Darkest Fantasies

by Raines, Kimberley

  Esther giggled, bent down and kissed Madam's powdered cheek. 'I'm very flattered, but no. It's not what I want to do with my life.'

  'It's very lucrative, you know.'

  'There's also a down side; there are some worrying people out there, and if I've learned one thing from you, it's that people are not so easy to categorise as I once thought. In fact, I'm stunned at how wrong I could be. That scares me a bit.'

  'Reading a character comes with practice,' Madam Tisset persisted. 'Really it does. Men's eyes are windows to their souls. I don't have your fear of finding a bad one, because I know who they are.'

  'Please, Madam Tisset, I've made up my mind.'

  'Sorry. I did say I wouldn't try to persuade you, but it's in my nature.'

  'I know.'

  Madam Tisset became pensive for a moment, then leaned forward, a new glint in her eyes. 'Esther, all those frustrated ladies - ladies like you were - who just don't know how to enjoy sex properly. That's what you can do for me. Send me new clients. You'll know who they are: the ones who look at you with jealousy because they sense your inherent sexuality and don't know why they haven't got the same.'

  'I can't do that!' Esther was aghast.

  'Why not?'

  'Once people knew what was going on I'd become an outcast and my husband would lose his job! You have no idea how small-minded people can be.'

  'My dear, the less you say, the better. Just hint at how skilled you are at doing the things your husband loves, and how you owe it all to your old teacher. I guarantee the next thing you know you'll be asked - very, very discreetly, I can assure you - for my card. They won't even try to acknowledge it came from you; they will quietly get on with things and pretend to your face that nothing ever happened.'

  Esther propped her chin on her hands, and her eyes narrowed as she viewed Madam Tisset with new respect. 'How many girls like me have you got out there handing your cards out to unsuspecting, frustrated housewives?' she asked.

  Madam Tisset's eyes widened in abject innocence, a look she could achieve with little effort. 'Absolutely none like you, Esther. Really and truly.'

  'You're a wicked woman!' Esther smiled.

  'Yes, and isn't it fun?' Madam Tisset became more serious again. 'So, will you think about what I've proposed? Couldn't you think of it as a kindness to all the frustrated females out there with straying husbands? Just remember how much happier you are now than when you first came to me.'

  Esther couldn't deny that she did feel happier for her visits, and the two women sat in silence for a few minutes.

  'Now then,' Madam Tisset eventually said, 'I think it's time we furthered your education.'

  'My education?'

  'Yes, my dear. It's time you learned more about the world you've entered. I'm not talking about Kevin's fumbling attempts at domination. I'm talking about the real thing. Being out of control; strapped down, gagged, whipped, and sexually abused until you're screaming for more. Until you've really experienced it you can never know why people come to me, and why they come again and again.'

  Esther fell silent once more, digesting this rather unexpected development. She realised that once again, Madam Tisset had managed to discover in her the ability to be embarrassed. 'Educated by you, you mean?'

  'If you don't like that idea I can get a man in. I know a very good one. Bondage doesn't have to culminate in sex, even if a man is the dominant.'

  'But I've never been beaten... I don't know—'

  'I always insist on an escape word or sign. I don't allow anyone to say I've gone too far. You know that.'

  Esther felt her cheeks burn. 'I don't think I can...'

  For once Madam Tisset did not pressurise, but waited.

  Esther dithered, realising that further taboos and boundaries were being crossed with this suggestion, and not only that, at a time she thought she had it all sussed out. Images of the men who'd been held in bondage here crossed her mind in a confused riot, each scenario becoming interspersed with her own erotic dreams.

  Swallowing hard, she said, 'I - I think I'd rather someone I don't know did it. What do I have to do?'

  Madam Tisset smiled warmly. 'Good girl,' she said. 'Go and shower, and I'll make a quick phone call.'

