Darkest Fantasies (15 page)

'And how shall
I whip you?' she teased. 'On the wooden cross, on tiptoe with your
arms stretched, or across the horse with your backside bare? Or
shall I merely chain you to the bars of your cell?'

He groaned
with pleasure. 'Anything you wish, mistress. Anything!'

'And you've
been so very wicked, haven't you, slave? You've been enjoying
yourself with another, after all I told you before.'

'I have been
so very wicked, mistress. Very, very wicked.'

For a moment
Esther wondered whether to ask him who he'd been wicked with, but
decided that perhaps she would rather not know. He would know what
he was being punished for, and would no doubt tell her when he
thought he'd been punished enough. Then she would decide whether or
not to stop.

'Very well, I
grant your wish,' she went on. 'You will be punished for your
wickedness, slave. I shall beat you until your flesh screams. I
shall whip you until there is not an inch of flesh left
unpunished.'

'Yes please,
mistress,' he agreed hoarsely, and groaned with anticipation as he
was thrust hard against the cold metal bars of his cell. She pulled
a collar around his neck and clipped it to the bars, pulling him in
so that his face pressed into the cold steel.

'You've been
very wicked,' Esther said softly, 'and I must punish you severely.
Do you know why?'

'Because I've
been with another woman, mistress?'

'Not because
you've been with another woman, slave, but because you felt you
needed to. Anything she can do, I can do better. Anything you did
to her, you should do to me - if I let you. I am the only woman in
your life from now on. The only woman. You will learn that.'

'But this is
not—' He was about to explain about his wife, when the words were
plugged abruptly as she thrust a thick wedge of leather between his
teeth, which forced his jaws apart and pulled his lips back in the
parody of a smile. This was not comfortable in the least, and he
had not finished saying what he wanted to say, but she ignored his
muffled grumbles and proceeded to tighten straps over the top and
back of his head, keeping the gag in place.

Suddenly Kevin
wasn't quite so sure he liked the idea. He was too vulnerable.
Suddenly the idea of extreme punishment didn't seem quite so
desirable. Hell, what was he thinking of, damn it? Unable to voice
his sudden misgiving, he pulled determinedly at the cuffs around
his wrists, deciding that enough was enough.

Esther stood
back and watched for a moment. Gone was the passive acceptance. He
had slipped into the resistive mode. Madam had taught her about
that; about the time when notions of propriety and society warred
against the calls of the flesh. Now she would have to be careful.
The bars to which he was attached were not, in fact, part of a
cell, but were a square grill attached firmly to floor and ceiling,
and placed at ninety degrees to the wall of what had once been the
garage. But it was well concreted in.

She walked to
the other side of the grill, threaded a rope through it and pulled
his knees tightly to the bars, forestalling movement. Then she was
able to attach two ropes to the ankle cuffs, and a further two to
his wrist cuffs, carefully avoiding the urgently groping fingers
that tried desperately to stop her. Then she released the temporary
rope around his knees and, to his extreme annoyance, pulled and
separated his ankles as far as they would comfortably spread and
tied them off.

Then she took
a firm hold of one rope that threaded through the bars, and
released each wrist in turn. Before he knew what was happening he
was spread-eagled, struggling and grunting, against the bars.

Oh, God, Kevin
thought, feeling a chill air reach his balls and arse. Once again,
thrills of fear and anticipation raged through his body, and his
cock began to pump up with familiar urgency. He listened. What was
she doing? He tensed. He remembered the whip.

But no. Soft
oiled hands began to smooth all over his body, to rub and touch his
electrified skin. He could feel naked tits against his back. He
groaned and his hips began to move. Her soft hands glided, teased,
and then they were between his legs, possessing his sensitised cock
and balls. He gripped the bars and groaned, his rampant erection
pulsing in her grip.

Then she was
gone.

