by Nikki Sex
As he walked, he fumed with irritation. Américains! Elizabeth's husband was sexually backward, narrow-minded, and was burdened with a mountain of unshakable fixed ideas. Yet he desired a consummate sexual relationship with the woman he loved. André smiled momentarily, recalling when Mark had first come to him, begging for his help. The poor man had been worried that he would lose his wife because after only a year of marriage as she had become disinterested in sex.
The lift doors opened and André used the security card in his robe to travel straight up to the penthouse. The big man did love his wife, and this love, André assured himself, was the lever that would eventually resolve this case difficile.
André thought of the saying: 'Life's most obvious truths are the hardest to see but once you've burned everything to the ground they are the only things left standing.' By the time André finished with Mark, there would be little left standing. Perhaps only the man himself - and the love he had for his wife.
Alas, André thought, sometimes one has to be cruel to be kind.
André nodded to a member of his personal household staff and entered his bedroom imagining how it would be when he succeeded, when he brought the two lovers together sexually, and he smiled. Elizabeth had discovered much about herself already with his help. What her warrior husband would learn would be fascinating. Mark's social veneer had fooled him during the initial interviews, but André saw the primal, jealous caveman underneath now. André wondered how it hard it was going to be to move the man from his primitive attitudes to the present.
Whistling happily, André considered how much he loved his profession. I am a very lucky man, he thought. It must be karma. I am a good person, and as such I deserve my good fortune. Elizabeth had been naive yet eager and responsive to anal pleasures. As a sexual submissive she would quickly become an anal slut, and he was the lucky man who was going to teach her. C'était fantastique!
The petite woman, his captive and willing slave, no longer wore her blindfold, and this fact made him grin. While a blindfold was necessary initially, to underscore vulnerability and helplessness, he preferred to see a woman's eyes. The eyes were the window that he used to view passion, to know a woman's soul.
He had seen a picture of her, of course. Those stunning blue eyes! How he had longed to see them all through this day as he had sexually tormented her. André entered his massive bathroom, switched on some of his favorite classical music and turned on the shower. When he took her innocent ass, Elizabeth's eyes would widen with surprise as he entered her, darken with lust as he fucked her, and glaze with mindless pleasure when she came.
Quelle chance! So much to look forward to!
After braiding her shoulder length hair, he would use that tightly wound braid as reins as he rode her. Mon Dieu that magnifique filly would be lovely to break in. Such an oh so delicious mount! André intended to cuff Elizabeth bent over the bed and crop her derrière - and perhaps even her pussy - making her skin extremely sensitive, hot and needy. There was nothing quite like fucking a well-striped ass. It would radiate heat, burning like fire against his thighs, and it would be so pretty with its red welts showing vividly against her pale, creamy skin.
After checking that the water temperature was perfect, André stepped into the shower and stood underneath the hot waves of heat, thinking of Elizabeth the entire time. Such a small, graceful filly, he thought. With such a tiny tight hole. His cock twitched, remembering how they had both struggled to get the larger plug inserted into her ass.
It was likely he would fuck the woman doggy style in front of the full length mirror. Perhaps he would also clamp her nipples? The dragging chain would add extra sensation while her large breasts swung and bounced as he thrust into her. Elizabeth would see him take her ass by being commanded to look into the mirror. André longed to watch her, watching him. Then he would be privileged to see Elizabeth' eyes, observe her expressions, and watch her react to everything he did to her.
When the music switched to a Roman Catholic composition with a distinctly spiritual theme, André's grin widened. It seemed extraordinarily appropriate to such heavenly anticipation. Bonne chance! He would have the privilege and honor of being Elizabeth's first. For later this very day his cock would be deep inside her tight virgin ass - an ass which he planned to fuck for a very long time.
The woman would squeal and sob; whimper and beg, making all those lovely sounds she made when maddened and sexually desperate. But André planned to prolong the sacred event as long as humanly possible. Then, when he finally allowed her to climax, that tight ass of hers would squeeze him so hard he would lose his oh so considerable control, and come and come and come.
Joyous and carefree, pleased with his imminent future, André - enjoying his shower - laughed out loud.
