by Tara Jones
“You like it,” she said almost purring. It wasn’t a question. “So do I…”
She shifted her body so that we were lying facing each other on the side. It put a certain strain on one of my arms, which was pulled straight, but it also meant that I couldn’t move closer to her.
“Slowly, now,” she whispered in my ear. Her voice was slightly unsteady and filled with controlled desire.
Teasingly, she adjusted her position so that the tip of my erection touched her just between her legs. Her hands tousled my hair and she kissed me, long and fully this time, while she slid down an inch. I gasped with pleasure when she let the tip of me finally enter her. She was wet, wonderfully wet. I strained to get closer, greedily wanting more, but I couldn’t. I heard her laugh softly under her breath.
“You have to wait until you get my permission,” she whispered and slapped my bottom.
She didn’t hit me hard, but it was definitively a determinate slap. And something about the fleshy sound when her hand met my naked buttock made my mind short-circuit. Desperately, I tried to move closer, nearly dislocating my shoulder in the process.
I wanted her. No, it was more than that. I needed her.
She had already teased me and tempted me far beyond what I could handle and still keep my sanity. The combination of pleasure and pain, of restraint and self-control, overrode my mind.
Desperately I pulled at the chains, ignoring the way the metal dug into my wrists through the leather bands.
“Please, please,” I growled in a voice that sounded somewhat feral in my own ears.
Only the tip of my erection had entered her, but she wouldn’t let me thrust myself all the way, which I so desperately wanted to. All muscles in my body strained to be free. I wanted to get loose and wrap my body around hers and burrow myself deep, deep inside her.
“You don’t have my permission yet,” she whispered, still in perfect control.
She slapped my bottom again. It only served to make me more excited. She did it again.
I lost control in the most beautiful way.
I begged her to fuck me, told her I would do anything, while I desperately struggled to get free.
And then, I submitted to her completely.
Like the eye in the storm, I rolled away from her so that I lay on my back. I spread my legs and arms as wide as I could. I grabbed the black wrought iron bedposts hard until I heard my knuckles crack in response. My whole body shuddered uncontrollably, and I felt my sleek erection resting against my stomach.
“Take me,” I whispered. “Do whatever you want with me.”
It wasn’t a game anymore.
I meant every single word.
She moved faster than I had expected. Swiftly she straddled me and I heard her moan with longing as she reached down. Vaguely I noticed that her hand trembled slightly as it closed around my erection and she guided me directly inside. She cried out as she forced herself down on me, penetrating herself all the way immediately. She was tight, so wonderfully tight and wet.
Her lips sought mine and we kissed, deeply and desperately, clumsy with desire. I tasted blood on my lips, not remembering or caring when I had bit myself.
She rode me ruthlessly and shoved her hips against me. I heard her moan and felt her nails dig into my hips as she rode me. We both knew that the pace was too fast and too wild for me to keep up for a longer time, especially with the kind of intense foreplay we had been engaged in.
But it didn’t matter.
I felt her breasts rubbing against my sweaty chest while she leaned closer, kissing me again. I tried to reach for her and when I couldn’t I wrapped the chains around my fists, straining to hold back so that she could come before me, while I felt my muscles bulge with tension as she moved faster and faster against me.
I threw my head back and arched my back to thrust against her, hard and desperately. When I felt her come, I screamed out with ultimate pleasure as I buried myself as deep as I could inside her. I felt my release leave me in pulses, filling her. Her body went slack on top of me, but she kept me inside.
It wasn’t until I heard her sobbing that I got afraid.
“Eleanor?” I said, trying to keep the panic from my voice. I tried to reach for the blindfold to remove it, but I couldn’t. “Are you okay?”
Her fingers removed the blindfold for me. Her eyes were a little bit red-rimmed, but she smiled at me, to my relief.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“I thought I had hurt you.”
“Well, you didn’t. Don’t worry, take it as a compliment instead,” she said and kissed me softly. “Besides, I could have stopped you if I wanted to. Remember, we have a safe word for that.”
She leaned her head against my chest, drowsily. Her curvy body was warm and soft against mine.
After a minute or two she had fallen asleep. It was quite uncomfortable, since I was still chained up, but I didn’t have the heart to wake her up.
We spent the better part of the day in bed, where Eleanor experimented not only with how far to the brink of madness she could drive me before I was allowed to come, but also with the various sex toys that I had bought in Camden, including a paddle which she used to spank me with. Apparently it amused her greatly to tie me down in chains and have me begging for her and I would be lying if I didn’t say that I was enjoying it too.
Part of the pleasure came from knowing somewhere deep down that I liked being taken and submitting to her, but also because she was enjoying it so much. It clearly excited her to dominate and control me. I never really could decide which of the two turned me on the most.
The day passed too fast for my liking and before I knew it, it was evening. Kithira had dropped by while I was in the shower and left a suit that looked like it had been tailor-made for me. It looked like something that George Clooney would wear and I felt slightly like a movie star when I put it on. It was dark grey, with a ridiculously expensive white shirt to match, plus a pair of Italian leather shoes that fit perfectly.
