by Jewel Geffen
He smiles, folding the silk cloth which had hung over the portrait into a neat strip about three inches wide and two feet long. He steps towards me and ties the cloth around my head in a neat blindfold. Since the silk has been folded over several times it blocks out the light quite completely, and Antoine and the wine red walls with their displayed instruments vanish from my sight.
“On the contrary,” he says. “You're the one who can't resist, isn't that right?”
I glare beneath my blindfold. “What are you talking about?”
“I'm talking about B.”
I can feel my blood running suddenly cold. “B? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“Surely you haven't forgotten Bret Matthews, Victoria? The man from your yoga class, isn't that right? The one you had an affair with? The one you fucked?”
Beneath the blindfold my eyes go wide with horror.
Chapter Nine
I bite down hard on my lip. “How do you know about that?”
He clicks his tongue. “You didn't delete the text messages soon enough, Victoria. Jason saw them. Accidentally, he says. I told you I would give him a radio so that he could speak with you. Well... I've been talking to him too. He's told me some very interesting stories about you.”
“J-Jason knew about... Bret?”
I feel something, a smooth soft something trailing across the skin of my buttocks. It's the riding crop. I wince a little in anticipation.
“He never said anything.”
“No... he was afraid to. Afraid that if your infidelity was out in the open you might just decide to leave him. And, when it seemed to blow over, he decided it was better to let sleeping dogs lie.”
I can feel my body trembling the restraints.
“Do you feel guilty about it? About fucking another man behind your husband's back?”
“N-no.”
Thwack! The riding crop smacks against my displayed bottom.
I yelp, spasming a little in my harness.
“That's a lie,” he says. “I know you feel guilty. I can hear it in your voice. It's why you won't allow yourself to admit that you've fallen in love with me.”
“You're crazy.”
Thwack! “If you'd like to leave, Victoria, you need only say the word. I'm not keeping you here against your will. I can lower you down and untie you any time you choose, and you may be on your way as you please.”
I press my lips tight together and brace for the next impact.
“No? Of course not. You wouldn't leave, not until you've gotten what you came here for... a good hard fuck.” Whack!
The riding crop smacks against my exposed pussy – not hard, but enough to make a sound and make me twist and gasp in a combination of pain and surprise... and just a touch of pleasure. He keeps the head of the riding crop there, pressing it against the puffy out lips, listening to the sounds of the slippery wetness inside me.
“You're a slut, Victoria, and it's time you admitted it. You'll feel much better after you do. You're a slut, and you've been making your husband a cuckold for years. How many others have there been, Victoria? Two? A dozen? A hundred? Why, I'd not be surprised if you could put my room of portraits to shame.”
I just grit my teeth, refusing to answer.
Thwack! “Silence won't save you, Victoria. We both know what you are. Accept it, embrace it.”
I shake my head a little.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
I yelp and moan, twitching and shaking as he strikes by bottom again and again. I should be furious, shouldn't I? Outraged, even! How dare he do this to me! Who does he think he is, anyway?
And, most importantly, why is it turning me on so much?
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
I let out a sob, my body clenching as I struggle uselessly to pull away from the firm blows of the riding crop. “Fine!” I cry out, “I admit it! I admit it!”
He pauses, and I feel the warmth of his hand on my bound thigh. “Admit what?”
I can feel tears slipping out beneath the mask, my breath shaking, my thighs trembling. “I'm a slut, okay? I'm a fucking whore, is that what you want to hear? I cheated on my husband, fucked other men behind his back.”
“How many?”
“A dozen, maybe, over the years...” I can hardly believe the words coming out of my mouth. I've kept that secret for so long, not admitting it even to myself... The faces came back to me now, those men from my yoga classes, the ones I would ask sometimes to stay behind, just for a moment, after the other had left. “I didn't want to hurt him...”
“You're talking about Jason?”
I nod a little. “I just needed to get fucked, okay? Please, I just need to get fucked. Can you fuck me already?”