Book 4: Elizabeth’s Cherry
1. Movie Time
Elizabeth woke from a dead sleep refreshed and sore - pretty well all over. Her anal passage had a butt plug in it, a big one. Her pussy, clit and breasts had been cropped with a riding whip and they were still really tender – but she would do it all again. What amazing sex!
Holy shit! she thought. That man fucked me senseless. Literally. Man, what an unmitigated stud my captor is. Frowning, Elizabeth realized that her husband Mark had every bit as much staying power as Sir did, but he just didn't seem to know how to get her off like Sir could.
Guilt hit her then, pinching her conscience like a vice. She loved Mark, but here she was enjoying sex with Sir. The morning of constant sex, the pleasure, the pain, all of it rolled into her mind. Pragmatic as always, Elizabeth thrust these conflicting emotions away. She was captive. This was not her choice, and she would be damned if she would allow her emotions to mess with her mind. Later, she decided, I can crack up over all this later.
She sat up, and then, noticing something missing reached for her blindfold. No blindfold. She searched the bed, it hadn't fallen off – it had been taken off. Like a child searching for presents under the Christmas tree, she gazed around the room, the place where she had been held captive in the dark for at least twelve hours.
The TV on the far wall instantly captured her attention. It was huge, more like a movie screen. She froze and had the dubious pleasure of feeling her face heat, no doubt flushing scarlet, when she became aware of what was playing.
The big screen displayed her, tied spread-eagle on the bed and being fucked by Sir. Elizabeth remembered this well – it had happened only this morning after all. At this point on the screen, she was just about to climax. Spellbound, unable to even breathe, Elizabeth watched her own head thrash, her golden hair spread on the pillow, her hips and back try to arch and her hands clench. Meanwhile Sir thrust his cock into her, pumping vigorously, while his muscles bunched and flexed. His powerful buttocks, hips and thighs, tightened and released, tightened and released. So beautiful! So virile! And such an amazing fuck.
A different view of the same thing came on the screen, and she realized that a number of cameras must have been working, taking in every angle. Apparently Sir had already had this morning's activities professionally edited into a cinematic feature. She took a cursory look around the room and lost count of the number of cameras with little red lights flashing upon them. Apparently she was still being recorded.
WTF? she thought, as tendrils of dread ran up her spine. Man oh man. This is incredibly hot to watch, and I do really want to see Sir, as I finally have that damn blindfold off … but I am so screwed.
Elizabeth considered her professional integrity, her position in the law firm, her husband Mark and her father. This was serious blackmail material right here. Yet despite her fear she continued to watch until Sir came, his last thrust, his amazing release. The view changed to them sitting on the bed together and then him guiding her into the toilet and she tore her eyes away.
Noticing a note on the bedside table, Elizabeth picked it up. It was written in pen and ink with an elegant hand. It said:
Mon Cher,
Do
not be alarmed by the recording of us together. There is a reason, but it is not blackmail or mischief of any kind, j'assure. As you trust me, you will know that I write the truth.
Even with her cynical and suspicious lawyer's brain, Elizabeth felt the knot in her stomach loosen. She felt completely reassured. Was it the intimacy they had shared? When blindfolded and cuffed she had been totally at Sir's mercy, utterly dependent upon him. Had that built this instinctive yet irrational trust she had in him? Just like that, Sir had allayed all her fears. She continued reading.
I am pleased to have removed your blindfold for I want very much to look into your eyes when you next climax. This I will do, when I return.
Elizabeth shut her eyes and swallowed. This I will do when I return. God, such a promise - such a threat. These few erotic words sent a pulsing flow of blood to her clit and her pussy. Sex. Sex with Sir. Yum. She kept reading.
If you wish to hear the sound track while watching, feel free to use the remote on this little table. There is also cheese, water and wine. You are free to feed yourself this once mon cher, as I am not there to feed you by my hand. After you have eaten, you will dress for me. I have left a corset, stockings and shoes. Put them on. I will tighten the laces when I come to you. For an event such as this, your first time, we dress up for each other, you understand.