  Esther could not enjoy the shower. Was she really going through with this? She tipped her head back and let the cascading hot water sting her cheeks, knowing she was putting off the time when she would have to climb out and face whatever awaited her.

  There was a sheer dressing gown hanging on the back of the door, and once she'd dried herself she slipped it on.

  The door opened and Madam Tisset wafted in. 'If you would like to come with me?' she said.

  Esther followed the woman through a corridor she had not visited before, and into a sterile room with a couch in the centre, above which hung a large light.

  She shuddered with apprehension, more nervous than excited, hugging the robe around herself. She knew she was going to hate the whole experience. She was scared, exhilarated, but one thing she most adamantly was not, was sexually aroused. The moment some strange man laid his hands upon her she was going to scream blue murder and make all the 'no more' signs Madam Tisset had ever taught her. She just knew she was. She ought to go home.

  'If you would just lay on the couch please, and get comfortable,' Madam Tisset cut into her thoughts. 'That's right - face down.'

  Esther lay on the couch, hands by her side, rigid as a pole. The woman left, and as she did so the room filled with soothing music and Esther found herself drifting into a state bordering on sleep. The couch was very comfortable; the best way to lie was with her face pressed into the hole available, and as she began to relax the whole couch seemed to relax with her.

  When the man finally arrived Esther lifted her head and stared curiously.

  He was a mild man, not huge, but seemed pleasantly muscular beneath the white coat, and his fingers, she couldn't help noting, were long and artistic. She definitely had a thing about nice fingers.

  'Please don't rise,' he said in a low, modulated tone. He pressed on her shoulder, stopping her from rising. She sank back down, feeling a slight sense of unease grip her. But his hands were precise, reassuring, and she subsided beneath his expert touch as he continued.

  'Now, first I'm going to relax your muscles with massage,' and as he spoke he pulled the flimsy gown from her shoulders and flipped it aside. Then he began to work.

  And his hands were pure magic. They pressed hard up her back, buttocks to shoulders, swept outward and down to circle up again. As he worked, so she began to relax, to enjoy the lovely sensations. Never before had she ever been massaged, save when Kevin chose to scrub at her shoulders a couple of times at a pretence of relaxing her while he was already rampant and ready for a quick bonk.

  It was too good and she didn't want it to stop. At what point she succumbed to the inevitable she was not sure; it was such a gradual process, so cleverly done.

  He picked up one wrist and looped something around it. 'Just a small strap to hold it in place,' he said hypnotically. Then it was her other wrist, and then her ankles. And then, 'Just slip the head forward a mite. That's right, bite on the bar, that's what it's there for, to hold the head in the right position to work on the neck muscles. Now a little strap across the back of the head...'

  Esther bit on the bar as instructed. It was somewhat uncomfortable, but before she could complain she was strapped into position, and that was that. Except that she could try the signal with her hands and see if he released her. But she didn't try it, for the rule was once you invoked the release you had to wait until another session. You couldn't just apologise and hope to carry on. It was one of Madam Tisset's inflexible rules.

  He began to work again, caressing up and down her body, discovering muscles she hadn't known existed. The skilled touch and her inability to move were very exciting. Because she could not rebel, as his hands began to glide closer and closer to her more sexual regions, she felt a rush of anticipatio
n. He was becoming more intimate with each stroke. Caressing the fullness of her buttocks, round and round, causing her anus and the lips of her vagina to stretch with each encouraging movement.

  Quite when she began to move with the flow of his hands, to indicate that, yes, she very much liked what he was doing, she wasn't sure. There was a kind of exhilaration; she was his prisoner, ergo, he could do what he wanted.

  There came a time, however, when the massage was complete, and he surprisingly left the room. Esther found herself relaxing in the comforting hold of the couch, the music once again filling her mind. How long she was left there to enjoy the sensations she was not sure.

  She sensed movement and tensed. She knew Madam Tisset and the man were both in the room.

  The part of the couch her legs were strapped to separated and spread apart. She whimpered, exposed and vulnerable, but still she didn't make the sign.

