Mind Games - A Bad Boy Romance With A Twist

by Gabi Moore

  “Is he actually literally into all the whips and chains and things? Oh my God when last did you check the diary?” Abby said.

  “Shhh… there’s only one really important question here. Only one thing our friend Natasha here has to ask herself,” Jen said, playing the guru of the group.

  “There is?” I said.

  “Yes. Just one question. But answer it honestly.”

  “Ok.”

  “Do you like it?”

  Their faces were eager, glazed over with alcohol and eating up the gossip like a fresh, gluten free cookie. I blushed. It might sound strange to you, but actually, I hadn’t much considered whether I liked it or not. For the last week, all I could do is think about him. His hard face. His eternally calm voice. What was his plan? Did he even have one?

  “You know, I’ve been thinking so hard about it, and I think he wants me to like it, I think, but I can’t tell if he’s properly angry and if he really wants me to be, you know, punished.”

  My voice trailed off.

  “That’s not a very good answer, Natty.”

  I laughed nervously.

  “Fine. Then yes? I think I like it…”

  They all giggled.

  “Am I crazy here? Should I just leave? You don’t understand, I’m the bad guy here. Maybe he’s just gone, I don’t know. Maybe I should leave before he…”

  “No!” Jen said quickly. “Don’t do any such thing. You said so yourself. You like it. So, stay. Marriage isn’t a bed of roses. If you guys end up making each other happy, who cares if the way you do it is a little fucked up?”

  Annie tittered to herself. “It’s a lot fucked up though…” she said.

  “Shut up,” Jen said. “You’ll see. I’m not kidding Natty, sometimes infidelity can be just the thing a relationship needs, you know?”

  “That’s so dark,” said Annie.

  “But it’s true. You’ll see. I say just go with it.”

  “So, you get to sleep with a whole bunch of other men now while your husband watches?” Annie tried hard to suppress a smile. I hadn’t decided yet if she was horrified or jealous.

  “I don’t know! I don’t know what he has planned. He said there were two of them. That’s all. And that I had to do whatever they told me.”

  “Fuck, that’s hot.”

  “Ew, Abby.”

  “Shut up with your ‘ew’.”

  “It isn’t fair though,” Annie said. “It’s not quite the reaction most men would have if they found their wife whoring around. No offense.”

  “None taken,” I said.

  “So when do you meet these two mystery men?”

  “Tomorrow. That is, if he comes back, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Maybe I should just call it off and call a divorce lawyer or something. I mean, this is really fucked up…”

  “Yeah maybe. But aren’t you curious?” Abby said.

  I thought for a while.

  “I am. I’m really curious,” I said at last.

  “Lucky bitch,” said Annie at last. “Having your cake and eating it too. Lunch is on you today, as your punishment.”

  “Sure, I love you guys,” I said.

  “We love you too, you slut.”

  Chapter 11 - Natasha

  The guy didn’t look like much to be afraid of.

  He was kind of skinny, kind of out of shape, but nice enough looking. At any rate, the woman seemed pretty into it. But then again, did it matter if she was into it or not? It was all very confusing.

  She kind of just sat there and let him do his thing. He tied the velvety ropes round her arms and fumbled with them, winding them clumsily round the bed post. Then she just kind of laid there, blindfold on. Was she bored? Loving it? Hard to say. There were clothes and empty boxes on the floor of their bedroom.

  I clicked ahead. He was on top of her now, hunching away into her open legs as she lay there, doing nothing. Huh. A bit boring. I clicked ahead some more. She had his dick in her mouth, and was moaning quietly, blindfold still on. I closed the video.

  What a snooze. If that’s anything like what he had in mind for me, I was hoping I’d be able to stay awake long enough. I trilled my nails on the table and then tapped the keyboard. ‘Sex slave wife’ I told the search engine. Little blocks popped up, each a window filled with naked bodies. A catalogue of fucking. Here, maybe, I could find answers about what was to happen to me in within the next 2 hours, since Todd himself was keeping silent and leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  My husband had gone rogue. I’m certainly no prude, but if he was going to pull some kinky thing on me, I wanted to be prepared.

