Akash and Sakshi Bound by Silk and Leather CHP - 2

The air in the mansion was thick with unspoken rules, each one a silent chain binding Sakshi to her new existence. Days blurred into weeks, the monotony broken only by Akash’s commands and the rustle of silk against her skin. She had become a shadow of her former self, her identity swallowed whole by the saree that clung to her like a second skin and the braid that trailed down her back like a tether. The once vibrant Sakshi was now a house slave, her world confined to the walls of their opulent prison.

“Sakshi,” Akash’s voice cut through the silence of the morning, sharp and commanding. She was on her knees in the foyer, polishing the marble floor with a cloth that had long since lost its whiteness. Her fingers ached from the repetitive motion, but she didn’t dare slow down. “Master?” she replied, her voice soft, trained to be obedient.

“Come here,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. Sakshi rose quickly, her saree draping gracefully around her as she moved. She knew better than to question him, better than to show even a flicker of resentment. The chastity cage between her thighs was a constant reminder of her place, a cold metal barrier to her own desires.

Akash stood in the doorway of the study, his tall frame silhouetted against the light. He held a single-tailed whip in his hand, its leather strands coiled like a serpent ready to strike. Sakshi’s heart quickened at the sight of it, her body tensing in anticipation of the sting. She had learned to fear it, to respect it, but also to crave the release it brought—a twisted kind of pleasure that was all she was allowed.

“You’ve been careless,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “The silver tray in the dining room was smudged. You know how I feel about imperfections.”

Sakshi bowed her head, her long braid falling forward like a curtain. “I’m sorry, Master. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” he snapped, stepping closer. The scent of his cologne filled her nostrils, a heady mix of sandalwood and power. “Turn around.”

She obeyed without hesitation, her back straight as she faced the wall. The saree’s fabric bunched slightly around her waist, leaving her exposed. She felt the cool air on her skin, a stark contrast to the heat that was building inside her.

“Lift your braid,” he commanded. Sakshi reached back, grasping the thick plait and holding it over her shoulder. The whip whistled through the air before it struck, a sharp crack that made her gasp. The pain was immediate, a fiery line across her shoulder blades. She bit her lip to stifle a cry, her nails digging into her palms.

“Again,” he said, his voice calm, almost clinical. The whip fell a second time, then a third, each strike leaving a burning trail. Sakshi’s breath came in short, ragged bursts, her body trembling with the effort to remain still. She knew this was his way of reminding her who was in control, of reinforcing the boundaries of her existence.

“Do you understand your mistake?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost tender.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I understand.”

“Good,” he said, stepping closer. His fingers brushed the welts on her skin, a gentle touch that sent shivers down her spine. “You’re mine, Sakshi. Every inch of you. Never forget that.”

She nodded, her head still bowed. “I won’t, Master.”

Akash stepped back, the whip dangling idly from his hand. “Now, go and prepare the tea. I have guests arriving, and I expect everything to be perfect.”

“Yes, Master,” she replied, turning to leave. Her saree swirled around her ankles as she walked, the fabric a constant reminder of her role. She moved with practiced grace, her steps measured, her back still stinging from the punishment.

In the kitchen, Sakshi set about her task with precision. The tea had to be brewed just right, the cups arranged perfectly on the silver tray. She worked silently, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Part of her resented the control Akash held over her, the way he had stripped her of her autonomy. But another part—a darker, more submissive part—found solace in his dominance. It was a twisted kind of freedom, a release from the burden of choice.

As she poured the tea, her fingers trembled slightly, the pain from the whipping still lingering. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. The guests would be arriving soon, and she couldn’t afford to make another mistake. Not today.

The doorbell rang, its chime echoing through the house. Sakshi straightened her saree, her braid falling neatly down her back. She carried the tray into the drawing room, her steps quiet and deliberate. Akash was already there, his guests seated on the plush sofa, their eyes curious as Sakshi entered.

“Sakshi, this is Mr. and Mrs. Patel,” Akash introduced, his voice smooth and polite. “They’re here to discuss business.”

Sakshi bowed her head slightly, her eyes downcast. “Welcome,” she murmured, setting the tray on the coffee table. She poured the tea with practiced elegance, her movements fluid despite the ache in her back.

“She’s quite the hostess,” Mrs. Patel remarked, her tone laced with amusement. “So traditional, so… obedient.”

Akash smiled, a cold, calculating expression. “Sakshi knows her place,” he said, his hand resting possessively on her shoulder. “She’s a perfect example of what a woman should be.”

Sakshi felt a flush creep up her neck, a mix of humiliation and something else—something she couldn’t quite name. She stood silently, her gaze fixed on the carpet, as the conversation flowed around her. She was a prop, a decoration, a living testament to Akash’s power.

When the guests finally left, Akash dismissed her with a nod. “Go to the bedroom,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ll be there shortly.”

Sakshi obeyed without question, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew what was coming next, what was always expected of her. She moved to the bed, sitting on the edge as she had so many times before. Her saree pooled around her, the silk cool against her skin. She waited, her breath shallow, her body tense with anticipation.

The door clicked open, and Akash entered, his presence filling the room. He moved to her, his hands gripping her shoulders, his touch both rough and tender. “You did well today,” he said, his voice low. “But remember, Sakshi, you’re mine. Always.”

She nodded, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment before dropping to the floor. “I know, Master,” she whispered.

He pushed her back onto the bed, his weight pressing her down. His hands roamed over her, possessive and demanding, his lips brushing against her skin. The chastity cage was a constant reminder of her denial, a barrier to her own pleasure. But even as she longed for release, she found herself surrendering to his touch, her body responding despite her mind’s protests.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his fingers tangling in her braid. “So submissive, so mine.”

Sakshi closed her eyes, her breath coming in short gasps. She was his, body and soul, bound by silk and leather and unspoken rules. And as his lips trailed down her neck, as his hands explored every inch of her, she felt the familiar tug of desire—a desire that was his to control, his to command.

The night deepened, the mansion silent except for their muted sounds. Sakshi’s world had shrunk to this moment, to this bed, to this man. She was his house slave, his possession, her identity erased and rewritten in his image. And as she lay there, her body aching with unfulfilled longing, she wondered if she would ever know freedom again—or if this was the only kind of freedom she would ever have.

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the darkness enveloped them both.