her jacket and blouse. She was breathing hard as he went away, and then brought back another scarf.
This, he fastened around her eyes. It was a black scarf, in a tight weave. She could no longer see a single thing. As he adjusted it, he stroked her hair, tidying and smoothing.
What now? What now?
She could hear him moving about. She could almost hear him thinking, although not the actual thoughts. He was plotting, scheming.
He was close.
Strong hands settled on her thighs and she realised he was actually kneeling in front of her. Surely that was wrong? He shouldn’t kneel to her; he was the master here. Then she had a flash of what he was up to, the second before he did it.
He pushed up her skirt, saying, ‘Hup!’ to make her lift her bottom from the seat so he could bunch the fabric around her waist, back and front. Next, he slid his thumbs in the elastic of her knickers and skinned them down in a brisk, ruthless action. The waft of his shirtsleeved arm seemed to suggest him tossing them away across the room.
‘Sublime.’
Steps away again, then he was back at her, and with more scarves, he secured her ankles to the front legs of the chair, immobilising her with her crotch on show and her bare bottom and her pussy pressed to the wooden seat.
Oh God, oh God, oh God!
A sensation of light-headedness engulfed her, powerlessness and extreme excitement. It was like being very young again, right on the sexual threshold, and about to go all the way for the first time. Her heart thundered, and she almost wanted to cry, but in a good way. The very best way.
‘Pretty as a picture,’ said John roundly. She could sense him still very close, crouching in front of her as if he were staring intently at her exposed bush. There was absolute silence for a moment, apart from his breathing and hers, which was far more rapid and fluttering, then she felt it.
A fingertip slid in amongst her pubic curls, parting her labia, to settle right on the tip of her clit in the very lightest ghost of a contact. Her hips jerked, pushing her forward, chasing pressure, but the touch was gone again as suddenly as it had occurred, and she sensed John rise to his feet in front of her.
‘And now, I think I’ll take a shower.’ His footsteps receded away from her. ‘Be a good girl while I’m away, won’t you?’
Then the bathroom door opened, and closed, and she was alone.
4
Devil in the Dark
Lizzie tried her bonds, but she was firmly secured. How many woman had John tied up lately? Probably enough, because he seemed to know precisely what he was doing.
The room was very quiet. She could barely hear the sound of running water from the bathroom. Her head seemed to fill with scents: the room’s pot-pourri, the ghost of John’s cologne, the sudden, pungent musk of her pussy.
She could still feel his fingertip against her clit, and it ached for more, almost as if he’d brought her almost to the point of orgasm and just left her hanging. Her awareness of that tiny bud of flesh was out of all proportion. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, nestled between her labia, the very nexus of her pleasure. Fondled and abandoned, almost screaming silently for contact, for him to return and rub it. She tossed her head, willing him to come back and masturbate her roughly to orgasm.
The emptiness of the room pressed down upon her. She tried to picture where everything was. The beautiful suit she’d seen hung on the wardrobe door. John’s other things. There’d been a laptop, phone, a fine, hide-covered briefcase.
This was his space, temporarily, and she imagined him in it. Walking naked from the bathroom, drying his wheat-gold hair. Lying on the bed, touching himself, liking it, then wanking furiously. Had he done that since yesterday? Had he been thinking of her as he pumped his stiff cock?
Other visions came to her. Images of herself with him. Fucking, yes, but other things. How he might use her and play with her. There was a big,
This, he fastened around her eyes. It was a black scarf, in a tight weave. She could no longer see a single thing. As he adjusted it, he stroked her hair, tidying and smoothing.
What now? What now?
She could hear him moving about. She could almost hear him thinking, although not the actual thoughts. He was plotting, scheming.
He was close.
Strong hands settled on her thighs and she realised he was actually kneeling in front of her. Surely that was wrong? He shouldn’t kneel to her; he was the master here. Then she had a flash of what he was up to, the second before he did it.
He pushed up her skirt, saying, ‘Hup!’ to make her lift her bottom from the seat so he could bunch the fabric around her waist, back and front. Next, he slid his thumbs in the elastic of her knickers and skinned them down in a brisk, ruthless action. The waft of his shirtsleeved arm seemed to suggest him tossing them away across the room.
‘Sublime.’
Steps away again, then he was back at her, and with more scarves, he secured her ankles to the front legs of the chair, immobilising her with her crotch on show and her bare bottom and her pussy pressed to the wooden seat.
Oh God, oh God, oh God!
A sensation of light-headedness engulfed her, powerlessness and extreme excitement. It was like being very young again, right on the sexual threshold, and about to go all the way for the first time. Her heart thundered, and she almost wanted to cry, but in a good way. The very best way.
‘Pretty as a picture,’ said John roundly. She could sense him still very close, crouching in front of her as if he were staring intently at her exposed bush. There was absolute silence for a moment, apart from his breathing and hers, which was far more rapid and fluttering, then she felt it.
A fingertip slid in amongst her pubic curls, parting her labia, to settle right on the tip of her clit in the very lightest ghost of a contact. Her hips jerked, pushing her forward, chasing pressure, but the touch was gone again as suddenly as it had occurred, and she sensed John rise to his feet in front of her.
‘And now, I think I’ll take a shower.’ His footsteps receded away from her. ‘Be a good girl while I’m away, won’t you?’
Then the bathroom door opened, and closed, and she was alone.
4
Devil in the Dark
Lizzie tried her bonds, but she was firmly secured. How many woman had John tied up lately? Probably enough, because he seemed to know precisely what he was doing.
The room was very quiet. She could barely hear the sound of running water from the bathroom. Her head seemed to fill with scents: the room’s pot-pourri, the ghost of John’s cologne, the sudden, pungent musk of her pussy.
She could still feel his fingertip against her clit, and it ached for more, almost as if he’d brought her almost to the point of orgasm and just left her hanging. Her awareness of that tiny bud of flesh was out of all proportion. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, nestled between her labia, the very nexus of her pleasure. Fondled and abandoned, almost screaming silently for contact, for him to return and rub it. She tossed her head, willing him to come back and masturbate her roughly to orgasm.
The emptiness of the room pressed down upon her. She tried to picture where everything was. The beautiful suit she’d seen hung on the wardrobe door. John’s other things. There’d been a laptop, phone, a fine, hide-covered briefcase.
This was his space, temporarily, and she imagined him in it. Walking naked from the bathroom, drying his wheat-gold hair. Lying on the bed, touching himself, liking it, then wanking furiously. Had he done that since yesterday? Had he been thinking of her as he pumped his stiff cock?
Other visions came to her. Images of herself with him. Fucking, yes, but other things. How he might use her and play with her. There was a big,
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