“You look handsome,” Eleanor commented when she saw me.
Her eyes wandered up and down my body, and she smiled. She had a way of undressing me with her eyes that made me want to check whether or not I was still wearing any clothes. Not that I minded. In fact, it made me feel rather smug.
“Thank you,” I replied and smiled at her.
She had arranged her hair in an elegant French twist and was choosing between different dresses in her walk-in wardrobe, which was filled mostly with brown tweed jackets, checkered knee-length pencil skirts and various frilly blouses, but also contained a small section of classic evening dresses. It was clear that someday, the 1950s would ring her up and demand to have their clothes returned to them.
Her fashion sense must be at least half a century behind, I noticed and couldn’t help but smile when she went in behind an old-fashioned screen made out of three adjustable wooden panels to get dressed.
Eleanor could be oddly conservative and almost prudent about certain things, but then completely bold and forward about others, in a way I would never understand.
“So, are you going to leave London, as your assistant suggested,” I asked.
I made sure that my tone was as light as possible, although I was dying to know the answer.
“Perhaps,” she replied.
She hung the evening dress she had chosen over the edge of the screen. I waited for her to continue, but when she didn’t I pressed on. I needed to know.
“Do you really have apartments at all of those places that Kithira mentioned?” I said.
“Well, no,” she said to my personal relief, but then she continued, “Some of them are houses.” She paused. “Well, mansions, really, I suppose you could call them.”
“Ah.”
“But Kithira is over-exaggerating the situation. This is the first incident in a year, and I like my life here in London. I’m thinking of staying.”
“So it has happened before, then?”
&n
bsp; She was quiet behind the screen.
“It has,” she said in a low voice. “So far, I’ve been kidnapped three times.”
I didn’t know how to reply to that.
“But those men, in the car I mean, they didn’t seem to try to kidnap you?” I said at last.
“No. They didn’t,” she said. She sounded tired all of a sudden. “You see, nowadays, what they do is that they’ll contact my father. Perhaps they’ll send him pictures of me going to work or outside my house. Something normal. And then they’ll tell him that if he doesn’t pay whatever amount of money they come up with, I may have an accident. A fatal accident.”
“But that’s horrible!”
“No, that’s the price you pay for being very, very rich,” Eleanor explained.
“But…But… Is there nowhere where you can be safe?”
She laughed mirthlessly at my comment behind the wooden screen.
“Of course there is. Look at my sister. She’s living behind a 20-foot electric fence in Miami with her family. They have armed guards, guard dogs, and everything. But, tell me the difference between that and a prison? Except for the quality of the beds and the room service, there’re none.”
“I understand,” I said, but of course I didn’t.
Not really.
“I don’t want that kind of life,” she said quietly. “You can’t choose your parents, and I never asked to be born wealthy. But I refuse to live like a caged animal and that’s why I finally broke with my family. The only thing I want is a normal life. That’s why I went to university to study English literature and become a librarian, and that’s why I live under a secret identity.”
I was going to say something, but the words disappeared from my lips when she came back from behind the screen. To say that she was beautiful didn’t really cover it. It would be like calling the Sahara desert a sandbox.
She was wearing an ankle-length white dress in shimmering white silk that was designed in rippling, rich folds. The dress moulded itself around her waist and hips, and displayed a tasteful amount of her generous cleavage. The evening dress enhanced her hourglass-shaped body and the colour made her skin look alabaster pale and her hair more red than ever. A simple pearl necklace decorated her neck.
One shoulder was bare and the dress had a leg slit at one side, revealing her sensual calf and a teasing glimpse of her upper thigh. She wore a pair of high-heeled shoes with elegant bands around the ankle.
She was–for lack of other words–perfectly stunning.
“I…” I started to say. “You look beautiful,” I finished at last, rather lamely.
A vast understatement.
But she only laughed.
“Well, if your expression in any way mirrors what you think I look like, I would assume that I do,” she said with a dimpled smile. “Shall we?”
“Of course,” I said and felt like a true gentleman when I offered her my arm and she took it graciously.
It wasn’t until we were standing in front of the lift that a thought occurred to me.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Kithira?” I asked. “Didn’t you say that we were going out at six?”
“Well… Yes, I did,” Eleanor replied with a mischievous smile, “But I lied.”
“Why?”
She stepped closer to me, whispering into my ear, “Who knows? Perhaps I wanted you all to myself tonight?”
Her comment made me swallow hard, and I had to stifle the impulse to grip her hips, press her against the doors to the lift and kiss her deeply.
“I see,” I said in low voice.
I leaned forward an inch, but then I stopped. I let her see my desire for her filling my eyes.
She laughed, delighted.
“Very good,” she said. “Lust and self-control at the same time. I like it.”
She stepped into the lift and swiped a card that she produced from her handbag. She pressed a series of numbers and touched her thumb to the screen, and a digital female voice bid us welcome in a neutral tone.
When we stepped out of the lift and into the brightly lit underground garage, Eleanor stopped for a second to look for the key to one of her cars in her handbag.