  I scrolled listlessly through most of the videos, nothing really catching my eye. “Hot wife shared with neighbor”. Interesting. I clicked. Interesting. A suited, bored looking guy sat on a sofa and tried to watch TV while his “wife” screwed a guy on the coffee table in front of him. Huh. I closed the window.

  What should I search for next? “Cheating wife punished”. The little blocks that popped up were uglier. Tied, bound bodies. Breasts pulled. Contorted faces. I scrolled quickly past. That stuff was pretty out there. Surely those women weren’t actually enjoying it?

  Again, did it matter though? That was kind of the point, I guess. If they made me do “everything”, was this kind of thing included? How much everything did he mean? And again, would it matter if I didn’t like it?

  It was my punishment, after all. But what if they tied me down and I couldn’t escape?

  I scrolled back through the videos again, forcing myself to look. It was nasty stuff. All the men were old and fat and ugly and mean looking. And the women too. Their bodies were all red and twisted. Fuck. I slammed the laptop shut. That wasn’t nearly as much fun as I thought it might be. I sighed and looked at the other item that had captured my attention for the last few hours.

  Todd had left me a little card with nothing on it but a handwritten date, time and address. It was an address I didn’t recognize, but some snooping revealed it was registered to a name I thought sounded familiar. I really never do pay attention at the galas, it’s true. Anyway, it was too late for that. There were no clothing requirements this time. No clues. I was just meant to do as I was told.

  I’ve dressed for lavish birthday parties in Kuwait, and I’ve dressed for formal dinners in Moscow, and I’ve found exactly the right high heels that I’d need to wear for yacht parties, and horse races, and glitzy charity benefits. But I was stumped about what the hell I should be wearing right now. I settled on a simple pair of torn black jeans and an apricot colored crop top – when in doubt, keep it plain. I finished the look with some heels, gold loop earrings and a few bangles. I looked hot, no doubt. But for the first time in my life, I wasn’t quite sure if that’s even what I should be aiming for.

  I looked at the time. Was I always on the clock with this man?

  I called for the driver and bit my lip nervously. Some men, somewhere, had paid $50 000 for the privilege of fucking me. Was that a lot? I couldn’t even think about it. Had they all sat around in a room and haggled for me? Where they together, right now? Would Todd …join in? We hadn’t really touched each other sexually in almost a year.

  I hated that he had left me alone to sit with my thoughts. Because my thoughts were predominantly embarrassing. It was irritating to admit, but I was excited. Like a kid at Christmas. It was a silly, hopeful, embarrassing excitement. But no problem, I’d conceal it from him. I was a slut, after all. He’d have to have something pretty amazing up his sleeve to impress me, right?

  The driver and I drove on silence, and I had to stop myself from chewing my lip ragged. The trip was short, and we soon arrived at a prim, manicured garden in front of a stately looking double story home with a little fountain in the front. Fine. If I was going to be sold into slavery like some human cattle, then at least I would do it here, where the driveway was so long and well maintained.

  My feet crunched on the gravel and I stood there,
glad I hadn’t overdressed, and suddenly feeling relieved. What bad things could happen to me, when the sun was so bright? Sure, whoever lived in this house was a person who’d pay $25 000 to fuck another man’s wife. But they also cared about a nice lawn, so there was that. Maybe this would be fun.

  The front door cracked open and a tiny Asian woman stepped out to greet me and gestured for me to come up the stairs. I did. She ushered me inside. It was an unremarkable entrance hall, for this area code at least. A high ceiling with some skylights, flowers in urns. A little Asian woman. I had seen a million lobbies like this in my life. I made myself ‘at home’. She closed the door and indicated for me to head down the hall, nodding and bowing instead of speaking.

  My heels clacked on the marble floors as I walked down the hall. I turned back to see her still standing in the lobby, and she encouraged me to keep going, gesturing to take a turn to the left, smiling broadly. Alrighty then.

