A Case of Mistaken Identity

by Collette Thomas

  But no, something inside him wanted to stay with it, wanted to continue playing the game. Play it out to the fullest. Because by then he felt he'd get his revenge against Adrienne once and for all and prove this woman a fraud. At the same time demonstrate to both of these women, especially to Adrienne, that he wasn't the stupid geek she had pictured all these years.

  They rode into the Connecticut countryside. The cool morning air rushing past them as the New England mist began to evaporate in the sun.

  "How you doing back there?” he yelled to her at one point.

  "Great! But maybe you should stay within the speed limit. We don't want us getting pulled over, now do we?” She laughed a nervous laugh.

  Jonathan also wanted to laugh, and was tempted to speed the bike up, but something made him pull back, proving that the killer instinct wasn't as strong in him as he would've liked.

  * * * *

  This was fun? Exciting? Exhilarating? Myrna tried like heck to convince herself that it was. Because hadn't Adrienne often described to her the joys encountered when living as recklessly and in such glowing detail? Okay so maybe Adrienne actually believed all of it. That life had to be lived by pushing every boundary. But all Myrna knew was that the helmet she now wore was too big and bounced up and down on her head. She could only imagine the headache she was going to suffer later. Whenever she opened her eyes, she would become dizzy by the black asphalt whizzing below them and the scenery blurring around them. As her arms tightened around Flynt's waist, numbness settled in her fingertips. Nonetheless she held on for dear life. At one point when they made a sharp, hair raising turn along a particularly narrow back road, she was tempted to blurt out the whole truth. Tell Flynt Adams to stop this thing immediately because she was more than ready to get off the merry-go-round she'd put herself on. She wasn't ready to die, get killed for these thrills. She had her own life to live without having it end while living someone else's. She hadn't even paid off that new cappuccino machine now sitting inside her closet, still inside its box, nor tried it out for crying out loud. But alas the coward that she was, she merely kept these thoughts trapped inside, knowing all she could really do was hold on to Flynt Adams.

  Suddenly the Harley sputtered and lurched. Seconds later the sound of the engine died and as if by some unearthly intervention—praying actually did work it seemed—they coasted to a dead stop. Her Easy Rider didn't move for a few seconds as if he were waiting for something to happen, like the machine starting up on its own so they could continue their joy ride. Finally, when he raised the visor of his helmet and looked at her over his shoulder, he said, “I love your beautiful arms around me, but I do have to breathe."

  "Sorry.” She jerked her arms away from him, and dismounted with a malevolent glare at the bike, realizing the only good part of the ride had been her holding on. Her legs, feeling like jelly, threatened to buckle as she tried to walk over a ground that felt like instant pudding. She stood still for a moment, then closed her eyes and waited for her world to stop its spinning.

  Meanwhile, Jonathan continued to utter a few choice expletives as he made a valiant attempt to jumpstart the bike. Myrna knew well enough to remain silent during these moments. With the sun reflecting off the chrome handle bars, the bike looked as if it were grinning up at them in smug satisfaction.

  "Flynt, do you think we might be out of gas?” she felt the need to ask, her silence short lived.

  Jonathan, looking at the gas gage, muttered a string of curses and slammed the visor down over his reddening face. He grabbed the handlebars and began to push the bike to the nearest gas station, almost a mile back down the road. Remembering how ill tempered her father used to get when his cars broke down, Myrna kept her silence as she followed a few paces behind. Whoever said that running out of gas was romantic had a warped sense of humor or never rode Harleys. Flynt didn't speak to her until they reached the station. As soon as they made sure the bike was in running order again, he gave her a wry smile and suggested they stop at a local restaurant for an early dinner.

  Dinner, in a nice restaurant?

  She was hot, dusty, and in no mood to charm or to flirt. All she wanted was to soak her aching body in a hot bath, then indulge in a bowl of soup and a good cry. Darn it! Why couldn't Flynt Adams drive a nice sedate Ford? Of course, she knew the answer. This was her fantasy trying to come to life, the place where heroes were never regarded as ordinary beings. Where heroes rode either untamed stallions or gleaming silver Harleys, or flew airplanes or hot air balloons. Fantasies did not make room for the ordinary or the mundane.

  She gave a weak smile and suggested they call it a day. By the time he got her home on the motorcycle, she figured she'd be so wilted that even Jonathan Wetherall the third would seem appealing. But it was a thought that quickly floated out of her mind when Flynt wrapped his arms around her and kissed on the forehead.

  "You're a good sport, Red! I've got some land to check up on anyhow. So once you're rested up, then how about we try something different tomorrow?"

  She regarded him with caution. “As long as you check the gas gauge."

  "Don't worry. Fuel won't be a problem for us, I promise you.” He said no more and left her at the door with a wink and a smile.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Later, as she turned the shower faucets on, looking forward to Flynt's surprise, mentally raiding Adrienne's wardrobe for just the right dress. Yes, she was going to take this a day at a time. So far she had been able to pull off the charade seemingly without a hitch, and saw no foreseeable problems ahead.

  Moments later as streams of hot steamy water cascaded over her naked body she thought she heard a sound.

