Darkest Fantasies (24 page)

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.'

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 their
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.

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.