  I took a look at the tasteful watercolors framed on the wall and then ducked into the first room to my left. Closing a heavy carved door behind me, I stood for a moment and took it all in. I was inside an elegantly decorated room, something you were more likely to find in the White House than in the Playboy Mansion. It was a theme on beige: beige carpets, beige drapes. More marble on the side tables that flanked a beige couch. But this wasn’t beige really. Rich-people beige. Maybe “shell” or “bone”. The walls were beige, too.

  Satisfied that there were no obvious whips and chains to be found, I stepped into the room and discovered a little handwritten card, like the previous one, with further instructions. I was like Alice in Wonderland, only they were going to eat me.

  You will put on everything that’s in the box. Someone will come collect you within ten minutes. Leave all your belongings in the box. You are not to speak until you are spoken to.

  The handwriting was the same as the one I had already received, telling me to come here. But it wasn’t Todd’s handwriting.

  I lay it back on the table again and noticed a black cardboard box underneath. I pulled this out. If it was anything like the last black box I opened, it would be a tacky French maid’s outfit inside with garter belt and trashy looking stockings. I lifted the lid. It wasn’t any of that. It was just two items, both of which needed closer examination.

  The first was a piece of fabric, very soft to the touch. It was no bigger than a hand towel, and I turned it over and over in my hands to try and understand its shape. It was black, and had one long, rough seam in it, like a big, floppy ice cream cone that was open at the bottom. A hood. It was a hood.

  I let it fall from my trembling hands and picked up the other item. At first it looked like a precisely two-inch-thick section of a metal pipe, as wide as a side plate in diameter, with two loops in the front. A collar. The circle didn’t close fully, but could be bent open and shut, and locked through the front rings. This too I placed back in the box, and paused for a while to think. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t help the ugly images that began to flash in my mind. Women bound. Gagged. I couldn’t push the images of welted skin and twisted faces out of my mind.

  I could run. I could turn around right now and leave. I was still young. I could start again, find someone else, be someone else… My fingers went to the soft black material again.

  Quickly, I stripped off all my clothes and folded them neatly. I peeled off my underwear, the bra and panties I had spent eons picking out just an hour ago, and kicked off my heels. Naked. The plain beige room I was in suddenly seemed all wrong. It was broad daylight, and I was about to be ‘sold’.

  I picked up the collar and arranged it around my neck, positioning the loops to the front, and fanning my hair out over it. The hood I hesitated with. I held the material up to the light. There was no way in hell I was seeing anything through that. I put it over my head, nervously, as though once it went on I couldn’t be sure of being able to pull it off again.

  Inside the hood, there was nothing but my own breath. The world around me went from beige to black. Outside my little black world, I felt my skin prickle in the cool air, naked and defenseless. What in God’s name was I even doing? Was I crazy? Less than two weeks ago I would have laughed if you had told me that any of this had a chance of happening.

  But in the darkness I could admit it: I was immensely turned on. I stood in the center of the room, listening to my own heartbeat and breath, getting used to the insane decision I had just made for myself, when I heard the door click open.

  Chapter 12 - Todd

  It was all going to plan.

  Fuck, if I had known how easy all of this would be to arrange, I might have done it sooner. I’m a billionaire, and you could round me up to a multi-billionaire depending on who’s counting. I’m certainly no stranger to getting what I want, when I want it. As long as there’s enough money, you’d be surprised at what you can make a reality.

  Nevertheless, I was a little surprised.

  When the maid brought her in, I felt like my heart did a double take. It was her. Even hooded, I could recognize that body a mile away. Every little part of her seemed tense and pricked, as though her skin could compensate for her new loss of sight. She held her hands loosely clasped in front of her. Good. I liked that. That was the correct way to hold them. Perhaps this would all go much better than I had even planned.

  The maid closed the door and scurried off, probably relieved. I made a note to ask what the hell Peter was thinking hiring a woman who clearly couldn’t speak English …but I had a sneaky suspicion I already knew the answer. Peter was a known rebel, a bit of a wild card. Money made some people mean. It just made Peter Cromwell nuttier.

