Darkest Fantasies

by Raines, Kimberley

  Kevin was astounded. She had never said such things to him before. 'So you're flaunting yourself for my advancement?' he said quietly. 'I - I was doing okay anyway, thank you very much.'

  'You were getting nowhere fast, except in bed with your secretary,' she retorted nastily, irritated that all her hard work was being belittled in such a fashion.

  'Oh, I see,' he said. 'So you're getting your own back. Why didn't I guess?'

  'What's good for the goose is good for the gander,' she went on relentlessly. 'Okay, so I like the men to look at me. It makes me feel good. It makes me feel sexy. I'm not going to apologise for that.'

  'You whore.'

  'Perhaps, but I'm whoring for you, you ungrateful moron.'

  'So you admit it?' he said, his fight returning. 'You've been with other men?' Until he voiced the accusation he hadn't really thought it. He was astounded at the guilt written all over her face. Slowly, at the realisation of her infidelity, he unclipped his seatbelt. Esther flinched at the anger etched on his face as he climbed out of the car, walked around the front through the beams of the headlights, and pulled her door open.

  Then she was frightened. She'd overstepped the mark. This was getting out of hand. 'Kevin... Kevin I didn't do—'

  'Get out!' he snarled.

  'Kevin, you're scaring me!'

  'That,' he assured her nastily, 'is the general idea. Now, get out before I drag you out!'

  She slipped out, standing uncertainly in the moonlight by the side of the car. Was he going to leave her there? He was staring at her very strangely.

  'You beautiful whore,' he whispered, shaking his head sadly as he gathered a tow rope from the boot. 'Walk away from the car. You want a sexual fantasy? I'm going to give you one you won't forget in a hurry.'

  He stepped towards her, a hand raised threateningly. She backed away, shocked by his cold aggression. They were on the edge of a park notorious for muggings. Was he going to leave her there? No, as she backed away uncertainly on heels not suited to uneven ground, so he followed.

  When they were a distance from the car Kevin said, 'This will do.'

  She whimpered as he grabbed her. Still unbelieving and faintly trusting, she struggled without any real effort against his strange actions as he wound the rope around her wrists. 'Kevin,' she said meekly, 'what are you doing? Kevin?'

  'Shut up.' He threw the rope over a thick branch of a tree and pulled, stretching her arms up and her face in against the trunk. Then he secured the rope. 'Now you'll get what you've been asking for, you sex-hungry bitch,' he said. Her feet scrambled against the grass and slippery roots, trying to take the weight from her arms.

  'Kevin, let me down...'

  He reached beneath her dress, yanked down her panties and sheer tights with a single tug, and roughly removed them from her feet. Her heeled shoes gone, she was stretched on tiptoe, almost hanging from the end of the creaking rope. She whimpered. He stuffed her panties into her mouth and tied the tights around to hold it in place. Her wails became a wordless moan. Then to her horror she heard his footsteps disappearing up the bank behind her. Stretched tightly against the trunk she couldn't even turn her head to follow as he scrambled off into the darkness.

  She didn't believe he had really done it until she heard the car start and drive away. She moaned deep in her throat. She was in a park where strange men were known to wander, strung up against a tree without even her knickers for protection. She was an open invitation for the next man who came along.

  The warm glow of the dinner party had long since faded. She shivered. She pulled desperately at the rope, but her wrists were butted together in a neatly whipped bracelet pulled even tighter by a tensioning loop between them, and her own weight did the rest, holding the knot firmly in place.

  She tried to get her feet around the trunk, to take the weight from her wrists to try to loosen the knot, but the trunk was too wide. She tried to haul herself up on the rope to remove the gag with her hands, but her arms, never strong, refused to obey her desperate commands.

  A rising night breeze began to chill her thighs, and as she realised that the involuntary stretching must have lifted the dress to the point of displaying her lack of underwear, she whimpered hopelessly, clamping her legs together coyly. She tried to call for help through the gag, but her vulnerability soon gave rise to second thoughts. Perhaps she really didn't want to do that. If she stayed nice and quiet, till daylight, perhaps then would be a safer time to attract attention.

