christian …great chapter!!!


  2. Maxime Noyes says:

    Oh Sasha…I…Almost… don’t know what to say… You play your readers like an electric cello… Fingers sliding and moving, so strong- Being bent and bowed, drawn smoothly with expertise and fitness… the tempo of your words… the vivid pictures you place in your reader’s minds… The melody of your characters…damn…Your stories make me sweat! I thank you, and so does my water company! 😉
    x Maxime ❤


    • I think you give me far more credit than I’m due. Perhaps you have a very fertile imagination and my words just drop in to all the right places, spurring your visions on! I do, however, love the idea of adding to your utilities bills. I shall continue to kink away on that encouragement alone! 😉


      • Maxime Noyes says:

        :::sigh….:::: oh Sasha… I definitely do not give you too much credit. I definitely have a very fertile imagination, no doubt about it… as does almost every avid reader. I’m actually extremely picky. Almost as bad as an A&R exec…For writers, I give them maybe five or ten pages to find the hook. I will support just about anyone in their efforts to manifest a story… you never know at what point someone is going to hit a roll, find their magic… find their voice…

        I absolutely love and adore popular fiction writers. I believe pop fiction writers are a gift to a broken world… pulp fiction writers are an escape and often times an inspiration… and sometimes they offer educational value… and of course the opportunity to dream.

        What you write does fit in with what I believe Pop fiction ought to be… it’s not just about the fucking, although your sex scenes are some of the best I’ve read! But you bring so much more to whatever genre you want to call it. Your story lines and your character development are classic in the best way! Classic universal archetypes plopped down in completely incongruous settings… heads your fertile imagination! Your creativity! You’re very unique babies! 😉 There are about 5 maybe 7…50 fanfic authors who have my delighted undivided attention when they’re chapters come out… or whose finished product I have truly enjoyed. I hate to see you think a fan thinks too much of you… You are marvelous and I will not take no for an answer! My favorite authors are… Samuel Clemens, Benjamin Franklin, Maya Angelou, Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Anne Rice, Shakespeare ( I really think was Sir Francis Bacon), Harriet Beecher Stowe…. And I have enjoyed your work no less when any of theirs… it’s not about spelling, or grammar , or genre… it’s about the writer’s voice. I suppose one of the signs that you are doing what you are supposed to be doing…lol… is that you are not doing it to get your ego stroked. I get the feeling that you right… because your soul tells you you must write! Regardless of my utility bills! 😉 And that is the best kind of writer there is… Just don’t stop, regardless of anyones opinions… But I want you to feel supported and I want you to feel good, knowing that someone, somewhere… truly appreciate your art and your craft. Fanfic writers… the title alone would make someone feel like a second hand rose…well…” a rose by any other name would smell as sweet…” You are gifted writer, and we are lucky to have you. Someday I just know, I will look back and say…” I was privileged enough to read for work back in the day when it was free!!!!” You are so good and you don’t know it. No different than a beautiful woman who has no clue how beautiful she is…Armchair Therapist for artists whose mirrors are smudgy. xox Maxime 😉


        • I don’t know why the planets aligned to bring you into my life or why it is you chose to write that particular post today but I am very thankful. I have buckets of doubts about my writing and more insecurities than you can shake a stick at. Every artist needs a little ego stroking now and then and yours came at one of those karmically and cosmically magical moments. Thank you, thank you, thank you. xxxx


  3. Hope says:

    Love your writing….there are days that are not very well lets just say good for me and your stories take me away….I get lost in thinking about what the next chapter will be like and to much happiness you surprise me cant wait for the next chapter have agreat weekend


    • Thank you for sharing. I am so glad that my stories touch you in a positive way. It really makes it worth while when you know that even one person is benefitting from my words. Take care, keep well and stay in touch. Love Sasha xxx


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