  Through the clear plastic she saw a figure. Terror rose inside, realizing her situation. Then, she recognized his form and knew it was Flynt Adams standing on the other side of the plastic glass. Myrna knew she should say something, suddenly the words, “Trust me,” echoed in her mind.

  She pretended at first not to notice him, slowly turning within the confines of the shower stall, enjoying the hot steamy water that cascaded over her shoulders, down her back, between the cheeks of her butt, alleviating the aches from that afternoon's ride.

  She rubbed her hands on the vanilla scented soap, deliberately lathering the soap over her belly, up between her breasts, then over her arms and shoulders. She took the bar again, and this time rubbed it across her buttocks, then between her thighs, returning to her breasts, and felt her nipples hardening beneath her touch.

  "I know you're there,” she finally said over the sound of rushing water.

  "I suspected you did,” his reply came, his voice husky.

  "You said to trust you"

  "I'm glad you remembered."

  Suddenly, the shower door creaked opened. He stood naked and waiting.

  She looked down at him, repressing a gasp seeing that his cock was ready for her.

  A surreal moment took hold and this time she didn't need to guess what Adrienne would do. Myrna knew exactly what ‘she’ wanted to do.

  Gently he took her hand and placed it on his cock. No words were needed; she stroked him, their eyes remaining locked.

  She knew she would trust him and follow whatever fantasies he had to share.

  This was not the same man earlier that day who had forgotten to put enough gas into the bike's tank. This was her fantasy lover coming to life. He stepped further into the shower stall, his cock hard and fully erect.

  He turned her around, bracing her against the wall. Taking the bar of soap, he massaged her back, taking his time.

  Myrna felt a rising urgency and wanted him right then. “Fuck me!” she moaned.

  Ignoring her plea, he drew her tightly against him, then released her and turned her around to face him. He kissed her deeply, his tongue penetrated her fully. “There are so many more things I want us to try together,” he growled, as he gently squeezed her breasts between his large palms, circling his thumbs around the tender flesh of her nipples, causing e
xquisite delicate pain.

  Myrna suddenly wondered how far he would go. She felt an ache in her groin, and imagined what that promise held. The unknown sent that same thrill of anticipation she had now come to expect.

  Was she willing to go there again? Dare she go to a place where caution leaped out the window? Was she ready to explore and touch that dark side of her soul, that shadow part most denied, most repressed?

  He whispered, “You're so hot for me, Babe."

  Her breaths came quick, and in a hush tone she responded, “I want you.” She leaned against him, weakened from the hard driving need that rose inside her.

  "Let me dry you off,” he suddenly suggested.

  Wordlessly, she let him rub the terrycloth towel over her back, then down her buttocks between her thighs.

  "You're ready to come again,” he murmured, pressing a finger gently up into her pussy. She arched sharply against him still unaccustomed to a man's touch in that most private place.

  It made her dizzy. Dizzy with want. Dizzy with her desire for him. Dizzy with a modicum of fear. She welcomed the cool air of the air conditioning as her nipples tightened.

  Guessing her thoughts, Flynt reached around and fondled them. “It gives me a high just knowing you want this,” he said.

  She gasped as he gently moved from her breasts, over her belly, down to her pussy, reaching further stroked her clit. It made her question her sanity.

  "But you'll have to wait. You'll have to be patient."

  And she knew. Purposely he was driving her crazy with this torture of not only her physical being, but emotional as well.

  She turned and deliberately pressed her body against his cock. She parted her thighs. “Fuck me!” Suddenly, it was Adrienne's voice she was hearing, knowing that Myrna Dunbar would dare never utter such words, the false persona making it okay.

  "Not yet,” he said. “Not yet."

  Still, he stroked her, making it impossible for her not to come.

  "Fuck me now!” she pleaded, needing release from this sweet torture.

  Instead he continued to masturbate her. Almost helplessly, she leaned against him. When she approached the point of release, he stopped.

  "Kneel,” he suddenly ordered and sat down on the ridge of the tub.

  Weak with her own lust for him, she did as he bid.

  "Suck me!” he ordered, his voice low, but firm, letting her know the true game had just begun, and all that went before was only a preliminary.

  She swallowed hard, looking up at him. In her mind doubts immediately queued that she could pull this off. She had never given oral sex to any man. As Adrienne would put it, she had never given head ... a blow job.

  Could she do what he now wanted her to do without looking like an inept fool? A sexy red dress made any woman look sexy. But performing certain sexual acts—took it to another level.

  She had never even practiced on anything that remotely looked like a penis until Adrienne's suggested she try, offering the use of her toys, specifically a pale lavender dildo with a wide base. Only after several glasses of wine did Myrna agree. Adrienne showed her what to do, first having her practice on fingertips, experimenting with suction, then contracting the muscles in her throat, which surprised Myrna that she had the anatomical ability to do it.

  Flynt, his face expressionless, gazed down at her, his hands gently stroking the top of her head. “Lick it,” he commanded.

  This was the first step to committing an act that would take her to the far end of that dark shadow side.

