Darkest Fantasies (17 page)

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, Esther drifted
off into sleep.

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.

On reflection,
he bought Esther some earrings as well.

He showed them
to his mate, Charlie, at work.

'Guilty as
sin,' Charlie said cheerfully. 'Never give them presents, it's a
dead give-away! Go home and give her a good hot-rodding and she'll
never suspect. Though if I had a wife like yours I wouldn't be
bowling my balls at anybody else's wicket anyway.'

Kevin couldn't
bear to waste his hard-earned money, however, and gave the presents
to Esther.

'That's so
clever of you!' Esther exclaimed. 'Honey, I'll wear them to the
Mansell's. How did you know I was so fed up with my old ones?'

Kevin blushed
guiltily.

The Mansell's
party was everything Kevin thought it would be. The house was huge,
and the dinner party consisted of ten couples who baited each other
in the correct pecking order throughout the meal. Esther, bless
her, was wearing a bright red dress made of something stretchy
which, he thought, looking around the room reflectively, would have
looked tacky on any other woman present. On Esther it looked a
million dollars, and everyone knew it. He was feeling very
protective, very aroused, and very, very confused.

Frank Brachlyn
was next to her - whether by accident or design Kevin couldn't work
out - and she played him like an ace. Kevin listened unashamedly as
she teased, bluffed, and conned her way through all six courses
without giving her hand away, and without compromising him, either.
Wow, some girl, he thought proudly.

As the evening
wore on the wine made him mellow, and as Esther was otherwise
engaged, he made himself very pleasant to the elderly female next
to him.

'You must make
up the numbers in our Ascot party,' she invited him
enthusiastically, not realising that he hadn't yet quite attained
the inner circle. Ascot! The firm paid for it all; the train, the
champagne, the tickets. Ascot! He agreed with alacrity and buttered
her up some more.

The next day
his boss found out that his own boss's wife had invited Kevin to
Ascot, and wondered what they saw in the creep that he had missed.
Kevin shortly found himself in his boss's office.

'I've been
thinking about your career,' his boss boomed with jovial
condescension. 'I think it's time you took up another level of
responsibility, my man. Join the team, so to speak.'

'Kevin, that's
wonderful!' Esther exclaimed that evening. She threw her arms
around his neck and kissed him. 'I'm so proud of you!'

The next day
when he went home he found she'd bought a bottle of wine for them
to celebrate with. He'd never seen her like this. She sparkled. She
took his shoes off and kissed his toes, which unexpectedly sent
immediate signals to other regions. Bloody hell, he thought,
looking down at her short curls. He rather liked her new haircut
now he'd got used to it.

Then she
smiled up at him with innocent trust before slowly and sensuously
removing everything else he was wearing, and giving him the best
massage he'd had in a long time. On the rug in the living room. He
lay there enjoying this unexpected treat, and thanking the stars
that his skin had reverted to its normal hue.

'Kevin?'

'Yes?' He was
wallowing in the feel of her hands teasing his tense shoulders, and
didn't look up.

'Can I ask you
something?'

'What,
honey?'

'Do you fancy
me?'

He was
shocked. He rolled over. 'Fancy you? What on earth do you mean?
You're my wife.'

'I mean,' she
hung her head, 'do you still want me as a woman. Not just a
wife.'

He stared up
at her. 'God, honey,' he said, realising it was true, 'right now I
could fuck the pants off you.'

She blushed
prettily.

'Oh, perhaps I
shouldn't have said that,' he apologised. 'It was crude.'

'It's okay,'
she soothed. 'That's what I wanted to know. I was afraid...'

He gave her a
big hug. 'I love you all ways, honey. In bed you're wonderful, and
out of bed you're terrific.' He saw a look of miserable indecision
forming. 'Come on, out with it honey. If there's something
bothering you, tell me. After all this time we have no secrets,
have we?'

'Well,' she
went on, 'I do have this fantasy... You're not going to hate me,
are you?'

'Of course
not. What fantasy?'

'Sort of...
oh,' she flushed to the roots of her hair. 'I have this fantasy
that a man comes in during the day, and rapes me.'

'Hurts
you?'

'Not hurt,
rape, you idiot,' she said, somewhat more sharply than she
intended.

'But that's
the same thing, isn't it?' He was confused.

'Of course it
isn't. Fantasy rape is about being desirable, attractive, wanted so
badly that a man can't help himself; when some attractive hulk
comes in and seduces you with serious intent. You're forced, but
inside it's Okay. because the person who's doing it is sympathetic
and wants you because you're wonderful, not because you're female
and available. That's what makes it different from real rape.'

'What are you
saying, honey?'

She hung her
head even more, and whispered. 'I'd like you to make my fantasy
come true.'

'What?' he
gasped. 'You want me to rape you?'

'Yes, well,
play-act it. You know.'

He really was
taken aback. 'Damn it, it's a bit... I don't know whether...'

'Oh, it
doesn't matter. Forget I ever said anything.'

'No, honey.'
He raised himself on one elbow and fished harder for understanding.
'You mean, you want me to come in here pretending to be someone
else and - and force myself on you?'

Esther nodded.
'Yes,' she said meekly, 'that's about it.'

'Why?' he
asked, somewhat indignantly. 'Isn't it good enough straight?'

'Yes,
but...'