Elicitation (13 page)

He squeezed some more cream on his fingers and slipped them between her legs. She jumped at the touch and struggled anew. “No!”

“No?” He worked his fingers gently into her. “Doesn’t that feel better?” The soothing cream quenched the fire in her throbbing, over-used sex. She whimpered into the pillow. “No, no, it will make me…” her voice trailed off.

His fingers worked deeper. “It will make you what?”

“It will make me want things inside me.”

“What a conundrum!” he chuckled. “You can stay sore now, or you can feel better now but want sex later. What to do?” The fingers moved deeper still, drawing out a sigh of pleasure. “The choice isn’t up to you, though.”

“I don’t want to want it!” she wailed. Even as she spoke, her body gave lie to the words; she moved backward onto his fingers, and her hips ground upward in response to his motions. Another sigh escaped her lips.

“No, you don’t, do you? Above all else, you hate the idea that you could actually be a sexual person, that you might actually want sex. That’s why all of your fantasies are of coercion and rape, isn’t it?” One had caressed her bare butt, making her shiver and clench around the probe. “And now I’m giving you precisely what you’ve always wanted, only I’m making you want it, too.” He laughed. “I’m such a stinker, aren’t I?”

For the next several minutes, his fingers stroked her from the insides. When he had her writhing on the bed, unable to stop moaning, he pulled his fingers from her and slid the probe free. A moment later, the cuffs binding her were unlocked. “Get dressed. Time to go out!”

She cried out and remained bent over the bed. “Please…please…”

He pulled a plain white sundress out of the closet and tossed it onto the bed next to her, heedless of her whimpers. “Wear this. No underwear.”

She rose reluctantly. Her heart pounded fast; wetness dripped from inside her. She dressed half in a daze; even the touch of the thin cotton on her skin made her body yearn for more. By the time she had pulled on her shoes and stockings, and locked the requisite straps with their sharp points around her thighs, her arousal had abated just enough for her to start thinking rationally again.

Chapter 10

They left the hotel. The weather outside was a rare treat; London had decided to grace them with uncharacteristic warmth and sunshine. Traffic hummed around them during the walk to the nearby tube station. She found the hip-swaying gait compelled by the straps was becoming nearly effortless; indeed, she was scarcely even aware of it until they reached the stairway descending to the station, and a sharp poke to her inner thigh reminded her to keep her legs parted as she walked down.

A short while later, they were seated graciously in a stunning rooftop restaurant in Knightsbridge. Huge windows overlooked the sweep of the Thames River below. Eileen gasped at the view, gasped at the prices on the menu, and gasped again as Anthony’s hand touched her thigh. “That’s the Globe Theatre over there,” he said, nodding toward a round white building with a dark roof below them. “They built it half a block from the original, where William Shakespeare’s plays were first performed. First building with a thatched roof in London in almost four hundred years.” White teeth flashed behind a boyish grin. “The original had a thatched roof, so it just wouldn’t do to build a new one without a thatched roof, would it? Wouldn’t be traditional. Would you like some wine?”

The wine, and the meal that followed, were an experience beyond Eileen’s capability to describe. The casual, easy luxury, the almost palpable air of wealth and sophistication, surpassed anything she’d ever fantasized about. For the next hour, she forgot everything—her forced sexual servitude, the chains that bound her each night, the way her husband used and exhibited her—intoxicated by the atmosphere of the place.

About the time that the last plates were being cleared from the table, a small but persistent tingle started between her legs. It grew much more rapidly than she was prepared for, and by the time the check had been brought over, butterflies danced in her stomach. Her nipples hardened, betraying her desperation. She squirmed on the chair, and gasped sharply when an unwise motion caused spikes to dig into her thighs.

If Anthony noticed, he made no sign. He finished up the business of paying the check calmly, unhurriedly, as Eileen writhed in her seat and felt her wetness swelling. The tingle became an excruciating itch, deep within her; she could think about nothing else. She spread her legs as wide as the chair would allow and longed for something inside her to quench the flame.

They left the restaurant and walked out into the city street under a sky less sunny, brooding with the promise of rain. Eileen’s body felt electric, alive with need; as she stepped onto the sidewalk, a vivid memory flashed through her of the feel of hard metal sliding into her ass, so powerful she stumbled and nearly fell. Anthony’s strong hand steadied her, and he watched her neutrally as she regained her composure. “Please,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Please what? Please take you back to the hotel room and fuck you hard?” Dark eyes watched her with amusement.

She shook her head. “No!”

“I think you need to learn to ask for what you want a little better.” His voice sounded calm and serious, in contrast to the mischief that danced behind his eyes. “Very well. We’ll head back now.”