No, she was
still there, the hands were back. They were wrapping something
round and round his cock, tighter and tighter. There was an awful
stretched feeling, then the hands left him. He moved
experimentally, gasped, and was still. Movement was pain.
Beautifully erotic pain. His cock was threatening to explode with
the tightness of the bindings that pulled his hips hard into the
bars and held him totally immobile.

He held his
breath, listened.

Again she was
behind him. She was kneeling between his stretched legs, and was
running oiled hands up and down his inner thighs - up and down, up
and down, closer and closer to his exposed arse.

He shuddered
with anticipation. Such unbelievable eroticism; the feel of her
hands upon his skin, the confinement of his organs and his total
inability to move, to escape, or even to complain. Without warning
a finger slipped into his arse, causing him to buck with shock.
Then that finger began to glide in and out, the motion of his anus
contracting and stretching further pumping his crucified balls into
agonising stimulation.

Then, as if
that were not enough, the finger was withdrawn, and something else
pressed hard against him, pushed inexorably in until his oiled anus
opened obligingly to give it access. He felt her fiddling with the
restraint around his middle, and whatever she had pushed into him
was now confined there by more straps. The stretched, alien
sensation was incredible. It couldn't be more strange and lovely;
until it began to buzz. His limbs pulsed involuntarily as spasms of
sexual fire ran through him, starting deep in his bowels and
rolling outward to his extremities in hot waves.

At that point
Esther left her husband to enjoy himself. She changed into the new
leather suit she had bought, donned the high-heeled ankle boots,
and covered face and hair with a fitted leather hood.

When she went
back Kevin was moaning softly. His penis was flacid now, relieving
the tension in his body.

She removed
his blindfold.

For a moment
Kevin blinked in the harsh light. As his eyes came into focus he
became aware of her standing before him, framed by the black metal
bars which confined him. She was a goddess and torturer. Her face
was concealed, but her breasts were perfect orbs supported by a
clever array of leather straps. Her feet were encased in
high-heeled ankle boots which were placed wide, causing her thigh
and calf muscles to tense in shapely beauty. And between her
black-gloved hands she bent a long leather whip.

Kevin
shivered.

She walked
forward and knelt.

Kevin tried to
look down, but with the collar clamped to the bars, could not move
far enough to see what she was doing.

'Is that nice,
slave?' she teased, rubbing him back to full erection. 'Now I'm
going to start hurting you. This is going to be so nice. Are you
ready?'

He made
guttural noises of discontent.

'What, not
happy?' She stood.

He tried to
make her aware that enough was enough. She reached for his face and
pulled two clips from the side of the gag and fixed them to the
bars, keeping him looking firmly to the front.

'Nnnng!' he
complained as she sank down from view again, and he tensed
expectantly.

'I am going to
so enjoy this, slave,' she murmured softly, her words an
endearment, her fingers reaching around him, tracing small circles
on his buttocks as if searching out targets to aim for.

Kevin bucked
against the bars. No, no, he didn't want to be beaten after all.
Not really. Not at all! It was not too late to change his mind,
please? But as she reached up through the bars and began to rub his
nipples between her fingers, rubbing, rolling, pulling, until they
began to burn, he knew even if he could speak, he would simply beg
for more. The action hovered between pain and pleasure, sending
sharp signals to his prick, which throbbed accordingly.

Very soon
Kevin was lost in his involuntary world of sex, and was merely a
body fed tantalising promises by a siren in black leather. She was
a fucking nympho, he thought.

Then she was
gone.

He tried to
look round, but could not, and stared in agonised anticipation at
the bare white wall before him. He felt soft hands reach round,
pinch his sore nipples once more, and then retreat.

He
waited...

What the hell?
That strange sensation around his nipples was not fingers. It was
something mechanical, and seemed to get tighter and tighter by the
second, but he could not look down to discover what she had done.
He writhed for a moment, fighting the new and strange confinement
that was making his nipples pulse so frantically. He moaned,
struggled, and whimpered, self-pity mixed up with a sort of
self-loathing because the confinement was so erotically pleasing,
and surely a man wasn't supposed to be pleased at being used in
such a dastardly way?