Thwack! He smacked my pussy again, sending shock-waves of delight and agony in equal measure rippling through me.
“I need your cock,” I moan pitifully, “I need it inside me now, please, please, please, I'm begging you.”
“You're a dirty little girl, aren't you?”
“Yes, Daddy, yes, I'm a dirty girl, I'm a dirty little slut, now please fuck me.”
I can feel his hands take hold of my rump, pulling my suspended body towards him slightly, and I hear the sound of his zipper and his pants falling. My whole body feels like it's on fire with desire. Yes, yes, just fuck me! I'll do anything at this point, I don't care anymore.
I moan in ecstasy as I feel the thick head of his black cock placed between the lips of my vulgarly displayed pussy. “Fuck me...” I whimper, “fuck me, Daddy...”
He pulls me towards him. The rope suspending me from the ceiling creaks and sigh. His cock slips easily into my soaking wet slit, stretching me open, filling me. I throw my head back against the ropes, my bound hands clenching and unclenching as I shudder with pleasure.
“Yes, Daddy... take that cunt...”
God, can that really be me talking? I've never talked like that before, never said anything so... dirty. The past several days have been more than I could stand, being so aroused and not being fucked was more than I could stand. Now that he's finally having sex with me, it's so good that it makes me cry with delight and relief. I feel like my mind is slipping away, receding, all my inhibitions and hang-ups melting like a frost in the sunlight.
I'm helpless as he fucks me, hanging there moaning and squirming in my ropes as he increases speed.
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me...” I murmur the words over and over again, and with each murmur he increases his pace a little more, and thrusts a little harder.
I've never been so exposed, so open. My pussy is fully available to him with no hindrance, and he's able to smash his cock into it over and over, holding my suspended body easily and manipulating it for his own use.
I feel used and demeaned, objectified, transformed into a toy for his pleasure, little more than the equipment on the walls... and I love it. The waves of pleasure crashing through me obliterate any resistance I might have had to this treatment. I'm so desperate and horny that I'll do anything at this point, anything to get fucked.
“I love you,” I whimper, “I love you so much...”
He doesn't miss a beat, but starts going harder, grunting and snarling a little with the effort.
“I'm you're little doll, master... you own me, you own me, you own me... Take that cunt... fuck it, master, make it yours... only yours...”
He growls, a deep dark sound that sends shivers down my spine.
“Cum in me, Daddy, cum in my pussy, please, I need it now, I need it... I need your black cock in me...”
He fucks faster, the long dark length of his shaft sliding into that tight pink hole over and over again. Finally, with a snarl and a groan, he clutches my ass and slams himself against me, burying himself fully inside me. I gasp with satisfaction as I feel the shudder of his orgasm pass through him, and I feel the thick black cock inside me twitching as it pumps me full of sperm.
His hot cum floods me deep inside, pumping out of his heavy bl
ack balls in an overwhelming torrent.
I bite down hard on my lower lip and throw my head back against the ropes, and my own orgasm floods through me.
I feel as if I've been lifted up, become truly weightless, as if I'm floating above the trees in a sea of golden sunlight. My skin is on fire, brilliantly colored lights popping inside my head like a Fourth of July show climaxing. I realize I've been holding my breath, mouth open, for near a full minute, and I let out a long gasping moan of ecstasy.
“I'm cumming...” I whisper, “I'm cumming...” My hands pull tight against the restraints. I wish I could dig my nails into his back, wish I could wrap my legs around him and pull him close.
He trembles, and moves within me, still hard.
“Don't pull out, Daddy,” I murmur, “please... please, I need you inside me always...”
He just nods, I can feel it against me. He leans forward a little and closes his mouth over one of my nipples, taking the other breast in his hand. He bites gently at the pink bud, and gives a little suck.
I'm in heaven, my entire body tensing and releasing, the orgasm filling me with holy light.