They had made it nearly to the tube station when the weather changed. Clouds slid over the sun, darkening the sky. Then, with no warning, a light, cold rain fell. The rain soaked through Eileen’s sundress almost instantly. Wet fabric, rendered nearly transparent, clung to her like a second skin. Her lack of undergarments was immediately obvious to all who looked in her direction; dark nipples erect and prominent on the heavy curve of her breasts, a triangle of pubic hair just visible between her legs.

Horrified, she covered herself with her hands and raced for the station. She had not yet mastered the art of running gracefully with legs wide, and her awkwardness only increased her embarrassment. Eyes followed her down the steep, treacherous stairs into the London Underground.

The damage had been done; her clothing was already drenched, and the retreat into the sterile tile-lined tunnels of the station offered no sanctuary. If anything, it made things worse; the station was filled with people, and there was no way she could hide herself from all of them. The platform was a sea of faces—some hostile, some curious, some downright hungry—all looking at her.

To make things worse still, her embarrassment did nothing to distract her from her need. If anything, it only made her arousal greater. Visions passed through her head of hands pushing her against the tiled wall, lifting her skirt, strange men forcing themselves into her, giving her what she needed to soothe the desperate itch. Her face reddened with shame at the thoughts.

Anthony followed her down the stairs at a more leisurely pace. She fled to him and wrapped her arms around him, using his body to shield herself from the stares. They stayed that way, with Anthony stroking her hair, until a rush of air and a recorded voice chanting “Mind the gap” announced the arrival of the train.

“Get in.” He turned her toward the train. She felt exposed again; eyes followed while she walked across the platform in the wet white dress. He held her by one arm, simultaneously protecting and exposing her, preventing her from covering herself.

The train was packed with passengers, and her heart sank when she realized she would not be able to sit down. They moved quickly toward the back of the car, where Anthony casually reached up and took hold of the bar overhead. Eileen wrapped her arms around him from behind and buried her face in his shoulder to hide herself from the people crowded around them.

The train lurched into motion. Eileen felt the stranger next to her stumble and fall against her. The man remained pressed against her as they picked up speed, sandwiching her between himself and Anthony. She squirmed uncomfortably and buried her face deeper in her husband’s shoulder.

The lights in the car flickered erratically as the train sped down the tracks. Anthony seemed indifferent to her plight; he stood casually, relaxed, his back to her, one hand holding the bar, legs slightly angled against the motion of the train. She felt trapped, unable to move without exposing herself, while the arousal and need gnawed at her.

Quietly, bit by bit, Anthony’s other hand crept down and backward. He slid it surreptitiously between their bodies. His face betrayed no sign as his hand slipped over her mound, and his fingers pressed against her clit through wet fabric. She shuddered and moaned softly. “Stop it,” she breathed.

That moan, and the tiny motion of her hips, were lost to the people on the crowded car, but not to the man behind her. He leaned into her, the erection beneath his pants hard enough that she could feel it pressing against the curve of her ass. His hand brushed the side of her breast lightly. Anthony’s fingers pressed hard against her clit, causing a wash of pleasure and need so powerful her knees buckled and she would have fallen had she not been pinned tightly between them.

The stranger behind her leaned forward. Teeth grazed the side of her neck. She froze, unwilling to move or cry out for fear of attracting attention. Her breathing came in rapid gasps, warm against Anthony’s shoulder. His fingers pressed into her in a subtle, secret molestation. The stranger kissed and nipped her neck, and she moaned again, nipples painfully hard against her husband’s back. Soon her hips were grinding into him, and the hard erection beneath the stranger’s pants awoke an even deeper hunger within her.

The train screeched and shuddered to a halt. Eileen scarcely noticed, lost in her own uncontrollable arousal, until Anthony took his fingers away and stepped forward. “Our stop,” he said, and took her by the hand.

She risked a quick glance backward as they left the train. A man stared at her out the window. Her mystery assailant? She couldn’t be entirely sure. She had a brief impression of a young face, heavy eyebrows over wide, startled eyes, before the train moved off.

Outside, the steady drizzle continued. The crowd on the sidewalk was sparse, perhaps because people of good sense had already escaped indoors. She tried to walk quickly back toward the hotel, but he held her hand firmly and prevented her from getting ahead of him. She brought her arm up across her breasts to hide them; he glared at her, lips pursed, and pulled her hand away. “No.”