  She struggled to look around, but could see little beyond the tree trunk. It was a dark night. In the distance there was the haze of streetlights, the hum of an occasional car, and high above was the twinkling of little stars. Never had she felt so alone. For a moment she accepted that she was helpless, then she grew angry. How dare he do this to her? How dare her husband leave her at the potential mercy of muggers or tramps? After all, the way she'd behaved at the dinner was hardly in the infidelity league tables to which he belonged.

  She wriggled and pulled, trying to swing her feet up to the branch above her head, and was aware of her totally exposed bottom as she futilely attempted this gymnastic feat. Then, immediately she attempted a particularly energetic manoeuvre, there was a horrible tearing of cloth.

  Her feet dropped to the damp earth and a cold chill chased up her spine. Then, behind her, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and froze.

  She held her breath and pretended she was invisible, but a wheeze of indrawn breath told her she had been noticed. Oh no, she was some pervert's dream come true. Or perhaps there was such a thing left in the world as a gentleman? Perhaps he would untie her, cover her with his coat, and carry her off to safety. She remained still and listened. He was there. She could hear him breathing. How she knew it was a man she couldn't say, but it was. She prayed he would let her go.

  She tried again to look over her shoulder, but could see nothing except shadows. Yet he was there. She could feel his breath now, on her shoulder. She whimpered hopelessly.

  Hands gingerly touched her back. She wrenched at the bonds, moaning into the gag. There was a hiss of fear. The hands withdrew as if stung. She tensed and waited, then the hands came creeping back. Softly and surely they began to seek out her white flesh in the darkness.

  Esther tried to turn, to see the nature of her tormentor, but his hands gripped her hair, stopping any movement. He held her there for a moment, as if thinking, then she heard a slithering noise, followed by the feel of a strip of silky fabric being wound twice around her eyes and tied off. Probably his tie, she reasoned, and if so, this was no simple tramp, but a man who had every intention of taking what was on offer, and no intention at all of being recognised. Perhaps it was someone she'd recognise. Perhaps he knew who she was...

  The man said nothing. He just took. He stood behind her and touched her, his seeking hands gradually becoming more bold at her obvious immobilisation. He touched her everywhere. Esther wriggled, struggled, and moaned, but still the hands mauled her. They burrowed inside her dress and sought her breasts. She sucked in a muffled gasp as fingers teased her nipples beneath the material. He then put a knee between her legs, holding her there, spreading his legs to force hers apart. Even through his trousers she could feel heat radiating from his groin, and felt an undeniable flicker of response in her own body as he moved gently against her.

  Then, having thoroughly explored her breasts, his hands slid downward, stretching her expensive dress out of shape to caress her abdomen, her soft bush of hair, and tease at the opening between her legs. He grunted. The hands withdrew. Esther moaned slightly with regret, hardly aware that she did so. Then his hands slid onto her flesh once more. As he caressed her thighs the dress was pushed up slowly and sensuously over her hips to expose her body more fully to his seeking hands.

  The fact that she wasn't being hurt by the opportunist had by now penetrated Esther's fear, giving way to more primitive sensations. The unknown man's hands were gentle, doing all the right things, and a
s her body began to respond to his caresses, his fingers slid to the moist lips beneath her bush and teased gently, surely, at the entrance which was stretched and available through the pressure of his legs. She moaned with approval, moving hopefully against his fingers as his groin ground against her bottom with increasing urgency.

  Then his hands slid back and she heard the rasp of a zipper, and a gasp of relief. She felt knuckles on the cheeks of her bottom as the unknown man touched himself with evident enjoyment, while pressing his thumb on the puckered knot of her anus. As she writhed against him he clearly recognised the invitation, and pressed his thumb in, causing her to shudder with delight at the rude invasion. Gently her violator eased his thumb in and out, teasing the opening into further compliance, and she knew what was to come. He pulled her thighs, forcing her legs further apart, and she felt the warmth of his erection press insistently against her exposed backside. He nibbled at her neck and ears, moving back and forth.

