Darkest Fantasies

by Raines, Kimberley

  What he had to be made to realise was that both his home comforts and his sexual desires could be satisfied by his own wife. And the other part of that realisation was of that he had to be made aware of her needs, to realise that she was a red-blooded woman, and that it was not bad to be so. Otherwise, one day she might really become a bitch in heat, go off looking for satisfaction from some other man instead of just doing it in her dreams.

  But how?

  Kevin was so complacent he simply could not accept that homely little Esther had a burning need to see her sexual fantasies enacted. He probably didn't even think she had fantasies. And if she did, he probably thought he was them. Arrogant prick! Yet she knew she was being unkind in her thoughts. It had taken someone else to teach her that dreams and fantasies were not necessarily wrong. It had also taken a lot more soul-searching to find the strength of mind to put these new thoughts into action.

  She smiled, lay back and closed her eyes. If he was not capable of thinking it out on his own, she would have to do it for him - but now was not the time. With the ease of long practice, to satisfy her own lustful cravings, she turned her drifting thoughts to a normal morning, to seeing Kevin off with a wave of the hand before turning to face her empty house.

  This was her own private dream; that the hallway was not empty.

  As she closed the door behind her, to her shock she realised there was a man dressed in scruffy jeans and a checked shirt wedged behind it. She stared for a brief moment before opening her mouth to scream. The stranger leapt forward, rammed a hand over her mouth and pulled her into the curve of his body with his other hand. She reached up, whimpering, to scrabble instinctively at the ridges of muscle which confined her.

  'Keep still!' he commanded harshly. 'I don't want to hurt to you.'

  She turned to stone and froze compliantly in his arms at the implied threat. He sidled to the kitchen window, and she went with him, feet scrabbling for purchase, the whites of her eyes gleaming up at the chiselled beauty of his face. He pulled back the net curtain a fraction. Locked in an unloving embrace, they both watched. The road was still. Eventually she felt his body relax.

  'It seems I've lost them. Now, if I take my hand away do you promise not to scream?'

  After a second she nodded. Did she have any choice? He moved his hand away fraction, tensed at her indrawn breath, then released her save for a hand on one shoulder. He indicated a small kitchen chair. 'Sit down. Push the chair right in and put your hands on the table.'

  'What are you—?'

  Blue eyes inflicted a warning, stilled her tongue. 'I've just escaped, and I'm not about to give myself up without a fight. Does that scare you?'

  'Yes,' she said honestly.

  'Good.'

  He continued to watch the road with hawk-like ferocity while she sat there, hands on the table as she'd been told, watching him. He was not a large man, but compact, lithe, his whole body tense and volatile as if waiting to explode into action. There was a primitive beauty about him, something wild and untamed, not at all what she was used to in her own socially-aware husband. With a faint shiver of something tantalising, she saw the way his tight jeans moulded against his thighs and recalled the way his rock-hard chest had pressed against her.

  They were a still tableau for a while, he at the window, she at the table. Then gradually he relaxed, turned to face her, and drawled, 'Well, it seems I did lose them, after all. That's nice, isn't it?'

  He leaned against the sink, crossing bronzed forearms across his chest. Above them a sprinkling of dark curly hair escaped his unbuttoned shirt. He had a sort of careless grace, with his brilliant blue eyes, and slightly unkempt hair, but she was not deceived. This man was a criminal, desperate to remain at large.

  Then, to her horror she saw a dawning interest in their situation in his gaze, and realised his eyes began to assess her with new awareness. 'I think I would be wise to stay here for a while,' he commented, amusement touching his eyes at her comprehension.

  She flushed, fleetingly touching her fingertips to a slightly bruised lip. 'My husband—'

  'Will not return till after five, darling,' he interrupted confidently. 'True?'

  She nodded, then it was too late to lie.

  His lazy gaze stripped her. 'Then we have plenty of time to get to know each other better before I have to leave.'

  'I - I can't,' she whispered. 'My husband—'

  'Isn't here - I am. And besides, you have no choice.' He crossed the gap between them in two easy strides and took a firm handful of her hair. He twisted insistently, turning her face up to his, and gazed into her eyes as he lifted her to her feet. The chair squeaked back along the tiled floor. She was pulled into a close embrace, his chest smothering her soft breasts, then his lips pressed on hers.

