“Did I stutter?” he asked. “I said take off your clothes. Strip! All of them!”
Shaking, Riley did what she was told. She slid her spring dress over the top of her head and handed it to him. Next, she removed the silk panties and lace bra. She wore no stockings that day, but took off her sandals and gave those to him. Soon she was totally nude.
“The earrings,” he said and she gave them to him as well. He pocked the earrings, the clothes he piled on one of the chairs.
“Get on the table,” he instructed her.
“Why?” she said.
“You do have a problem following orders, don’t you? Now get on the table! Face down.”
Still unsure where it was all going, she climbed on the table and lay still. Dare opened one of the drawers on the table and produced several strands of Manila hemp rope. He used the rope to tie her hands and feet to the table securely. Finally, he used another strand to tie down her waist to the table as well.
Satisfied, he stood back and admired his work.
Riley, naked and starting to get a little scared, looked back at him. Not easy as he was almost behind her.
“You’re wondering what is going on by now,” he said. “That is good because I am going to tell you why you were brought here.”
“This is part of a special facility we use to train field operatives,” he began. “We need to know at what point they might break if captured by enemy agents. And the only way to do it is test them ourselves. This is known as interrogation survival training.”
“The board at M.A.T.E. wants you to become an agent like me. But to do that we have to be sure you won’t break. You can refuse and it all ends now. I will arrange for a flight back to St. Louis, your life will return to that of a normal Maplewood housewife. You can make up whatever story you want to tell your husband. You might even catch him fucking one of those women he likes in the office, now that you know what he’s been doing. However, the photographs stay here, for everyone’s sake. Too bad you didn’t want to look at them, he is quite the expert and I’m sure you would have been impressed.”
Dare smirked on the last sentence.
“If you really want to work for my organization, you have to undergo this training. It won’t take long, but it will hurt. However, keep in mind it is not even close what might happen to you if captured.”
“Now Riley, are you ready to begin or do we stop it and you go home?”
Riley shook in fear and with not knowing what to expect next. She considered bringing it to an end.
“No, I am ready.”
Dare walked over to the table again and opened another drawer. He brought out a small wooden paddle, no bigger than one used to play ball. He walked to the front of the table so that Riley could clearly see what he was holding.
“Do you see this Riley?”
She nodded.
“Good. And do you remember that number the stewardess allowed you to see?”
She nodded again.
“Very good. We are going to play a little game. I am going to try and make you tell me the number. You are going to try and keep from telling it to me.”
He walked behind her and Riley could hear his breathing. Now she was starting to get very scared.
“What was the number on the paper, Riley?” he asked.
“I don’t remember,” she answered.
He smacked her on the ass with the paddle. Riley yelped a little as she had not been expecting it.
“I think we need to improve your memory a little bit.”
He smacked her again, this time a little bit harder.
Riley bit her lip and didn’t say a word.
“Looks like you’re going to need some motivation,” she heard him say.
Smack, the paddle went on her bare flesh. Harder. He smacked her again. Each time he struck her butt cheek with the paddle, Dare increased the intensity a little bit more. On the twelfth strike she cried out.
“Did you want to tell me something, Riley?”
She remained silent.
“I just guess we’ll have to try something else to get you to talk,” Dare spoke, opening another drawer.
He pulled a birch switch out of the drawer and again brought it around for her to look at. Just to make sure she understood, he gave it a few test strokes through the air. She could hear it whistle. Dare walked back behind her.
“I want those numbers, Riley!”
She took six of the best before he stopped. She heard him put the switch down. Her ass was on fire. Then he went back and stood next to her. She could feel him probe her bottom with one hand. It hurt, but she refused to let him know.
“Some nice stripes. I should really get a picture of them. Very pretty.”
Dare walked to the front of her and held her head up to look at his face.
“I can’t believe how wet you are. This is amazing. Never had a test subject get so excited. Never.”
She heard him unzip his pants.
“Okay, no more games. I’m going to fuck the information out of you. Give me those numbers!”
She felt Dare slide into her and start pumping. It was astounding how hard this man was! She couldn’t help herself and started crying out with a combination of pain and pleasure. Riley couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. She began jerking to match the rhythm he was using.
“Numbers, Riley?” He asked, bending over her head and whispering from behind. “Give me those numbers and I might let you cum. You know you want to cum, don’t you?”
Suddenly an orgasm hit her. Then another and another. Riley began screaming out in pleasure as they increased in intensity until all of them merged into the biggest climax she had ever felt. She screamed one final time and dropped her head into the cushioned examination table.
“Dammit, I told you not to cum yet!” she heard Dare say, but then she felt a massive thrust from him and a whole lot of warmth. If he had dumped a pail of sperm into her last night, he had poured a whole barrel just now. She felt him pull out and pant, his orgasm over too.
“We’ll just have to find some other way,” he began.
“Aardvark,” Riley said.
“Huh?”
“I said ‘aardvark’. We agreed on that word.”
“Okay.”