It takes a long time for the pleasure to fade, slowly ebbing away. But he doesn't remove himself, doesn't stop holding me. I can feel my pussy squeezing and contracting around his hard cock, as if yearning to pull in every last drop of cum.
“I love you,” I moan, “I'm yours... I'm yours... I belong to you now, Daddy... only you.”
We remain that way for what feels like hours, holding each other as the feelings of pleasure suffuse us. I never want him to let me go.
Finally, however, he steps back. His heavy cock slides out of me and slaps against his thigh when it falls. I can feel a hot gush of cum spilling out, sliding down me warm and wet. I close my eyes under the blindfold, and imagine that I can feel all the cum still inside, pumped deep into my very womb at this moment.
He's breathing hard, and sounds satisfied beyond measure. Why shouldn't he be? He's won. He got me to admit all the things he'd always known and wanted to hear me say, and I said them. More than that, I meant them.
He reaches up and slips the blindfold off. I blink as my eyes readjust to the light of the room. The dark red walls, the leather devices on display, the canvas with my picture beautifully rendered upon it... and him. This dark god of a man towering over me, his huge black cock wet and shining with the liquid of my arousal and submission.
He's looking at me, and he looks... proud.
I smile weakly, feeling as if I've been driven to the very edge of my limits, my capacity even, then pulled gently and lovingly back from the cliff.
He mops his brow with a silk cloth. A sheen of sweat stands out on his black skin. He looks over at the painting, then back at me, and that little smile is there again. “Do you remember, Victoria, when I told you that I'd been talking to your husband?”
“I guess so,” I nod weakly, my brain is too fuddled right not to comprehend what he might be going on about.
He picks up something which I'd not noticed sitting on the easel, balanced against the canvas. A little black walkie-talkie. He lifts it to his mouth. “Did you get all that, Jason?”
My husband's voice responds, a little distorted perhaps. “Every word,” he says.
“Your wife is a slut, Jason, by her own admission. My slut, do you understand?”
“I understand perfectly.”
My mouth is hanging open, my eyes wide with shock. I blink at Antoine. “Y-you...”
He holds a hand up to stop me. “Do you have anything to say to her, Jason?”
There's a long pause, then I hear my husband's voice again. “I love you Vicky. Fuck, I love you so much. That was so fucking hot, babe. Jesus, I'm trembling over here.”
I let out a sound that's half a laugh and half a sob.
Antoine's smile widens slightly. He turns to me, and I melt all over again as I gaze into the deep pools of his dark eyes. “Now that that's cleared up,” he says, “let me tell you a little bit more about this masquerade ball I'm planning.”
Book 3: Hotwives' Ball
Chapter One
The sunlight spills through the huge bedroom windows. The trees outside are quivering in the wind, their skyward branches reaching like green fingers towards the dawn.
I lift my hand to shade my eyes as I blink away sleep.
It's late, later than usual for me, anyway. I'm used to waking long before sunrise. I sit up in the bed. The silk sheets slide over my naked skin as I rise quietly. I look back, and I can see a ghost of my presence still imprinted on the memory-foam mattress, lying there next to a naked woman still asleep.
Vicky. Victoria Dubois. That's her name.
For a moment I'd forgotten. Not forgotten, exactly, but... I had thought that she was someone else. Her naked body is splayed artfully on the sheets, her full breasts on display, her golden hair fallen across her face like a shimmering blonde curtain. With her face partially covered she could almost be mistaken for... but never mind that.
I sit gently back down on the edge of the bed and reach out to take her hand in my own. There's a leather band strapped tight around her wrist, the little chrome ring gleaming in the morning light. The strap to which it was hooked last night hangs from the bedpost. I hold her hand for a moment, caressing her palm with the thumb.
Her Caucasian skin seems very pale against the dark chocolate hue of my own complexion.
“Victoria,” I murmur aloud, though only just. To remind myself, I think, that this isn't actually her. It's someone else. Another, one so similar that it's proving to be somewhat confusing. Emotionally speaking, at least.
