Darkest Fantasies (25 page)

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 as 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.

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 should 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?

He shook his
head, put it all to the back of his mind, and got on with his work.
He didn't have to keep the appointment anyway, because this Madam
Tisset person had no idea who had really called.

Next morning
Kevin bumbled around in the office, hardly aware that he was doing
no work at all. The anticipation of what lay in store had set his
heartbeat to a rapid rate, his pulse thudding.

It was her,
his mystery woman, he just knew it was.

Just to be on
the safe side he parked the car a few streets away and walked to
the address on the card. The building was an old red brick affair
which must have once been a warehouse, and some of the windows were
either barred or bricked-in. Not a particularly salubrious
place.

He pressed the
bell, and the door opened.

'Hello, Sam,'
welcomed a very matronly woman. 'Please come in.'

He balked
slightly - she was a bit old - then stepped inside. She closed the
front door and he followed her up a narrow dingy staircase.

To his relief
he was shown into a white room which might have been that of a
dentist or doctor. Everything looked very clean and
professional.

'The shower is
in there,' she said, pointing, 'and you'll find a robe on the back
of the door. If you would like to freshen up then come back in
here.'

Showered and
already feeling nicely relaxed, Kevin had to wait for a few minutes
until the woman returned.

'Now Sam,' she
said, 'what we would like to do is get you absolutely relaxed. To
aid this process and stop anything from causing distraction,
sensory deprivation will be instigated for just a few moments. All
this means is that you will put a blindfold on, use the headphones,
and listen to calming music while you rest.'

She drew him
to the side of the massage table and put a small pair of earphones
on him. The room was instantly distanced by a soft sound which
could have been a mixture of heavy breathing and the sound of sea
washing an exotic shore. She then handed him a silk blindfold with
straps, which he put in place himself. As her hands guided him to
the bench, where he lay face down, she also loosened the robe so
that the couch was in direct contact with his skin, and as he
instantly calmed, arms by his sides, she slipped it from him
totally.

A small part
of his mind was analysing the softening process, equating it with
what he did to prospective clients, and he had to admit it was
working very well. When hands very softly began to rub oil on his
back he was not worried at all, far from it, he had decided to
enjoy the experience. As the masseuse - he assumed it was this
Madam Tisser - began to work, he detected the hands of an expert.
He relished the persistent smoothing of hands up his spine, easing
the strands of muscle slowly but surely into a state of absolute
relaxation. She was good. As she caressed and her hands gently
moved his buttocks in circles the inevitable happened; his penis
very gradually but surely began to grow. He moved subtly to
accommodate it, but lying face down was not the best way to deal
with the problem. As though the masseuse knew this was happening
her hands roved more insistently to the muscles at the tops of his
thighs, manipulating the flesh this way and that, stretching his
buttocks. Kevin realised she must know he was aroused, and her
actions were becoming more and more erotic, teasing, and the
relaxation tape had become slightly more vibrant. Now it definitely
sounded like a woman panting with desire.