  She pushed ineffectually at him, but his hand knotted a little tighter in her hair, bringing tears to her eyes. He drew back a fraction. 'I like my women to respond,' he warned, his breath a warm whisper on her lips.

  Fearfully she opened her mouth, and responded to his kiss with something less than enthusiasm. It seemed to satisfy him, though. His other hand crept around her back, pressing her tightly to him, leaving her in no doubt that he was already turned on.

  Her own hands fluttered against his hips, then grasped his shirt as he pulled her off balance.

  'Pull my shirt out,' he commanded, his tongue lapping her lips between words. 'I want to feel your hands on me.'

  Shocked to quivering compliance, she tugged obediently at the fabric, and then whispered back, 'I can't. It's too tight.'

  'Then undo my jeans.'

  She fumbled with the heavy fabric, the dark-treacle promise in his voice sending waves of desire to her very core. She undid the button, then slid the zipper down. He groaned deep in his throat as her hands brushed up against the huge lump in his trousers and managed to pull his shirt free. Her fingers slid up the taut skin beneath to discover he truly was as muscular as he had seemed, all lean whipcord strength. She wondered what the police wanted him for, but didn't wonder anything very much after that, because he was now moving against her with a building intensity. He ripped her blouse from her waistband, reached inside to undo her bra, then his hand was pressing and circling the mound of flesh, rolling the tight nipple between brutish fingers. She gasped, but could say nothing because his tongue was invading her mouth, his lips possessing hers, silencing any complaints she may have felt obliged to a utter.

  Then his hand slid down, pushed inside her skirt and pants to encompass one firm buttock. Panicked, she put her hands against his chest and tried to push away, but it was like pushing at a brick wall. Nothing bent beneath her frantic efforts. Suddenly his softness was gone. He swore, turned her around suddenly, heaved her clothes down over her hips and pushed to her face against the kitchen table, the one hand holding her there, the other clumsy with haste as he tugged her clothes down to her ankles and ripped them off. Her blouse he pulled up savagely and left there, tangling her arms in a knot above her head.

  Then, as quickly as it started, his violence was gone. 'Oh, you're beautiful,' he grunted. One hand, more gentle now, held her by the neck, forestalling movement, while the other caressed the white lengths of her back, sending crazy signals of anger and desire to the very core of her sex. The hand slid inexorably towards the crease between her full buttocks, dwelt in tantalising pleasure for a moment on her anus, and then slipped further to separate and lubricate the thickened lips below.

  She lay there across the table, her useless hands trapped by fabric, her cheek pressed to the scrubbed pine table, unable to do more than accept; for although conscience told her to struggle, he had awakened in her a desire of the same intensity as his own. A jeans-clad knee inserted itself between her legs, opening her more fully for his pleasure, making her available for his use. His hands left her body for a moment, and she shuddered as the fabric of his own clothes scraped past her inner thighs, letting her feel the heat of his bare skin. He leaned down, kissed her sho
ulder, and murmured, 'You'll enjoy this. I know you will, you sexy whore,' and he pushed his throbbing organ against the lubricated lips of her vagina. She felt the heat of him pressing, opening her for his pleasure, and her body sucked him in greedily, aroused by his forceful actions. Holding her firmly by the shoulders he began to work himself backwards and forwards, pleasing himself with slow and indulgent strokes.

  At first she lay acquiescent, determined not to encourage him, but she could no longer hold back. Groaning deep in her throat, Esther began to move in unison with the muscled stranger. The unexpected response fired him to new enthusiasm, and with the violence of mutual need, he began to thrust to a climax within her captive body. Finding her recumbent position on the table hindering his access, he released her shoulders to lift her hips, the better to accommodate his urgent erection. As he pounded against her she was brought to her own peak, and even as he ejaculated with a triumphant roar, so did she. There was a moment of union, of exhausted silence and drawn breath before he withdrew with a faint curse of sated lust.