  Esther groaned with frustration as the heat of his rod slid between her legs, teasing, touching, but not penetrating, and she began to make soft mewling noises. Quite when her struggles turned into gyrations of delight she would not have been able to say with accuracy. All she knew was there came a time when she wanted his penis inside her more than anything, and when she writhed against him in frustration, unable to speak, to cajole him into doing what she so desperately wanted him to do. Her own lack of control was an erotic stimulus she was beginning to recognise.

  The stranger had said nothing, but she could feel his breath quicken, his erection pulse warmly against her flesh, teasing at both entrances, now one, now the other, wetting them further with his own lubricant. She shuddered with absolute sexual desire. She wanted to feel this man's penis inside her. The whole evening had been fraught with sexual innuendoes, with hints and oblique invitations, and now the added stimulus of her bondage turned Esther into a creature of the night. She didn't give a damn who was with her, all she knew was this was what she wanted.

  The man seemed to sense the change in her. He pulled her legs apart further with his hands around her inner thighs, and pushed his erection firmly against her arse. She gasped with anticipation as he pushed gently but surely against the constriction. Her anus gradually and reluctantly opened to accommodate the full girth of him. Then he stopped pushing, and she realised she was fully impaled upon him. For a moment they were still, and she could think of nothing save the pulsing rod thrust up inside her, stretching the ring of her bottom tightly around its base.

  Then he began to move, just slightly. Her muscle spasmed against him, her whole body responded. She heard him groan. Hands pushed the dress further up, exposing her to his needs. He ground her nipples between his fingers, splayed his hands over her breasts, her abdomen, then began to rub her between the legs as he buggered her.

  Expertly, he rubbed. He knew where and how. She thrashed and heaved against him, still impaled, while he steadily brought her to a massive and uncontrollable orgasm, and as she came so did he, and as he did so he leaned into her neck and groaned, 'Oh, honey...'

  Esther froze. He did it. He bloody did it!

  She gave a little squeal of surprise as he withdrew, prompting another of those strange spasms as she closed tightly behind him. Then she waited. She heard his breathing begin to slow, and heard the sound of his zipper being raised.

  Her dress was still rucked up, and the chill of the night was once more penetrating the euphoria of her sexual encounter. She tugged on the rope, wanting release, but Kevin gave her a smart rap on the bare backside, and mumbled, 'Thanks, sweetie, nice arse.' Then the dress was heaved back down.

  Then she was left in silence. The bastard! He'd walked away and left her there. She screamed her anger into the gag, and waited.

  What else could she do?

  After a moment she became frightened. She was getting cold and her arms ached. Then, from behind her came the hasty sound of steps. Oh no, who this time? Then arms wrapped around her and she realised it was Kevin as he began to apologise, crying into her shoulder, telling her he hadn't meant to hurt her, hadn't meant to leave her there on her own for so long.

  Once the gag was removed she wondered whether Kevin was waiting to hear her admit what had happened, or whether she was simply supposed to keep silent after guessing it was him. Then she realised the truth: he was scared to admit what he'd done, afraid she would be so shocked she would hate him forever. And if she admitted she knew it was him, surely that would have the same effect? He was expecting her to keep quiet.

  It was at that moment she realised it was Kevin who had been keeping her innocent all these years. The more he played around, the more he had put her on a pedestal, separating her in his mind as something more pure than the other women he went out with, yet at the same time wishing he could do to her all the things he did to those others.

  As he untied her and took her home and to bed, she realised he was reacting from guilt, ashamed of himself for using her in that way. She also realised she was in a bit of a quandary: damned if she said she knew it was him, damned if she didn't. She frowned. All that learning at Madam Tisset's hands and she couldn't put it to use. She could not even tell him how exquisitely wonderful his lovemaking had been, and how she would very much like him to do it again, because Kevin didn't want her off her pedestal, he didn't want her to be human enough to have enjoyed it, damn him.