But she was
touching him all over, pressing into his back, agitating the
vibrator that filled his back passage. Simply having her playing
with him pumped him up to pleasing fullness, jammed into the
tightness of the bindings. He wriggled slightly, felt everything
move and pull. He groaned at the self-induced discomfort, and moved
some more. Oh, it was lovely...

He heard the
faint whistle of the whip a fraction of a second before it landed.
He wailed. The whip bit across both buttocks with unerring
accuracy, stealing his breath and cutting him off mid-scream. As he
rebounded against the pain the cord tightened around his cock and
balls. He squealed, gasped against the flood of sensations. He
struggled against his bonds, gurgling furiously, but the more he
struggled the more the cord pleased him, bringing him to rock hard
erection against the rope's confinement.

'You want to
say something to me, slave?'

He grunted his
affirmative. She removed the gag. He spat the leather out.

'Do you want
me to stop?' his fair tormentor whispered, in a voice which dripped
sex.

'No,' he
groaned, while another part of his mind wondered what the hell he
was saying. 'Please... more...'

He sensed her
raise the whip again. He heard the whistle, tensed, gritted his
teeth, and bucked as it landed across his thighs. 'Oh...' he
groaned.

Again the whip
fell.

'More?' she
goaded.

'Yes,
mistress,' he gasped.

Esther beat
her husband until his buttocks were a glowing mass of pulsing red
stripes and his penis was a purple brand tipped with a glowing coal
stoking the air through the bars. She hit him until her own sex was
dripping with need, her body flushed with desire, her breath short
with lust. Then, with hasty fingers, she released his bonds.
Twisting him around in the hasty parody of a waltz, she grasped the
bars above her head, opening her body invitingly. Kevin was hardly
aware of what he was doing as he lifted her legs and thrust his way
into the exposed accommodation just once, twice, thrice, before he
came with a fantastic and painful orgasm.

Only when he
was finished did he realise that he was free. He stared at her, and
lowered her feet to the floor.

They stared
into each other's eyes. She was at his mercy now; he could rip her
hood off...

He backed
away, suddenly afraid. This was no dream. How he got here he didn't
know, but he was afraid to look. Afraid he would leave his wife for
this woman, this sexual animal who could command him to do anything
she wanted, and he would obey. He didn't want to see her face. He
didn't want to know who had tied him, beaten, him, and given him
the best sexual ride he'd had in a long time, because he was afraid
he would lose her. Or lose his marriage. Or lose himself.

'Slave, there
is some wine on the table,' the beautiful siren said. 'Drink
it.'

He knew it
would be drugged.

Esther stared
at her sleeping husband, now back in their bed. He would wake up
the next day with no idea how he had got there, and she had to
carry on playing the simple wife who did not know he had been up to
anything unusual.

She pursed her
lips pensively. The game was progressing just how Madam Tisset had
said it would. She had found Kevin's trigger, all right. She smiled
at the thought. Who would have thought the Casanova of the banking
world was entertaining secret dreams of being dominated by a woman
wielding a whip? Those items had merely been her own choice, her
way of forcing his darkest fantasies out of him. Perhaps they had
more in common than either of them had realised.

She nursed a
small measure of relief that she had not discovered his fetish to
be something she could not handle. At least his dreams of
domination were easily satisfied, and his secret sexual desires
compatible with the imposed boundaries of their marriage. And if
she kept it up, then he would have neither the time nor the
inclination to keep ploughing new turf out of his own domain. But
she could not keep up the pretence indefinitely. It was just not
possible, even though she was pleased with the effectiveness of her
disguised voice. She glanced at the mirror and, behind the obvious
tiredness, recognised that the woman who stared back was still
obviously not happy.

Kevin turned
over and snored. She smiled faintly at his innocent sleeping face,
wondering how he was going to explain his weal-marked buttocks to
the innocent wife. On reflection, however, she doubted he would
even need to try. After all, they dressed in the dark and made love
in the dark.