  They began to knead her body, to spread her buttocks. Lying face down she could indulge herself in the most exquisitely erotic sensations derived partially from enjoyment, derived almost wholly from the false premise that these two could do as they liked and she could not stop them. The fact that she could make the sign for which they were undoubtedly watching was neither here nor there. She groaned fractionally, her hips moving in time to the unknown hands that were caressing her buttocks and sliding closer and closer to her anus.

  She held her breath at the unexpected touch and became almost paralysed, waiting for more. Was it the man? Was it her mentor? She didn't know, but the touch was exquisite, consuming her awareness, becoming more and more bold.

  Then a rigid finger was pressing in, deeper and deeper, manipulating her muscle into compliance. She gasped, shuddered, but still did not request release. The finger began to tease, moving in and out at random, stretching her private passage, then slipping out to allow it to close. Then she felt something hard touch her there. It pressed, entered, stretched her further than the finger had, and exited again, beginning to move in gentle imitation of a penis. The extra stretch was exciting, excruciating, the unnatural entry filling her with shock. Each time the foreign object was pushed in it went a little further, and she guessed it must be the size and shape of a man's prick - it was a dildo. Because it was not real, however, it was no violation. No betrayal of Kevin, and she allowed herself to sink into the pleasure of this alien object penetrating her most vulnerable of orifices.

  She could not talk, ask, request, demand; she could only accept or reject, each as final as the other. Therefore she was not surprised when the dildo - that or something else - was pushed one more time into her anus and began to expand. It got bigger and bigger until she was gasping for breath, on the verge of a scream, when the expansion stopped.

  She breathed deeply, calming herself. Could she stand it? She didn't make the sign for release and the expansion stayed within her, filling her bowels, consuming her mind.

  By her sides her hands clenched and unclenched - though she didn't realise it - in the classic symptoms of masochistic enjoyment. Pain was pleasure. Please don't take away the pain. The balloon in her bowels was deflated and filled again. Then again. She winced at every tiny movement, every muscle in her body moving in time with the experience, and there came a time when she no longer thought about trying to make the sign that would release her. She simply existed in this body, this pain-and-pleasure-filled body.

  At that point she was left alone to wallow in the experience. At first she had no idea she was alone, then the soft music and lack of movement in her peripheral vision informed her that she had probably been alone for a while.

  Her bottom throbbed and contracted, trying to eject the foreign object, but it would not be rejected. Instead the whole stretched feeling began to filtrate to the single place between her legs where her own private pleasure lay. She wanted to put her fingers between her legs, to induce a giant orgasm which would flood her with relief, yet the bondage held her in thrall to the experience. She had no choice but to lie under the strange sensations that filled her, and to become more and more frustrated by her lack of control.

  When she sensed movement in the room her reaction was one of hope that they would allow her to bring herself off. She could not move her head to see who it was, but she ached with expectation.

  That was when the first lash of the whip bit into her vulnerable buttocks.

  She recoiled with an anguished cry. When the next stroke landed she was more under control and managed to take the blow without wincing quite so hard. To her shock some small part of her brain analysed the procedure; pictured her lying there, and was horrified. But the deeper side of her psyche, a side she had never before encountered, told her the experience was wonderful. With each stroke of the whip, or whatever was landing like liquid fire on her sensitised skin, her bowels contracted around the foreign object, trying to eject it. Christ, she was so out of control it was good. If only she could touch...

  The blows landed on her buttocks again and again until she could no longer determine the point of contact, her skin flaming into a single entity, and yet the pleasure sensors in her brain wallowed, writhed, exhilarated in the torment. All she wanted to do was to orgasm, but she couldn't touch herself.

  Now she didn't care who was hitting her. She groaned and endured, enjoyed, and still the blows rained on her flushed skin until her body felt to be on fire. Her imagination lent a vivid picture of welts and weals that were purple as they crossed in a latticework. When the blows stopped she was almost unaware of it. Lost in the contemplation of self, cessation of pain was almost a pain in itself. She felt a body press into the gap between her open legs, and felt a hand reach between her legs. Oh, yes...

