Darkest Fantasies

by Raines, Kimberley

  After a while the simple confinement began to pall, though, and Kevin began to make dissatisfied noises. 'You want me to touch you, slave?' Esther whispered.

  'Yes, oh yes,' he groaned.

  She reached out and stroked the bonds at his wrists. 'You're not going to be silly and try to escape, are you, slave?'

  'No,' he groaned. 'Oh, no.'

  She released his ankles from the end of the bed, then unbuckled one restrained wrist. 'Roll over,' she ordered.

  Dutifully he did so and let her twist his free arm behind his back and clip his wrist into the thick waist belt.

  'And the other one,' she continued, and the other wrist followed suit.

  She sat back on her heels and watched her husband for a moment, bemused by the power she had over him. He could have escaped at that moment, had he wanted to. Obviously he did not. Now, however, his wrists were firmly affixed to his spine. She joined his ankles with a six-inch strap, then made him sit up.

  'Walk,' she ordered.

  'Where to, mistress?' he asked humbly, attaining his feet, but finding balance slightly difficult.

  'Forward,' she told him, and gave him a smart rap on the buttocks. When they reached the stairs she instructed, 'Now step down. One, two, three...'

  He edged forward, one step at a time. 'Where are you taking me?' he asked. 'Where am I?'

  Questions tinged with excitement and fear.

  'To my dungeon, slave,' she said.

  'And what will you do to me there?'

  He was positively quivering with excitement, she realised. It was certainly not fear.

  'What would you like me to do?' she mused. 'Shall you be a schoolgirl who needs spanking, perhaps, and I the teacher? Maybe you're in a mental hospital, wrapped in a straightjacket and about to have electric treatment to stop your terrible wanking? Or perhaps I am the gangster's moll with a gun to your head while you lick my shoes clean? Or perhaps you're the prisoner and I the torturer encased in skin-tight rubber? Or maybe you like my leather and whips?' Each time she adjusted her voice to suit the character, and he shuffled determinedly down the hall before her to the altered garage.

  'I am your prisoner, fair torturer,' he said hoarsely. 'I can see you. You're wearing studded leather and high-heeled shoes and you're carrying a whip. I'm quivering at your feet, goddess.'

  'Then shall I whip you and make you pay for your infidelity, slave?'

  His imagination had taken over entirely. 'Please,' he begged, stumbling forward as fast as his hobbles would permit. 'Please!'

  'And how shall I whip you?' she teased. 'On the wooden cross, on tiptoe with your arms stretched, or across the horse with your backside bare? Or shall I merely chain you to the bars of your cell?'

  He groaned with pleasure. 'Anything you wish, mistress. Anything!'

  'And you've been so very wicked, haven't you, slave? You've been enjoying yourself with another, after all I told you before.'

  'I have been so very wicked, mistress. Very, very wicked.'

  For a moment Esther wondered whether to ask him who he'd been wicked with, but decided that perhaps she would rather not know. He would know what he was being punished for, and would no doubt tell her when he thought he'd been punished enough. Then she would decide whether or not to stop.

  'Very well, I grant your wish,' she went on. 'You will be punished for your wickedness, slave. I shall beat you until your flesh screams. I shall whip you until there is not an inch of flesh left unpunished.'

  'Yes please, mistress,' he agreed hoarsely, and groaned with anticipation as he was thrust hard against the cold metal bars of his cell. She pulled a collar around his neck and clipped it to the bars, pulling him in so that his face pressed into the cold steel.

  'You've been very wicked,' Esther said softly, 'and I must punish you severely. Do you know why?'

  'Because I've been with another woman, mistress?'

  'Not because you've been with another woman, slave, but because you felt you needed to. Anything she can do, I can do better. Anything you did to her, you should do to me - if I let you. I am the only woman in your life from now on. The only woman. You will learn that.'