They walked that way back to the hotel, his hand holding hers tightly, while passers by gaped at her. Water dripped from her hair, streamed down her body, made the transparent fabric stick tightly to her. Every step reminded her of the burning itch inside her. More than anything, she wanted to run, to flee to the hotel room, though she could not quite tell if it was to escape the people staring at her, or to feel the blessed relief of having something buried within her tingling pussy.

At long last, they were crossing the threshold into the hotel. Anthony released her hand. She ran to the safety of the elevator, not even caring that the spikes strapped to her thighs raked her as she went.

Neither of them spoke on the ride up to the room. When they reached their floor, her heart was thudding so wildly it threatened to burst from her chest. She needed relief badly, ached desperately to feel his hard cock fill her up, and hated how much she needed it. Everything she had ever been taught about how a woman should be was being stripped from her, and she felt helpless to control even her own responses.

As the door closed behind them, she expected him to come for her, force himself on her, give her what she both needed and feared. Instead, he went to the closet and dragged out the large trunk. “Strip,” he commanded, without even looking at her.

“What?” Confusion mixed with her arousal. She’d expected him to take her by force the moment they walked in the door; a part of her had even counted on it. But instead he was fiddling with something in the trunk. Apprehension rose. “What are you doing? Aren’t you going to—to, you know…”

“Aren’t I going to what?” He sounded amused.

“Aren’t you going—I mean, I thought…” Her voice quavered. “Aren’t you going to make me have sex with you?” The last part came out scarcely in a whisper.

He laughed. “Is that what you want?”

“No!” she cried automatically.

“Well, in that case, no. I’m not going to make you have sex with me.”

She squirmed and wailed in frustration. Her hands pressed between her legs, fingers working against her swollen clit through wet cloth. “Please!”

“Why so fidgety?” he teased. “Do you need a cock in you, you filthy sex-starved little whore?” He grinned and chuckled. “I have something else in mind, actually. Don’t worry, you’ll like it. Now strip!”

Something in his tone made her hesitate for a second before she pulled the dress off over her head. Her hair fell in a wet tangle over shoulders beaded with water. She stood naked save for the spikes locked around her thighs.

“Come over here.” He pointed to a contraption he had assembled. A short, black, vaguely saddle-like seat, roughly the same shape as a round-topped mailbox, sat on the floor. A thick dildo jutted up from its center. Clearly, and horrifyingly, he meant for her to sit on it, so that the dildo went inside her. Worse yet were the leather straps affixed to its sides, obviously intended to be belted around her legs, to keep her from being able to rise up off of it. The part that made her heart beat fastest, though, was the metal bar bolted to the end of the saddle-shaped device. It ended in a T-shaped crossbar, also metal. A pair of cuffs dangled from the ends of the “T,” and a large red button was mounted in the center of the “T” where the upright part met the crossbar. Overall, the thing looked intimidating, like some sort of Rube Goldberg torture device. She backed away, shaking her head.

He closed the distance between them in two quick strides. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself as clear as I should have,” he said mildly. “That was not a request.” He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. “Come here.” With one hand on her elbow and one hand gripping her hair, he pulled her over to the machine and forced her to stand straddling it. “Sit.”

She screamed. “No! I don’t want to!” Fear of what he was going to do to her knotted in her stomach, where it combined with the embarrassment from the trip back to the hotel and the wild, burning need between her legs, and she realized, in some small corner of her mind, that she
did
want to, more than anything else in the world. Her pussy clenched at the thought of the thick, smooth dildo penetrating her, and she felt herself grow wet. The one thing she could not bring herself to do, despite all her need, was admit it.

He watched her calmly, saw the realization dawn in her eyes. “Sit,” he said, “or I will force you down on it, and believe me, I won’t be gentle.”

A tear slid down her cheek. She turned her head away from him and knelt slowly over the saddle. Slowly, bit by bit, she lowered herself until the dildo just touched her glistening wetness. Her stomach did flip-flops and her nerve failed. “I can’t!”

He stood over her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Strong fingers worked into her muscles, massaging her. “Sit. You need something inside you. I know how badly you want it. I felt you grinding against that man on the train.”

“No!” Her face turned scarlet.

“Sit.” His muscles flexed, and he pushed her down hard on the saddle. The dildo thrust up inside her with such force that it sucked her breath away, leaving her unable to scream. She clawed wildly at him; it hurt, and it felt good, and she didn’t know whether to cry or moan.

“Now, then,” he said as he knelt beside her. “The device you’re sitting on is called a Sybian. It’s probably the best invention yet created for making women come, as you’ll soon find out.” He unlocked the spikes around her thighs. “I’ve made a few modifications to it myself, one of which is these straps.” She yelped as he buckled the leather straps tightly around her legs, so that they held her firmly on the saddle.