  The musky odor of him was not at all unpleasant, she suddenly realized with some surprise. In fact, it made her feel close to him, as close as she was ever going to get to any human, and made her also realize she wanted to please him in all ways possible.

  If she were to play the game properly, she needed to do what he asked. The thought of becoming his sex slave, putting her under complete submission excited her, touching that part of her that actually welcomed the idea.

  She took his cock into her hands. Kissed and fondled it. Remembering her practice sessions, used both hands one at the base and one in the middle, and simultaneously licked the tip, while stroking the rest.

  He had asked her to trust him.

  Now he would have to trust her.

  She liked the taste of him, the smoothness of his skin, the way it slid into her mouth. The slight taste of saltiness soon disappeared.

  She drew him further into her mouth. Inch by inch his cock disappeared as her tongue caressed him, and then as she started to suck, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  His hands stroked the crown of her head. She heard a low growl, and suddenly felt an exhilaration she had never felt. She was now in control of this man who seconds before held the higher cards.

  His moans encouraged her to keep going, feeling him grow hard with each stroke. Her hands splayed across his thighs, she became the conduit for his pleasure.

  Somewhere deep inside her mind she wondered why she had never tried this before and realized unknown parts of her still existed. The thought made her world expand.

  "Ahhh, I'm coming,” Flynt moaned, holding her against him.

  She felt that first hard spurt at the back of her mouth, and not knowing what else to do swallowed, letting it slide down her throat. As the flow of juices kept coming, she swallowed again and again, realizing this one act had thrust her into another dimension, had redefined her.

  Myrna Dunbar gives head.

  Flynt Adams moans rose. “That's it baby. Don't stop ... don't stop."

  She sucked him dry and wondered what else he would bring to the table in their sexual exploration?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jonathan had read the whole book on the plane, at times it had been difficult considering the content. The chapter on bondage and dominance particularly interested him, captured his full attention. Yet, trying something like that with someone needed someone who trusted him completely. Had he found that in this woman?

  Delighted in the way she had so far responded, seemingly enjoying whatever pleasures he asked. But was she capable of following him through that door that led to darker fantasies. Was she willing to play this thing out to full throttle, knowing erotic submission required a certain mindset? Communication he also knew was the key.

  Quietly they lay in her bed, nebulous summer sounds drifted in through an open window. She had turned off the air conditioner, preferring the warm summer breezes. He didn't mind. Somehow the warm nights made it that more entertaining. He touched the soft red tendrils created by humidity circling the front of her head. She slept, her breasts rising and lowering slowly.

  He thought of his backpack on the Harley outside. He hadn't brought in. He needed to know first how far she was willing to go. He thought of all the possibilities considering what the backpack held. Creativity was a big part in playing this game. Creativity and the willingness and courage to go where no man—or woman—had gone before. He smiled. Closed his eyes, the last thought of her in Velcro bonds.

  They still had time, a little less than two weeks. Moments ago she had been in control. Next time the tables would be turned. Thinking of her further submission his cock grew hard.

  * * * *

  Sunday morning promised hot sticky weather and possible late day thunderstorms. Myrna liberally dusted herself with scented powder and pressed a silky full skirt and matching shell to perfection—an outfit Adrienne often wore for country dancing. She thought she might suggest something like that to Flynt. There were nearby places that were air-conditioned, where you could enjoy a few beers and a few twirls around a dance floor.

  When Flynt arrived wearing a plaid western shirt with his usual faded jeans, she figured he'd go along with her suggestion. He'd also arrived in a four-wheeled vehicle—a Jeep Cherokee to be exact. She didn't know why, but the look on his handsome face had her suddenly feeling the skirt and shell would have to be replaced.

  "Well, Good morning, Red! Have I got a surpr
ise for you today!"

  She regarded him with some caution. The helmet, motorcycle, and black leather had disappeared somewhat to her disappointment. The helmet was replaced by the Stetson he'd worn to the airport, filling her with a growing wariness, especially when she saw the scarf wrapped around his neck. Not an ascot for sure, but it looked like a bandana, the kind cowboys wore on the range. Then she saw the cowboy boots, and it raised her wariness one more notch. And looking down at this boots—were those actual spurs?

  "Something tells me I might not be ready for another one of your surprises.” When she saw the clear look of disappointment forming on his face, she knew whatever surprise he did have in store for them she was not about to refuse. “Okay, okay, just tell me that what I'm wearing is fine."

  He looked at her and shook his head. “You look mighty fine, but not for what we'll be doing today. I'd suggest pants or jeans, something that'll cover those lovely legs."

  Myrna was tempted to ask him flat out exactly what they would be doing, bugging him until he ‘fessed’ up, but she figured it would probably do no good. Flynt Adams, she guessed, was a hard man to put off course once his mind was set.

  Moments later Myrna found herself back in Adrienne's bedroom. Maybe it was better that she not know his plans. Just go along with them as part of this adventure she'd set herself on. She knew if she started to question everything now, she might start questioning her own reasons for continuing with the charade. She didn't want to think too much about that, at least not at this point. Because then it would mean she would have to give up the charade. And THAT she wasn't ready for, at least not yet. The curtain was going to come down soon enough.