Slave Girl

Renaissance
www.renebooks.com

Copyright ©2002 by Claire Thomson

Jill's eyes were closed. She was making little mewling sounds, with some ooohs and aaahs thrown in, but she was thinking about her grocery list. Barry was heavy on her, grunting, thrusting rhythmically. It wasn't that he was a bad lover, or an unattractive man. He was just—boring. Jill gave a squeal of ecstasy and arched her pelvis up to him, signaling that her fake orgasm was about to be completed. Barry moaned loudly in response and jerked into her before collapsing and rolling off her. He drew a hand across his forehead and sighed happily, “Baby, that was excellent.” Jill said nothing as she grabbed a tissue and wiped away the dribble of semen. At least it was over.

Barry was successful. At 32, he was an attorney on his way to partner in a prominent firm in the city. He kept long hours, leaving for his commute at 6:30 and not returning home many nights until after 9:00. This gave Jill, a housewife with no children, plenty of time on her hands. When they had first married, she would spend all day making the house perfect, cooking a gourmet meal, making sure she looked great when he came to the door, tired and ready for some tender loving care. And Barry appreciated it. He would take the drink she offered and eat the delicious meal, telling her she was the best.

Then he would make love to her, always the same way, climbing on top, rubbing his cock against her until it hardened, and then slipping it into her pussy. He would move and thrust to satisfy himself, leaving Jill frustrated. But she never complained.

They had had a whirlwind courtship and she hadn't noticed that sex was less than perfect. She'd been so enamored of his dark blue eyes, his thick blond hair that always fell over his forehead in that cute way, his strong lean body, honed from years of tennis and sailing. She wouldn't admit it, but she was also enamored of his four bedroom house in plush Highland Hills, his sailboat and his Porsche, his membership at the exclusive Banyard Country Club.

They had met when her temp firm placed her as a secretary at his law firm. She was new to the area, sharing an apartment with two other young women, barely making ends meet. Every spare penny she had went to her wardrobe and makeup, and it showed. Her long dark hair was beautifully but simply cut, hanging prettily around her face. Dark eyes, full mouth, classic features. She wore perfectly tailored suits that emphasized her long lean lines and shapely legs. Though a little ‘old’ for it at 26, she could have been a model, that's what people always told her. But she didn't have the ambition, she supposed. She just seemed to drift from job to job, boyfriend to boyfriend.

When Barry asked her out, she was pleased, but didn't expect anything. Most men bored her, or were out of her reach, already married or gay. Barry was fun, taking her to all the trendy places. He was kind and sweet in a boyish, innocent way that charmed her. She knew she didn't love him, though she did like him a lot. Sometimes she wondered if there was something wrong with her. Maybe she didn't have the capacity to really love someone. Maybe she was broken somehow.

When he proposed, after only four weeks of dating, she was stunned. They were eating at a little Brazilian place, and she was distracted, wondering how she was going to pay her credit card bills, when he said, “Jill, I love you."

"I love you too,” she responded, smiling that dimpled smile that she knew could melt men's hearts. He had said this often, several times a day, since the first week. She felt almost duty bound to respond in kind, even though if probed she would have admitted she didn't know what love was. She didn't think too much about it. He was always calling her darling and sweetheart, and staring meaningfully into her eyes. It was almost annoying, but she knew he was sincere, and he did it over the finest champagne, or while presenting her with a $200 bouquet of flowers, so she forgave him rather readily in her mind. In a way she did love him, she supposed.

"No, I mean I really love you. I've never felt this way before, Jill. It's you. You're the one. I want to make you my wife. Will you marry me?"

Jill laughed. Make you my wife? Who talked like that? But she realized with a little shock that he was serious! This man she had known for a month was proposing marriage! To follow up his words, he pulled out a little blue velvet box. “This is for you, if you'll have it.” He opened the box and she couldn't contain the little gasp as she looked at the most beautiful diamond ring she had ever seen, set simply with a star sapphire on either side. She wanted that ring. She wanted the life he offered. She was sure she could learn to love him. She would make it work; she knew she could do it. She could do anything she set her mind to.

Now, six months later, after a whirlwind honeymoon weekend in Bermuda (he promised Europe once he made partner, which should happen anytime now, he was certain) Jill settled down to be Mrs. Barry Lennon. It was great fun playing house, at first. And in bed she was reasonably aroused by his big cock. It was enough, at first. But now she was bored. Itchy. She had been used to a life of struggle and hustle. When her dad had died of a heart attack when she was 14, she and her mom, then a housewife herself, had had to make it on their own. She was used to being independent, and to being very busy, always working, and partying after hours. But Barry liked her to be there for him when he got home. He liked the idea of her keeping house for him. He was already talking about children, but she had convinced him she just wasn't ready for that yet.

She did like the luxury, and the leisure time, to a point. It was fun to shop at the gourmet supermarket and buy whatever she wanted to without even looking at the prices. She enjoyed making the fancy meals from the cookbooks her mother-in-law had provided. She liked smoothing the fine 400 count cotton sheets over their big antique bed. She was starting to make new friends with the leisure set, as she thought of them. The perfectly coifed and manicured women at the club, who went to workout and gossip and get a massage or a tan. There was one girl named Ellie that she especially liked, and they had lunch together sometimes. But basically she was lonely. And bored.

Then she met Ken.