  Esther made to move, but he forestalled her. Holding her still with one heavy hand he ripped the remains of her clothes from her, then pulled her to her feet, letting her know in no uncertain terms who was in charge.

  'No,' he grunted, 'show me the bathroom. That was a nice little aperitif. Give me a few more moments and I'll come up with the main course. And if you're a really good girl, we'll have a sweet before I bid you farewell. This is as good a place as I can think of to sit tight and wait for the evening.'

  'But I—'

  'Shut up! Women always talk and spoil things.' He pulled her through the living room and towards the stairs, his eyes roving, searching - for what she did not know. He dragged her into the bathroom, but washing was not on his mind. Not releasing the tight grip he had on her upper arm, he began to throw open cupboards and rifle through pots and jars. Eventually he gave a crow of delight. 'Ha! I knew I'd find it: a fine, well-stocked emergency bag. What woman doesn't have one?'

  Esther had dreamed of Kevin finding this bag full of rolls of sticky tape and using it on her, but it took the stranger to do so. As he removed the bag from under the sink she felt a tremor of excitement. What was he going to do to her next?

  He turned her violently and began to bind her elbows together behind her back, making her breasts thrust forward under that unnatural stress. She gasped at the sudden movement and pulled involuntarily, but he carried on binding until her forearms and hands were totally encased by white bandage. She pulled at her wrists, and a tremor flitted through her body at the confinement. She was already putty in his hands, but now she felt absolutely vulnerable, exposed, available for whatever he wanted to do.

  Her arms safely secured he twisted her around, and with a brief smile, slapped a wide plaster over her mouth. He bent his head and with wicked pleasure kissed the plaster that covered her lips. 'Now they're safe until I want to use them,' he breathed huskily.

  Grabbing his booty, he thrust her back down the stairs, and with a brief, sidelong glance at him as they turned at the bottom, Esther saw his penis was already tumescent, and she knew it wouldn't be long before he was fully erect again.

  In the living room she was thrust aggressively into a chair while her captor stood before her, gloriously naked, open consideration on his face as he perused her heaving breasts and decided quite what he should do next.

  'You're very lovely,' he said eventually, leaning forward to run a hand over one breast. His eyes narrowed slightly as she shivered, and his penis flicked a fraction higher. He growled, a low sound of enjoyment and bent, parting her legs so he could kneel between them. Holding her knees apart he studied her infused labia for a moment, then reached forward to hold her waist and taste one breast, then the other.

  Esther's nostrils flared as she breathed deeply, sensitised by the strangeness of his touch and her total vulnerability. But this only made her breasts more available to him, and he slobbered at her flesh avidly. She could neither close her legs or use her hands to protect the nipples he was now feasting upon. The fear of his nipping teeth was an aphrodisiac, sending shivers of delight down her spine, yet her legs involuntarily tightened around his waist, trying to thrust him away.

  'No, no,' he whispered. 'Naughty girl. Those toys are mine to touch and play with. You can't stop me, you know.' He bent and nibbled some more. She made weak mewling noises, and her eyes closed a fraction.

  Then suddenly he stood and walked into the kitchen.

  She stayed where he had put her for just a moment, wondering if she should try to escape, but as the thought crossed her mind the man, all muscle and tan and tattoos came back in carrying her broom. Leering with anticipation, and despite her struggles as comprehension dawned, he took the roll of sticky plaster and easily bound her ankles wide apart to the handle.

  'Now try to shut the door on me, you sexy little whore,' he gloated, with evident satisfaction.

  A firm hand lifted the horizontal broom, and the other began to play with the exposed damp area between her legs. He watched, never taking his eyes from her face as his hand wreaked havoc on her out of sight. Folded in half, she felt his fingers glide in and out, circle the edges of her orifices, teasing the small nub of her sex, before one was suddenly inserted into her anus. She stiffened and gave a strangled gasp of pleasure, followed by a long sigh of disappointment as the finger exited, and the muscle squeezed closed once more. Oh, why didn't Kevin ever do that? It was so decadent, so beautifully immoral.