  'But this is not—' He was about to explain about his wife, when the words were plugged abruptly as she thrust a thick wedge of leather between his teeth, which forced his jaws apart and pulled his lips back in the parody of a smile. This was not comfortable in the least, and he had not finished saying what he wanted to say, but she ignored his muffled grumbles and proceeded to tighten straps over the top and back of his head, keeping the gag in place.

  Suddenly Kevin wasn't quite so sure he liked the idea. He was too vulnerable. Suddenly the idea of extreme punishment didn't seem quite so desirable. Hell, what was he thinking of, damn it? Unable to voice his sudden misgiving, he pulled determinedly at the cuffs around his wrists, deciding that enough was enough.

  Esther stood back and watched for a moment. Gone was the passive acceptance. He had slipped into the resistive mode. Madam had taught her about that; about the time when notions of propriety and society warred against the calls of the flesh. Now she would have to be careful. The bars to which he was attached were not, in fact, part of a cell, but were a square grill attached firmly to floor and ceiling, and placed at ninety degrees to the wall of what had once been the garage. But it was well concreted in.

  She walked to the other side of the grill, threaded a rope through it and pulled his knees tightly to the bars, forestalling movement. Then she was able to attach two ropes to the ankle cuffs, and a further two to his wrist cuffs, carefully avoiding the urgently groping fingers that tried desperately to stop her. Then she released the temporary rope around his knees and, to his extreme annoyance, pulled and separated his ankles as far as they would comfortably spread and tied them off.

  Then she took a firm hold of one rope that threaded through the bars, and released each wrist in turn. Before he knew what was happening he was spread-eagled, struggling and grunting, against the bars.

  Oh, God, Kevin thought, feeling a chill air reach his balls and arse. Once again, thrills of fear and anticipation raged through his body, and his cock began to pump up with familiar urgency. He listened. What was she doing? He tensed. He remembered the whip.

  But no. Soft oiled hands began to smooth all over his body, to rub and touch his electrified skin. He could feel naked tits against his back. He groaned and his hips began to move. Her soft hands glided, teased, and then they were between his legs, possessing his sensitised cock and balls. He gripped the bars and groaned, his rampant erection pulsing in her grip.

  Then she was gone.

  No, she was still there, the hands were back. They were wrapping something round and round his cock, tighter and tighter. There was an awful stretched feeling, then the hands left him. He moved experimentally, gasped, and was still. Movement was pain. Beautifully erotic pain. His cock was threatening to explode with the tightness of the bindings that pulled his hips hard into the bars and held him totally immobile.

  He held his breath, listened.

  Again she was behind him. She was kneeling between his stretched legs, and was running oiled hands up and down his inner thighs - up and down, up and down, closer and closer to his exposed arse.

  He shuddered with anticipation. Such unbelievable eroticism; the feel of her hands upon his skin, the confinement of his organs and his total inability to move, to escape, or even to complain. Without warning a finger slipped into his arse, causing him to buck with shock. Then that finger began to glide in and out, the motion of his anus contracting and stretching further pumping his crucified balls into agonising stimulation.

  Then, as if that were not enough, the finger was withdrawn, and something else pressed hard against him, pushed inexorably in until his oiled anus opened obligingly to give it access. He felt her fiddling with the restraint around his middle, and whatever she had pushed into him was now confined there by more straps. The stretched, alien sensation was incredible. It couldn't be
more strange and lovely; until it began to buzz. His limbs pulsed involuntarily as spasms of sexual fire ran through him, starting deep in his bowels and rolling outward to his extremities in hot waves.

  At that point Esther left her husband to enjoy himself. She changed into the new leather suit she had bought, donned the high-heeled ankle boots, and covered face and hair with a fitted leather hood.

  When she went back Kevin was moaning softly. His penis was flacid now, relieving the tension in his body.

  She removed his blindfold.

  For a moment Kevin blinked in the harsh light. As his eyes came into focus he became aware of her standing before him, framed by the black metal bars which confined him. She was a goddess and torturer. Her face was concealed, but her breasts were perfect orbs supported by a clever array of leather straps. Her feet were encased in high-heeled ankle boots which were placed wide, causing her thigh and calf muscles to tense in shapely beauty. And between her black-gloved hands she bent a long leather whip.

