Does Chain Hang Low Novels & Stories

“There are handles at both ends of the chain. Is it possible that you have to hold the handle if you want to get the heritage?” Montel grimaced as he looked at the handles on the left and right. Even a gibbon could not stretch its arms so far apart! “You guys stand on two ends and give it a try,” Philip said after thinking about it. Montel stepped forward and grabbed the handle on the right. Seeing Montel’s decisiveness, Noelle quickly stepped forward and held the handle on the left. The chain was motionless when Montel grabbed one handle, but when the two of them held the handles at the same time, the dark chain glowed with white light.

Maybe four inches wide, a matched pair of chains dangle from the ring, carabiners clipped to the free ends. Toward the footer of the bed, from the right and left sides, straps hang from the cross-posts. Nylon, I think, they look to be made of the stuff they use for climbing harnesses. The dangling ends open to loose loops. Buckles fitted halfway along say the straps are adjustable. A gentle push behind my shoulders. "Lie down, Elizabeth. Your head toward the wall. Arms over your head." The chains clink as he clips them to my cuffs. Then I huff, my breath snapped short as, grabbing me by the ankles, he hauls me down the bed until my arms draw tight and my legs flop over the end.

I stopped her in the middle of one of my favorite places. The far corner of the room—low-lit, always kept immaculate—was where the velvet bled into steel. A deep gray panel of the wall had been subtly reinforced, smooth and cold to the touch. Above, a brushed black metal bar was secured horizontally across the width of the wall, nearly invisible unless you knew what to look for. From it hung a pair of soft cuffs—lined with plush leather, the color of storm clouds. A single matte chain linked each one to the bar, just long enough to let her shift and squirm, but never slip free.

"Are you okay? Does your arm hurt?" I nearly smile at his concern but shake my head. "No, I'm fine. I want to ask you something. How is the chandelier connected to the ceiling?" "Well, you see that hook over there?" he points to the big hook on the ceiling. "The chain is wound around it a couple of times, and then there's another post in the floor nearest to the chandelier and the chain is wound around it and locked with a padlock to keep it tight and steady."

As she walked in, she could see blood splattered everywhere. In the middle of the room, a man was hung by two chains holding his hands apart. His legs were also chained to the ground, positioning him in a crucifix fashion. His head hung low as though he had expired but his chest said otherwise. He still heaved, an evidence that he was still alive and breathing. Only that his breathing was laborious and rather slow.

Pulls out a length of black chain, thin, stainless steel, light enough not to bruise but heavy enough to feel. He returns. “Hands.” I extend them. He loops the chain around my wrists. Not tight. Symbolic. Clips the ends to the O-ring on the collar. Bound. Owned. He leads me to the center of the room, there’s a metal support beam running floor to ceiling. He wraps the chain once around it. Clips it again. My arms are stretched above my head now, body arched slightly, toes barely touching concrete. Exposed. Vulnerable. He steps back. Admit me.

His head hung low. "Lift your head." I commanded. He slowly lifted his head to meet my gaze. His eyes held a fire that said if he could, he'd cut me down where I stood. I turned to the guard that stood by the crank that held the chains the prisoner hung from. "Lower him."

It wasn't expensive but it wasn't also that cheap. The chain is made of pure silver while the pendant is a simple half-moon, precisely a centimetre in length. It is embedded with small diamonds, and behind it, he made a carving of her initials: HJA. When she saw it, her eyes lit up in a moment then turned her head away. It's as if the happiness he saw in her eyes was nothing but only a glint of it. He is slowly becoming frustrated by her actions. "You didn't like it?"

With excitement and curiosity, she quickly opened the message and was not disappointed. She saw the picture of a handsome guy, tall, athletic, wearing a black suit, and leaning against a glass door. Very formal and powerful. He reminded her of Dedan. She shoved the guilt aside. It wasn’t like she was sleeping with the guy, she told herself again. She was only talking to him.

She reached under the bed, and he heard metal against metal as she pulled a chain attached to a cuff and dropped it onto the sheet next to his head. “Of course, your bed would have permanent chains attached,” he said. “Shadow is a fan of being tied down, and occasionally when I am feeling kinky and he has been especially good,” she dropped a chain next to his ankle, “I let him chain me down.” The idea of chaining her down had serious appeal. “How good does a person have to be to chain you down?” He asked, his voice hoarse.