  The stranger lingered there, groping, touching places surely not designed to be touched, and enjoying her body as though it really was his own personal toy. And yet his enjoyment was not entirely selfish. Although she was bound she sensed he wanted her to enjoy his mastery of her, and knew that the satisfaction in his gaze was partially derived from her inability to control her responses.

  Eventually he lifted the bar which parted her legs, rose to his feet, taking his weight on his arms, and leaned his body down to press her almost in half. Once again she felt the heat of his erection press towards her eager sex. He lingered there a while, greasing himself on the juices from her flowing glands, tantalising her by not thrusting in fully. Then his eyes narrowed, she sensed a tension in him, and to her shock felt the white heat of his penis press hard against her exposed anus. She held her breath, and saw a question in his eyes.

  Then he pressed harder. Instinct took over. Now he was not smiling; his lips as tense as the muscles in his arms. He pushed, groaned, sank deep inside the tight ring, felt it squeeze the blood-infused cock into luscious expansion, then relax just slightly as he began to ease himself in and out of that slick accommodation. Beads of sweat gleamed on his face as he masturbated in the living doll beneath him, thrusting with more and more urgency as the need to ejaculate consumed him, and was contained by willpower alone.

  Then, when he was about to burst, his fingers thrust between her legs and rubbed briefly at the excited nub of sex which was exposed to him. Her orgasm flooded them both, and as her anus clenched around his buried shaft he, too, came.

  Eventually reality intruded. Esther's face was flushed with exertion as she realised she still lay next to Kevin, her muscles shaking with tiredness, the dream over. She dragged herself from orgasm to awareness for just long enough to slip the vibrator back into the drawer beside their bed. She had discovered long ago that it was not enough to simply use the gadget. To produce an orgasm of splendid proportions it had to be accompanied by some kind of erotic imagery.

  She reflected that she was getting rather good at it.

  And while Kevin wallowed in his own dreams beside her, her last conscious thoughts were that the young man who changed tyres at the garage would be rather surprised to find himself the object of her sexual fantasies, followed by a feeling of disappointment that it had not really happened. But at that point, still savouring of the delicious feel of imaginary bindings around her elbows and wrists, and the remnants of a real but self-induced orgasm, Esth
er drifted off into sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Kevin awoke out of sleep feeling battered, to the sound of Esther putting a cup of tea on the cabinet and the touch of her hand on his shoulder.

  'Did you have a nice time yesterday?' she asked innocently as his eyes flashed wide open. 'You said to wake you in time for work.'

  'Nice time? Work?' he said stupidly.

  'Yes, you haven't woken up yet. You went out with the lads from the office yesterday. I can't remember where you said you were going. A bit of work, and then some show or other?' She gave a wicked grin and kissed him. 'I know us wives aren't supposed to ask about these things, but I hope you enjoyed it, anyway. It's nice to see you going out and enjoying yourself for a change. You work too hard.'

  Kevin sat up, winced, and quickly lay down again as he realised his buttocks were sore.

  She passed him his robe. 'Do you want me to turn the shower on, darling?'

  'No, no,' he blurted, his mind racing. 'I can do it in a moment, after I've had my tea.'

  To his relief she left him alone. He climbed out of bed and peered over his shoulder into the mirror. Thankfully the weals were almost non-existent, they just felt pronounced. The hot water of the shower burned, so he suffered under the cold for a moment. He winced as he rubbed his tender penis, but couldn't help smiling slightly in recollection. Blimey, he'd lost another whole day. How did that woman manage it?

  At lunchtime he went out and bought Esther a bottle of perfume. It wasn't guilt, he told himself. Not at all. He just wanted to buy his wife a present.

  He knew he'd have to get her pregnant pretty soon; give her something to keep her happy. Then all of a sudden he remembered how sexy she had been on Saturday night, how the men had all fancied her, how they had been invited to the Mansell's next party. He recalled it with a rush of possessive pride. And he remembered the sex afterwards. The unexpectedly rampant sex against the wall in the hall. Fidelity rushed over him. Dammit. Next time he was with the bitch, he'd tell her straight. He wouldn't do it again, she could go beg as much as she liked. He would stick with his wife.