He began to untie her and return the torture tools to their drawers. The ropes off her, Riley sat up and looked at him.
“Come here, Tom.”
He walked over to her. She grabbed her husband by the back of the head and thrust her tongue down his throat. They held the kiss for a while.
“That was awesome. You really outdid yourself.”
“You like it? I’m glad. You have no idea how much it all cost me. Hell, the actors in the alley demanded to be paid in advance. And I had to get releases. I was terrified the real cops would come by and get the wrong idea.”
Riley hugged her husband tightly.
“I don’t care, you gave me just what I needed. I had more orgasms in the past two days than in my entire life.”
“The company in the magazine. They did as promised. Apartment was all set up. I’ll need to get your things before we go back to the hotel.”
Riley put her clothes back on and they left the office. Tom locked the room and shoved the key under the door, as he had been instructed. At the entrance to the building the cab driver was waiting for them, as arranged. He didn’t speak any English, but the smile on his face told them he enjoyed his job.
“God, Tom,” his wife said to him as she cuddled up to her husband in the back of the cab. “You have cum more in me than I thought possible. I don’t want to wait for the hotel. Is there a place we can fuck right now?”
Tom gave the cab driver a knowing look. The driver took the cab to a special spot under a bridge where no one would see them. He got out of the cab and waited for it to quit rocking before returning. He really did like his job. This was the fourth couple this month. It had to be the spring.
Nine months later, John
Junior came into the world, as planned. He would never know the circumstances of his conception.
*EVEN MORE STORIES ON NEXT PAGE!*
If you enjoyed this story, take a look at a few samples I’ve provided of some of my other erotica short stories on the pages ahead! :)
All of them are available on Amazon, or you can just search through my list of books on my author page. Thanks!
“As a thanks for checking out my book, I’d like to give you access to my Fiction Insider’s List. As soon as I come out with another hot & sexy new-release, you’ll be the first to know!” – Celia Styles
(Simply Click the Link Below)
Just Take Me Already
By Celia Styles
He was hardly the first man I had been attracted to.
I could recall the quiet soccer player at my school, the one I always caught myself turning out to games for. Then there was John, the sandy-haired, blue-eyed cadet who had trained alongside me back at the academy.
There had also been countless men on the streets I’d caught myself looking twice at; there were even a couple I’d ended up at sweaty, passionate third base in the restrooms of pubs with. But I’d been brought up in a conservative, homophobic family, so I had dated women when I was too pressured to have a love life. Mostly, I had just kept quiet on the topic.
Once I started working, no one paid much attention to my love life or lack thereof, but that was fine by me. It’s probably why I spent so much time at the station; it was far easier to fill my time with the day-to-day work of a suburban cop than it was to spend some time actually thinking about myself and what I wanted. I had managed to keep those desires at bay for most of my 32 years, until I opened the door on a quiet September night, and saw him there. Little did I realize that the floodgates, so to speak, had been opened.
He was shorter than me, though only by a few inches, but slender: his broad shoulders tapered into a slim waist, his limbs long and languid. He was the opposite of brown-eyed, brown-haired, stocky old me, and I felt conspicuously big in front of him. Those eyes, flecked with green and glowing, bored into mine, and his sculpted lips slightly parted as he let out short, sharp gasps into the wintery air. His olive skin was clear and bright, and I wanted to reach out and feel it under my fingertips.
“Can I help you?” I barked.
“I-I’m sorry, I just came from the border, and the policia, the police, they’re following me.” he blurted, his tone urgent. It didn’t take the accent for me to figure out where he was from.
“If you’re looking for a place to hide, I’m afraid this isn’t it,” I replied, closing the door on him.
I had moved to the town fairly recently, but I’d been warned that part of the country was often the first port of call for illegal Mexican immigrants. I guess some of the hostility the town had towards them had rubbed off on me, for I only felt the smallest twinge of guilt over turning him away.
But his foot got in the way of my shutting the door properly, and he used his hands to open the door wider. I couldn’t help but notice how long and elegant his fingers were, and how strong he was for someone so slender otherwise. If not for the door, he would’ve been in my personal space, and I felt the tiniest shiver at the thought.
“Please, you’ve got to help me!”
The desperation in his voice made me pause, and I peeked from the crack.
“Why the hell should I let you in?”
“Because it wouldn’t make a difference to you, but it would mean life or death for me!”
I looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, so you really think I won’t get into any trouble for harbouring an illegal immigrant?”
He grabbed my arm, and if I had shivered at the thought of being close to him, it had been nothing compared to the electricity I felt now.
“If you let me in now, you’d get rid of me in a day, two days, at the most. If the cops come, you could say ‘No, I haven’t seen anyone,’ and they’ll believe you because you’re a nice upstanding white man and no one would suspect you of doing something like this.”
He was right. I hated to admit it, but he was right. If I let him in and then denied it when my colleagues showed up, they would believe me. They knew that I was the last person who’d let an illegal immigrant into my house, judging by the vitriol I spat about them whenever we had to collect them from the side of the road somewhere. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even bother to ask me.