He came to the house that morning at 10:00, responding to her call for a plumber. The kitchen sink was blocked and Barry had told her to call someone; he wasn't handy around the house. When the doorbell rang, Jill peeked through the peephole and saw a tall thin man, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a plumber's overall with his name stitched neatly over his heart. He was really good looking and Jill felt a little tug of desire in her pussy which she tried to dismiss. He was holding a toolbox and looking official, so Jill opened the door and welcomed him in.

The sink was no problem; Ken had it unblocked in minutes. As he was writing out the invoice, Jill said on an impulse, “Say, I've just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Can I interest you in a cup?” Ken looked up from his paperwork. He glanced at his watch, then looked at her, appraising her frankly, taking in her pink T-shirt, cut-off shorts, bare tan legs.

With a slow sexy smile he said, “Why sure. I have a little while before my next job. That'd be very nice."

Oh shit, what am I
doing
? Jill couldn't believe she was offering coffee to the plumber. It was like the beginning to some bad porn film. Well, she hadn't meant anything by it, really just coffee. Had she? When he sat down at her table and she poured coffee into the pretty ceramic mug she had set before him, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She could smell his cologne, feel the masculinity flowing off of him like some kind of sonar, detecting her, detecting her need.

She smiled innocently and said, “Cream?"

"Yes, please. Real cream, huh? Classy.” As he took the little cream jug from her, his fingers brushed hers. She felt her nipples harden and worried suddenly that he could see them poking through the thin fabric of her shirt.

"You're going to join me, aren't you? I don't want to drink alone."

She sat across from him, feeling nervous but excited. This was ridiculous; they were just having coffee. Her large engagement ring and heavy gold wedding band glittered in the sunlight.

"Married long?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said are you married long? This is some nice place you got."

"Oh, thank you. Um, I've been married about six months. You?"

"Me? Married? No way. I like to play the field too much. You'd be amazed how many gorgeous housewives there are out there, just waiting, all alone, for someone like me to show up and, uh, fix their plumbing.” He grinned devilishly. She looked down, fingering her ring nervously.

He leaned toward her. “You have anything besides coffee?"

"What?"

"Besides coffee. A bun or something."

"A bun?” This was crazy. He was asking for a bun and she could barely catch her breath. She decided to take him at face value. “Let's see, I think I do have some croissants from this morning.” She stood, but as she passed him, he pulled her toward him. She lost her balance and settled heavily on his lap. With a little squeal, she tried to stand up, apologizing in her confusion. But he wouldn't let her go. He didn't ask permission, he didn't hesitate. He kissed her. She sat frozen, not responding, but not stopping him either.

He continued to kiss her, the coffee ignored, croissants forgotten. Her lips parted and she kissed him back, pressing her full breasts against his hard chest. He stood up, easily scooping her into his arms and whispered into her now tousled hair, “Where's the bedroom?"

She didn't answer, struck dumb by his question, by what was happening, by her body's obvious and ardent response to him. Was he going to rape her? Why wasn't she terrified for her life? But she wasn't. She was only afraid that she was going to break her vows to her husband, because she knew she was going to. She had to have this man. He smelled so delicious she literally wanted to bite him. And yet she couldn't bring herself to speak. To tell him where the bedroom was, to admit that they were going to go there, and get into the bed and...

"No problem,” he said, as if understanding her hesitation. “Shouldn't be hard to find.” He strode from the breakfast room through the house to the stairs. He climbed them easily, holding her as if she were a rag doll in his arms. He found the bedroom easily enough, with its large brass bed set in the center of a big sunny room. The window looked out over the bay, and Jill could see the blue green sparkle of the water, and the pale blue of the sky. He dropped her on the bed and fell heavily on top of her, kissing her again. She could feel his erection hard in his overalls against her thigh. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could feel it banging against him.

He pulled her pink T-shirt up, revealing her breasts, clad in a satin bra. He pulled up the bra too, allowing the breasts to tumble out, nipples erect. Jill was breathing so hard she felt dizzy. She knew she had to protest, to fight, to do something to show she wasn't a willing party to all this. Then his mouth found a nipple and the moan she heard was her own.

When he pulled down her panties, her legs seemed to fall open of their own accord. His tongue was hot and silky against her pussy and she sighed, forgetting all pretense of resistance. When he stripped, she barely noticed, until she felt his hard cock enter her, filling her with such intense pleasure that she climaxed almost immediately.

He wasn't done with her though. Pulling out, he flipped her over, forcing her into a doggy position. Then he entered her again, holding her hips to guide himself in, not giving her a moment to adjust. He fucked her hard and fast, and came after just a few minutes, his moan low and guttural. He hadn't asked her if she was using protection; he hadn't offered any himself, of course. He'd just come into her like she was some whore! Luckily she was on the pill, but my God, what if she hadn't been?

He didn't pull out of her yet, she could still feel his cock hard inside of her. His fingers found her pussy, still swollen with lust, and he massaged her expertly until she cried out and pulled away from him, falling onto the bed as she pressed her legs together, experiencing a searing orgasm at the hands of this stranger.

While she lay panting, her face flushed, bra still pushed uncomfortably over her breasts, Ken stood and pulled his clothes back on. “Sorry to fuck and run. Man, you look gorgeous and that was fantastic, baby. But I have another call. Won't do to keep the customers waiting. My number's on the invoice, sweetcakes. Call me if you get lonely. I'll be here in a flash. I make emergency house calls for my best customers. No, don't see me out; I know the way.” And with that he was gone.