  Kevin shivered.

  She walked forward and knelt.

  Kevin tried to look down, but with the collar clamped to the bars, could not move far enough to see what she was doing.

  'Is that nice, slave?' she teased, rubbing him back to full erection. 'Now I'm going to start hurting you. This is going to be so nice. Are you ready?'

  He made guttural noises of discontent.

  'What, not happy?' She stood.

  He tried to make her aware that enough was enough. She reached for his face and pulled two clips from the side of the gag and fixed them to the bars, keeping him looking firmly to the front.

  'Nnnng!' he complained as she sank down from view again, and he tensed expectantly.

  'I am going to so enjoy this, slave,' she murmured softly, her words an endearment, her fingers reaching around him, tracing small circles on his buttocks as if searching out targets to aim for.

  Kevin bucked against the bars. No, no, he didn't want to be beaten after all. Not really. Not at all! It was not too late to change his mind, please? But as she reached up through the bars and began to rub his nipples between her fingers, rubbing, rolling, pulling, until they began to burn, he knew even if he could speak, he would simply beg for more. The action hovered between pain and pleasure, sending sharp signals to his prick, which throbbed accordingly.

  Very soon Kevin was lost in his involuntary world of sex, and was merely a body fed tantalising promises by a siren in black leather. She was a fucking nympho, he thought.

  Then she was gone.

  He tried to look round, but could not, and stared in agonised anticipation at the bare white wall before him. He felt soft hands reach round, pinch his sore nipples once more, and then retreat.

  He waited...

  What the hell? That strange sensation around his nipples was not fingers. It was something mechanical, and seemed to get tighter and tighter by the second, but he could not look down to discover what she had done. He writhed for a moment, fighting the new and strange confinement that was making his nipples pulse so frantically. He moaned, struggled, and whimpered, self-pity mixed up with a sort of self-loathing because the confinement was so erotically pleasing, and surely a man wasn't supposed to be pleased at being used in such a dastardly way?

  But she was touching him all over, pressing into his back, agitating the vibrator that filled his back passage. Simply having her playing with him pumped him up to pleasing fullness, jammed into the tightness of the bindings. He wriggled slightly, felt everything move and pull. He groaned at the self-induced discomfort, and moved some more. Oh, it was lovely...

  He heard the faint whistle of the whip a fraction of a second before it landed. He wailed. The whip bit across both buttocks with unerring accuracy, stealing his breath and cutting him off mid-scream. As he rebounded against the pain the cord tightened around his cock and balls. He squealed, gasped against the flood of sensations. He struggled against his bonds, gurgling furiously, but the more he struggled the more the cord pleased him, bringing him to rock hard erection against the rope's confinement.

  'You want to say something to me, slave?'

  He grunted his affirmative. She removed the gag. He spat the leather out.

  'Do you want me to stop?' his fair tormentor whispered, in a voice which dripped sex.

  'No,' he groaned, while another part of his mind wondered what the hell he was saying. 'Please... more...'

  He sensed her raise the whip again. He heard the whistle, tensed, gritted his teeth, and bucked as it landed across his thighs. 'Oh...' he groaned.

  Again the whip fell.

  'More?' she goaded.

  'Yes, mistress,' he gasped.

  Esther beat her husband until his buttocks were a glowing mass of pulsing red stripes and his penis was a purple brand tipped with a glowing coal stoking the air through the bars. She hit him until her own sex was dripping with need, her body flushed with desire, her breath short with lust. Then, with hasty fingers, she released his bonds. Twisting him around in the hasty parody of a waltz, she grasped the bars above her head, opening her body invitingly. Kevin was hardly aware of what he was doing as he lifted her legs and thrust his way into the exposed accommodation just once, twice, thrice, before he came with a fantastic and painful orgasm.