  Lying in bed, listening to him gently snoring, she realised that this all had to come to a head, and soon. She had accepted her sexuality, and so must Kevin. One thing she could not do was slip back into being a frustrated housewife. Oh no, things had gone far beyond that.

  Chapter 15

  The letter came through the door with the rest of the post, but something about it made Kevin slip it into his pocket for later perusal.

  It burned a hole in his pocket all the way into work, and in the privacy of his office, with all the stealth of a cold-war spy, he slit open the envelope and pulled out a white card. Bemused, he stared at the embossed, flowery writing.

  If you would like to be dominated by an expert, call me.

  He turned the card over. On the back was an address, a telephone number, and the scribbled words: I'm waiting for you.

  The signature looked like Tisser, or something, he couldn't quite make it out. Grimacing, he thrust the card in his pocket and got on with his work, pausing only now and then to reflect on the strange missive. He couldn't recall having a fling with a woman by the name of Tisser, not that he was much in the habit of recalling the names of his many conquests at all. After a month or so they tended to melt into a pot of fleshy memories. As far as sex was concerned, he lived only for the present, and really had no interest in some old fling trying to wheedle her way into his life. And yet this mysterious card excited him in a way he could not describe. To be dominated had not been his intention at all, and he'd had no idea it could so absolutely consuming until the day he'd been kidnapped by the lady in black. Of course! That was what it was about! How stupid he'd been. The memories triggered, bringing his libido flooding to life.

  Having given him a dose of her extreme sexuality, she was now seeing if he would come to her, and that meant she was a professional. Hell, he had no intention of getting into that never-ending money pit when sex was freely available all around him, just for a little effort on his part. Yet he recalled, with vivid clarity, the anguish of his captivity combined with the most intense sexual experience of his life. And a strange thought seeped into his mind: what would she charge? Again and again he denied that he wanted to see her, and tried to tell himself that he liked submissive females, and yet the card played havoc with his equanimity and fired his imagination until he was aflame with curiosity.

  Just once wouldn't hurt, would it?

  The guilt he'd been harbouring over buggering his wife was already fading. Esther had said nothing about it, and it became obvious to him that she'd buried the memory by reverting to her normal placid self. Perhaps now he s
hould persuade her to stay that way. She was his wife, after all, not some whore. With a resolve of self-sacrifice, he decided he should forgo the rapid escalation of his career to have Esther back well and truly where she belonged - at home as a housewife.

  Almost absently he fingered the card in his pocket, and by late afternoon he had actually pored over his street map to determine the location of the address, and discovered it to be in a seedy part of town. Not a place anyone respectable could be found, certainly not any of his work colleagues, and that clinched it for him.

  He would see the enigmatic woman - whoever she was - one more time, and that was that. Absolutely and finally. In a no-nonsense mood, and with his best banker's voice filled with all the superiority he could muster, he called the number on the card. It was answered instantly in a cultured, polite manner, which he had not expected.

  'Madam Tisset's residence, can I help you?'

  'I've been sent me a card,' he said positively. 'I'm phoning to make an appointment.'

  'And when would sir like to visit?'

  'Um, tomorrow morning?'

  'And who shall I say is calling?'

  He paused for a moment, thrown slightly. 'Um, Sam... Sam Weatherall.'

  'Fine, eleven-thirty okay?'

  'Eleven-thirty?' Now he was committing himself his heart started to pound. 'Yeah, I guess so.'

  'Good, that's booked in then. We look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Sam.'

  'How—?' he was about to ask how much it would cost, but the line clicked dead. The cost didn't matter that much, anyway. He put the phone down slowly. Had he really booked himself in for a session with a prostitute? It was hard to believe that the pleasant girl at the other end of the phone line wasn't a doctor's receptionist or something like that. Perhaps he had it all wrong. Perhaps it was a bona fide therapeutical practice with no 'extras'. Surely prostitutes didn't employ receptionists?