  She began to move. A finger inserted itself just where it should be and began to move. She moved in rhythm. If it was the man, yes please, he could enter. Disappointingly no penis thrust between her legs - but the finger moved faster over her bud. It was doing the things she liked most. She groaned and willed it to move faster until she was aflame, the fire spreading through her in waves of ecstasy over which she had no control...

  Then it was over.

  She gasped against the bar that propped her mouth open, and scarcely noticed when the intrusion was removed from her anus. Then Madam Tisset gently rubbed her back, which was beginning to throb uncomfortably, with cooling unguent, and she sank into lethargic sexual aftermath, sleepily wallowing in selfish contemplation which verged on sleep.

  Later, when Madam Tisset removed the bonds, led her to the shower, and handed her her own clothes, she was strangely quiescent, like a child being told what to do. It was only afterwards when she was dressed and sitting in stunned comprehension on Madam Tisset's settee, that she was able to take full stock of what had happened.

  'Now do you understand?' Madam Tisset said gently.

  Esther was hardly able to whisper her reply. 'Yes... yes I do.'

  Chapter 14

  The latest banking function grew closer, but Esther felt surprisingly guilty about her recent behaviour and not really interested. Kevin kept throwing her the odd questioning glance. This made her feel as though her experiences with Madam Tisset and her new sexual freedom had pushed her down the sordid road to self-gratification, and that he suspected something. Despite his own frequent infidelities, she was almost driven to tell him the whole truth.

  Yet some sense of self-preservation warned her to say nothing; time would not be turned back, and whatever transpired in the future, her innocence was lost for good.

  The evening of the dinner arrived, and Esther dutifully put aside her own needs to assist in her husband's meteoric rise within the firm. The big boss gave a broad smile as she and Kevin entered the dining room, standing to welcome them with a nauseating familiarity. She smiled brightly, allowing Kevin to remove the cape from her shoulders, and many surreptitious glances eagerly devoured the classy but sexually mouth-watering vision.

  She smiled graciously and mingled amongst the gaggle of wives, accepting the
ir haughty niceties with elegant ease and politeness.

  Kevin watched the men, and thoroughly enjoyed being the husband of an alluring wife, proud of her blatant sexuality. Quite what had transpired to perform the miracle he was not quite sure, but suspected it had something to do with those evening classes she seemed to like so much. He would like to meet the lady that ran them one day, to thank her.

  Throughout the evening the other women looked sour, the men buzzed around Esther like the proverbial bees, and she simply sparkled. Kevin spent the evening feeling incredibly proud of her, and incredibly put out by the attention she was attracting. He was strangely torn. One moment he felt like a pimp accepting eagerly that she should flaunt herself for his own advancement, then like a heel for the same reason, then furious with her for flirting so brazenly.

  As the evening progressed his pride soured to jealousy: she was acting like a bitch in heat. She was chasing anything in trousers because she was no longer satisfied with him. Perhaps she was quietly working her way out of their marriage. He didn't drink alcohol because he was driving, so by the time they were going home he was sober and angry.

  Without warning he swung the car into a lay-by and screeched to a halt.

  'Wuh-what's wrong?' Esther stammered, wrenched from her dozing by the sudden yank of her seatbelt.

  'Everything's wrong,' he snapped, pulling the handbrake on viciously. 'What are you trying to do, ruin me? Acting like a bloody whore with all my colleagues and bosses!'

  'Oh, don't be so infantile!' she snapped.

  'You're acting like a whore, and I don't understand why. You were never like this before.'

  'But I thought you wanted me to be like this? I thought the idea was that I help you go up in the world. And let's face it, this is about the only way you will!' She had drunk fairly liberally, and the scathing words poured out uncensored.