  Only when he was finished did he realise that he was free. He stared at her, and lowered her feet to the floor.

  They stared into each other's eyes. She was at his mercy now; he could rip her hood off...

  He backed away, suddenly afraid. This was no dream. How he got here he didn't know, but he was afraid to look. Afraid he would leave his wife for this woman, this sexual animal who could command him to do anything she wanted, and he would obey. He didn't want to see her face. He didn't want to know who had tied him, beaten, him, and given him the best sexual ride he'd had in a long time, because he was afraid he would lose her. Or lose his marriage. Or lose himself.

  'Slave, there is some wine on the table,' the beautiful siren said. 'Drink it.'

  He knew it would be drugged.

  Chapter 9

  Esther stared at her sleeping husband, now back in their bed. He would wake up the next day with no idea how he had got there, and she had to carry on playing the simple wife who did not know he had been up to anything unusual.

  She pursed her lips pensively. The game was progressing just how Madam Tisset had said it would. She had found Kevin's trigger, all right. She smiled at the thought. Who would have thought the Casanova of the banking world was entertaining secret dreams of being dominated by a woman wielding a whip? Those items had merely been her own choice, her way of forcing his darkest fantasies out of him. Perhaps they had more in common than either of them had realised.

  She nursed a small measure of relief that she had not discovered his fetish to be something she could not handle. At least his dreams of domination were easily satisfied, and his secret sexual desires compatible with the imposed boundaries of their marriage. And if she kept it up, then he would have neither the time nor the inclination to keep ploughing new turf out of his own domain. But she could not keep up the pretence indefinitely. It was just not possible, even though she was pleased with the effectiveness of her disguised voice. She glanced at the mirror and, behind the obvious tiredness, recognised that the woman who stared back was still obviously not happy.

  Kevin turned over and snored. She smiled faintly at his innocent sleeping face, wondering how he was going to explain his weal-marked buttocks to the innocent wife. On reflection, however, she doubted he would even need to try. After all, they dressed in the dark and made love in the dark.

  Except for that time in the hall.

  She grew warm with the memory. Why could he not just let go with her more often? God, that had been good. She grimaced, he had not even recognised her orgasm when it had arrived, assuming that his virtual rape had hurt her. What an idiot! But then, so had she been for so long. Hemmed in by convention, by fear of being wanton. Sex was so much bet
ter than she had ever realised it could be. But it was still not enough. Kevin had fucked her out of his own necessity; a need brought on by anger, pique, jealousy - all sorts of reasons. But not for the one she wanted him to experience; the desire to please her equally.

  In spite of his recent ordeals, he was still being very superior and condescending. She thought of the earrings he had bought her, and knew what it meant when people talked about grinding their teeth. Had all the other little trinkets he had given her over the three years of their marriage been out of guilt? If so, he had well and truly played the field while she had remained in virtual ignorance. What a fool she had been! And what an insensitive bastard he'd been, pleasing all those other women, and not the one that mattered.

  Fingers curled into claws, reached towards him slightly, but with an effort she relaxed. Madam Tisset had been wrong in one respect; it was not just his fault, they had both been at fault. They had fallen into their roles in the marriage with serious lack of thought and total commitment to Victorian ideals. God, she had even been married in white, like a virgin. Barring the broken hymen, she might well have been one for all she knew about sex. How innocent she had been!

  She had supposed that lying on her back and thinking of England was enough, because that was all Kevin demanded. And she guessed he had thought her happy to be the wife his Victorian upbringing had led him to expect. In his defence, she mused, he probably really did want his wife to be a 'nice' girl, because a nice girl would not play around. If she had acted like a bitch in heat in the early days of their marriage, he probably would have assumed she was being as unfaithful as he was, and that would have finished the marriage before it had a chance. She knew that in spite of living in the twentieth century, Kevin did cherish the rather quaint notion that it was acceptable for men to be unfaithful, but not women. Where did the men think the women they bonked came from? Outer space?