I looked at the man in front of me again, read the desperation in his face, felt the pressure of his fingers digging into my arms. I could just open the door, and that would be that.
So I did.
I didn’t say a word as I pulled the door back, allowing him over the threshold. He released my arm and practically jumped into the house, a grin breaking over his face. He laughed with relief, and spun around to face me, his dark curls whipping against his face as he did so. I would’ve placed his age at about 25.
Whatever my misgivings about letting him in, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.. Stepping forward, I directed him to the living room.
“In here. You can sleep on the couch. Don’t make any noise, and don’t go outside until I say it’s okay. I want you out of here in two days, tops, okay?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Of course.”
“Do you have a name?” I asked, after a pause. I was reluctant to leave him just yet.
“Gabriel. And yours?”
“Officer David Felton.”
His eyes widened. “You’re a cop?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you letting me stay?”
“I think it’s best that you don’t make me think about that too hard,” I replied. “You want something to eat?”
“No, no, really, I will wait until I can get out by myself. I don’t want to be any trouble.” He shook his head, sitting down on the couch and shaking off his jacket.
“Come on, eat something. The last thing I want is you getting ill while you’re here.” I snapped, walking through to the kitchen. The urge to protect him and look after him was overwhelming; white saviour complex, they’d have called it in a psychology paper. My brain was conflicted; I didn’t want him to stay, but I didn’t want him to leave, either. Pulling out some bread, I made us a round of bacon sandwiches, serving them on separate plates.
“Sorry it’s not any of your burrito-taco-diarrhea food,” I said as I handed him his food.
He looked at me as I walked round the couch, eyebrows raised. “I know what a bacon sandwich is, David.” His English was surprisingly good for an illegal immigrant. It was time to revise my assumptions, I supposed.
I shrugged grumpily, taking a large bite of my sandwich. “Whatever. Just eat.”
After he was done eating, I showed him to the bathroom and insisted that he bathe. I didn’t want a filthy immigrant, however good-looking, living in such close quarters with me, for however short a while.
He stepped out of the shower with just a towel around his waist, and I checked out his abs rather shamelessly. Boy, he had a delicious body.
Delicious body or not, I didn’t sleep as restfully that night as I usually did, my brain thrumming with the knowledge that an illegally gorgeous (and illegal) stranger was sleeping under my roof. I woke up to go check on him at least three times, afraid he would make off with some of my stuff. But I found him peacefully asleep every time. He didn’t even register that someone was shuffling around him.
It amazed me that he trusted a complete stranger in a foreign country enough to just go to sleep in his house.
The next two days went by in a strange, quiet sort of domesticity. I’d come down the stairs in the morning to find him leafing through my books, an English –Spanish dictionary next to him as he ploughed through Stephen King and Ray Bradbury and all the other American classics I had on my bookshelf. I didn’t like people touching my books, and illegal Mexican immigrants definitely didn’t feature in my list of ideal book borrowers, but I knew already that it was beyond
me to deny him anything.
When his third morning came, he didn’t bring up the possibility of leaving and neither did I. I would go out to work in the morning, and he would clean the house and read during the day. We would talk about my books when I got home, and I would cook us up a meal of something delicious and unhealthy
We gradually, carefully, began to open up to each other, one little secret at a time. He had come to America on a whim, because he didn’t want to be stuck in his small rural Mexican town any longer. I told him about my parents and how they had died in a subway accident, my brother and how he had gone hiking to Europe and never came back.
He was extremely intelligent, and followed arguments easily. Thanks to his stay with me, his accent was increasingly losing its Mexican touch and sounding more, well, American. Unwittingly, I started picking up colloquialisms in Spanish I had never heard before. I could feel myself warming up to him, our conversations flowing easily. Staying up late nights talking to him had become the new normal routine for me, and I found myself living my days for those long, warm evenings.
Around a month into our acquaintance, we got to discussing US immigration policy, and all the things that I’d been tacitly taught over the years- that I should see these people as the enemy, and not as human beings- started to dissolve. It was impossible not to feel guilty about all the people like Gabriel who’d come over here not to cause trouble but to find a new start, the people I’d coldly turned away or cruelly thrown out. My worldview was shifting, inch by inch, and it was a liberating experience.
My unabashed physical attraction for him had, unbeknownst to me, given way to an emotional connect, and I forgot what it had been like to have a house without him in it. Cheesy though it sounded even to my own mind, I couldn’t imagine living without him. He had proved every single stereotype about his people wrong.
Taken by Two Tango Dancers
By Celia Styles
Chapter 1
“Roni!”
“Hmm?” Roni looked up from her computer to find three of her friends—and co-workers—crowding the entrance to her cubicle. She pulled her earbuds out of her ears and stared at them. “What?”
ROMANCE: Resist Me (Taboo Romance, BDSM, New Adult, Pregnancy, Contemporary, Short Story) Page 3