I met Victoria Dubois – and her husband Jason, not present at the moment – quite by happenstance. It was a thing of complete chance, a twist of fortune of the sort that I've long since stopped counting on. Several days ago they found themselves stranded on the island upon which my summer house is built, and were forced by a storm to take shelter with me.
From the first moment I was enraptured by her. Not only by her resemblance to that other woman, but for her own sensual beauty and individual eroticism. I was determined at once to have her, whatever the cost. As it transpired, she and Jason both were far more tractable to my desires than I could ever have hoped. Within a day of their arrival I took Vicky to bed, fucking her right in front of her astonished and aroused husband. Normally when I have sex with a woman – a married white woman is my preference – there is little communication after the attraction has been consummated.
A repeat performance could lead to complications... attachments. It's a dangerous position in which to put yourself, and I have steadfastly avoided falling into that trap myself. And yet something was different this time.
I don't know if it was something about her or about me, but I felt I had to see her again. And so I engineered to do so. I went to their little vacation cabin on the shore of the distant Blue Flower lake and I enticed her to come here, to put herself in my power for three days – ostensibly to work on the portrait for which she'd promised to sit. My real reason was rather more personal.
Yesterday was the third day, and the day upon which her defenses finally crumbled and she gave into my seduction. We fucked perhaps half a dozen times yesterday, all through the evening and deep into the night. She proved herself to be a more enthusiastic partner than I'd anticipated – and my anticipation had been high indeed.
I sit on the edge of the bed and study her, watching the peacefulness of sleep upon her delicate features. Her lips are parted slightly, a strand of hair like a wisp of spun gold laid lazily across her cheek. I reach up and brush my thumb across her full pink lower lip. She moans a little, and touches the tip of her tongue against my skin.
I slide my hand down, tracing the pale curve of her throat, down to her shoulder blade. My hand moves lightly as flowing water over her breast, tracing the swell, brushing over the pink nipple and then down, over her belly and to her hip. I watch her face intently as I move my hand
between her thighs, and touch my fingers softly against the folds of her labia.
She's faintly moist, a slippery wetness between her lips. She's dreaming, I think, perhaps dreaming of me. I slip gently inside her, just parting the lips, putting my black fingertip between the pale and pink of her secret place.
She moans a little, and twists ever so slightly, still sleeping deeply, lost in an erotic dream, her body responding beneath the conscious level to my touch and my presence. She wants me now. Should I wake her up? Perhaps rouse her from sleep to the feeling of my cock sliding slowly inside her... perhaps I should bind her wrists again to the cords hanging from the bedposts. She'd seemed to enjoy that quite a lot last night, jerking hard against her bonds as orgasm after orgasm washed over her like crashing waves.
I'm tempted to do it – extremely tempted. But I stop. I restrain myself. I let my finger slide back out of her, and I stand.
No. Not this morning.
Why? Why hold back, Antoine? You know you want to do it.
I touch the finger to my lips and I taste her. Musky and oceanic and pure… Later, but not now. I shrug on a bathrobe and tie the cord tight about my waist, then step out of the bedroom, shutting the door softly and noiselessly behind myself.
I head to the little office adjacent my own room and fix myself a cup of coffee and a thin slice of bagel. I watch the news streaming across the wall, projected from my tablet. Numbers and stock prices shimmer like a watery reflection of bent light upon the white plaster, and I feel myself dipping down into the endless data-stream like a diver going beneath the surface.
The numbers talk to me, their voices only slightly more than whispers. The sciences and complexities of global business are beyond most people's understanding, but it has always come easily enough to me, as if I spoke a secret language that others did not know. It is upon this sixth sense that I built my fortune, and transformed myself into one of the wealthiest men in the world.
Today, however, I find it difficult to focus. I almost think I can see her face in the scrolling numbers and digital noise. As if she might step out of the wall, summoned forth from those ones and zeroes like a ghost from the matrix.