It’s funny that it’s the small, haphazard events that seem to control our fragile lives, while we often believe it’s the large-scale decisions that guide us.
As Eleanor paused for half a second when she couldn’t find the key, the shot–a shot that most likely would have killed her–instead hit the metal detector next to us with a small shower of electrical sparks.
Eleanor reacted instantly.
“Down!” she screamed and rolled to the side, a rather impressive feat, considering she was wearing an evening dress.
For one unnaturally long moment, I stood petrified and confused before I was able to act.
I dove for cover behind a round concrete pillar, ignoring the pain in my ankle.
At first, I thought there had been some malfunction and that the metal detector had simply exploded for some unknown reason. It wasn’t until the second and the third shot were fired that I started to understand what was going on.
The gunshots were deafeningly loud. They made my heart race, and I felt the adrenaline pumping in my body.
There were two concrete pillars at either side of the lift. Eleanor sat hugging her knees with her back to one of the pillars, making herself as small as possible, while I was standing behind the other pillar.
I noticed that the guards were gone. The last time I had been here, two hardcore armed guards had been posted at either side of the lift. Now the only trace of them was two blood smears on the floor. The blood looked oddly artificial, almost like red paint.
Shots were hailing around us and I heard some of them ricocheting against the steel lift and nearby cars. Pieces of concrete from the pillar fell down on her in a cloud of dust, destroying her beautiful dress forever and sticking to her hair. But Eleanor didn’t seem to pay any notice to that, as she was rapidly digging through her handbag.
I saw her find her mobile phone, swiftly unlock it, and press a red symbol in the bottom corner. In her other hand she held a pistol. Not a large and intimidating handgun like the one Kithira had flashed earlier, but a smaller one made out of steel. Although I’m generally against violence, it made me feel a little better, and a small hope that we may actually survive this started to grow inside my mind.
Pressing myself close to the concrete pillar, I hastily looked around it. My dawning hope of survival was instantly crushed.
Four men dressed in black were shooting directly at us, half-concealed behind cover. Three of the men had taken cover behind a car and the fourth was standing behind a concrete pillar.
Eleanor shook her head at me, clearly annoyed that I had exposed myself. But really, they were not aiming for me. Not that I thought they wouldn’t kill me, but it was clear I wasn’t their primary target. I held up four fingers to show Eleanor how many shooters there were, and I saw her clench her jaw hard and nod sharply.
In all my life, I’ve never felt so incredibly helpless as when the fire ceased momentarily and I dared a new quick look from behind the concrete pillar and saw one of the men slowly moved forward. I glanced at Eleanor and she placed her index finger at her lips, signalling to me to be quiet. She pulled the safety release on the pistol.
“Miss Wyndham,” the man said in an emotionless voice as he moved forward. “It’s nothing personal.”
I suppose it was meant to be his excuse for killing her, but Eleanor had other plans.
She didn’t say anything, no cool comment or witty reply.
Nothing.
She simply reached around the pillar without exposing much of herself and shot him.
And it wasn’t like in the movies at all.
The man didn’t get thrown backwards by the impact of the shot in a spray of blood. In fact, he slowly went down to his knees. I saw a small trickle of blood between his eyes before he fell forward in a heavy, unnatural way. Once he hit the
floor, blood started to pool around him faster that I could have imagined as he bled out. There was quite a lot of blood and it made me dizzy and sick to look at it, but I was unable to tear my eyes away.
I had never seen anyone die before and I could almost feel my mind rationally decide to deal with the fact that my girlfriend just shot a man less than five feet away from me later.
Therapy could wait. At the moment, staying alive for a few more minutes was more important.
Eleanor’s action was instantly rewarded by a hailstorm of new shots. I hid behind the pillar, wondering what the odds were that we would both get out of there without getting killed.
I can’t say how many minutes passed. Eleanor kept the men at distance by firing a couple of shots in their direction every now and then. But these men weren’t stupid, and having learned their lesson from their dead comrade, they viciously and patiently waited. They knew that she wouldn’t have enough bullets.
And they were right.
She didn’t waste her bullets, but eventually and unavoidably, her gun clicked empty. I saw the panic cross her face, as her ice-blue eyes met mine. Her mouth formed the words ‘I’m so sorry’, as one of the men advanced forward, slowly and carefully.
I wanted to close my eyes. I really didn’t want to see her die. She looked young and vulnerable in her dirty dress and her elegant high heels. The French twist had come undone, and strands of her red curly hair had come loose. A bullet had grazed her bare shoulder and her white silk dress was soaking up the blood greedily.
And then, in the very last moment before everything was lost, Kithira arrived.
The automatic doors to the garage opened, and there she was. She wasn’t standing wide-legged in a dramatic pose, but instead Kithira was crouching, holding her heavy gun in one hand and the other hand locked around her wrist for support.
She looked perfectly dangerous.
She didn’t even bother to take cover, but fired several shots directly after each other. The men that had taken cover behind the car were killed instantly, but last man behind the concrete pillar tried to retaliate.