  Peter Cromwell was the kind of guy who won friends in school for taking on the dares that nobody else would ever dream of doing. Now that he was older and stinking rich, the dares were just bigger and more elaborate. He was currently away in China speaking to manufacturers about several pet projects he had, the app-controlled dildo one of them, and had insisted that if I were to do any kinky sex stuff, that he’d be simply offended if we didn’t make use of his beautiful home. And so here we were.

  Me, and two suited men I had extensive business relations with, in an indoor pool room that was so large and gaudy it would have made a Roman emperor blush. It was an Olympic sized pool, but nestled in amongst vaulted arches, all tiled in tiny mosaics describing mythical scenes. The pool water wasn’t blue – it was black. I had already reached down and splashed in it to confirm – not black tiling underneath, but the water itself was dark and silky looking.

  We sat in comfy chairs arranged in a circle around her, where she had been positioned. She didn’t move, but I could tell she was trembling. I had explained the script in detail. Everyone here knew exactly what was expected of them. Now, it was just a matter of having the nerve.

  Do you think I’m crazy for wanting to do it? I can guess what the armchair psychologists think. Me, the poor emasculated male, rich but so very, very poor in matters of the heart. My whore of a wife keeps from me the only thing I’ve ever really wanted. And so I punish her. Only I don’t really punish her. I just prove to her that although she thinks she can defy me and disrespect me, at the end of the day, I’m still in charge. I’m always in charge. My fragile male ego gets a boost, I don’t have to admit that she’s broken my heart in two and I don’t ever think I’ll be the same again, and she gets to whore around all the same, and keep her credit card.

  Well, that’s the theory anyway. Is any of it true? I don’t fucking know. But I do know that seeing her now, stripped nude and hooded and paraded around in front of me like a piece of meat was going a long way to making me feel better. It’s hard to describe the sense of sick satisfaction I felt. She was a whore. Anyone could see it. She was cheap and tacky even without a stitch of clothing on. But she was my whore.

  I looked over at Adam Cane and Daniel Mc Cormick. Through a series of exchanges which I won’t bore you with now, I had arranged for these two men to come and fuck my wife. An
d so here they were.

  I knew that things happened in certain higher echelons of society. Of course. I knew that when people got bored enough, and had enough money, the parties could get rather …extravagant. I had never cared before. But now that I had seen how easy it all was to dip into, how quickly the veil was removed and how close I had been to the underbelly all along …let’s just say this was an education for me too.

  “Gentlemen, my wife Natasha,” I said.

  Her bare feet looked so small and fragile on the tiles. Briefly, I wondered if she was getting cold.

  Adam nodded his head, satisfied, and Daniel passed his gaze up and down her slender frame over and over again, then looked at me and nodded too. The goods were satisfactory. Now the transaction would begin.

  Both men stood and went over to her. I swallowed down a lump in my throat. Four hands passed roughly over her body, touching her everywhere, and I saw her spine curl a little in response to their touch.

  “Remember, gentlemen, don’t be gentle. She’s being punished,” I said, and I didn’t sound nervous at all. Daniel had her nipples between his fingertips, and I watched as her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing. The hands went over her thighs, brushing briefly between them.

  “Now get on your knees,” I said.

  She took a moment to consider my command before she carefully lowered herself obediently. I could tell the tiled floor hurt her knees. Tough. She rested her hands on her thighs and stared straight ahead. It was a pretty demure pose, for someone who had written the things she’d written in that filthy diary of hers. But the artifice wouldn’t last long.

  Adam glanced at me and then back at Natasha. This man and I worked well together. He was a quick thinker, a smart guy who knew he was doing, and tough as nails. And apparently, his fantasies were complementary to mine, as well. He collected antique cars and out of print books, and after a little probing, I discovered that he also rather liked the idea of fucking women who didn’t belong to him. Daniel I knew less well, although as a lifelong friend of Adam’s and someone he had vouched for, I had no doubts that they were precisely the right men to teach my dirty wife a lesson. They both lowered their zips and pressed their crotches to her hooded head. She wobbled a little and steadied herself on Adam’s leg, as they both pulled out their erections.