Elizabeth smiled, imagining Sir speaking. He even seemed to write with an accent! While the idea of anal sex had always been out of the question, now she simply didn't care. Sex with Sir was great. Anal sex, while scary, would no doubt be great, too. She looked over and saw the remote, the cheese and wine, and the corset. Wow. Never had she worn such a thing.
Entranced, Elizabeth set Sir's note down, and picked the corset up. It was red satin, with a black lacy overlay. There were wired molded cups, which, with her big boobs was a good plan. A tiny black G-string and thigh-high sheer stockings – no doubt French, and black high heel shoes completed the ensemble. Elizabeth found herself smiling and then giggling as she ran her hands over the amazing outfit, absolutely certain that it would fit perfectly. How had he gotten her exact size and the outfit so quickly? And why was it she never once managed to dress up in something like this?
Elizabeth lay the outfit down on the bed, and picked up Sir's note, reading once more.
When you wake the vibrator in your so luscious derrière will begin to cycle. So sorry, this is to keep you in a high state of arousal. YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO CLIMAX. I intend to crop your innocent buttocks for my pleasure before I take you in the ass.
OMG, Elizabeth thought with a flush or sexual heat. Why does the idea of him cropping me turn me on? There was no explanation except anything with Sir seemed incredibly hot. She continued reading.
However, if you come while I am not here I will double this punishment. I always keep my promises, mon cher, and I will know if you climax.
Could she stop herself from having an orgasm? Not if the damn vibrator cycled to high. But then again perhaps Sir planned to make her climax, so that he could punish her. Elizabeth shook her head. It was all too deep to figure out. Gut clenching with lust and apprehension, Elizabeth took a deep, steadying breath and continued reading.
I do not keep you waiting long after you wake. I know you are as anxious to lose your anal cherry, as I am honored and excité to take such a tight virgin offering.
À bientôt, belle fille,
Sir
Elizabeth swallowed. Anxious didn't cover it. The rush of emotions that rolled through her was pretty comprehensive. Apprehension, mental conflict, anger, guilt, shame, resistance, curiosity, the desire to fight - the need to surrender and to top it all off she was overwhelmingly horny. What was this constant physical yearning? Like a trained dog ready to fetch, Sir only had to mention sex and she sat up on her hind legs panting, ready to go.
Man, she reflected, I'm a mess! Elizabeth snorted when her father's words echoed in her mind: "Honey, things often get worse before they get better." Yeah right. How could they get any worse? She wondered.
Yet she was going to find out.
2. Getting Even
Still contemplating Sir's letter, she gazed around her room. It didn't look like a prison. The chamber she was in was obviously underground, but it was done in tasteful male colors, tan, ochre and yellows. The floors were dark hardwood, mostly covered by no doubt genuine Persian carpets. Persian carpets? Really? Man this guy must be loaded to put expensive stuff like that in his underground playroom. The enormous mirrors on the ceiling, and covering the walls on either side of the bed amused her. She had no idea that anyone even made mirrors that large. Of course Sir would have mirrors. It kind of explained why he never seemed to miss a thing.
Two nice dark wooden beams ran across the ceiling, which was probably sixteen feet high. A black wooden cross, complete with handcuffs and big enough to hold a person was in one corner, not far from that was a huge sofa with lots of pillows and a large antique armoire. Her bed had four large posts and was also dark wood, with eyebolts for chains and cuffs, of course.
So, she thought. This is a dungeon, but a modern one, built and decorated by an artist.
Elizabeth's mind surged back to her captor, Sir. The man had taught her so much. Once virtually unable to orgasm, now couldn't seem to stop, or at least she easily could at Sir's command. Denial as a mental state was so difficult to perceive. Honesty had been a large part of her problem. Elizabeth had been lying to her husband Mark. She had learned two very important things about her sexuality: one, while she may be able to climax without constraint, she could always climax when bound or physically overwhelmed. And two, she had a bone-deep need to please her sexual partner. In fact, satisfying her partner gave her as much or even more pleasure than being satisfied herself.
Using the remote, Elizabeth discovered that she could fast forward and rewind, virtually reliving her entire experience at her captor's hands. While captive she had worn a blindfold, so it had been amazing to actually see everything that Sir had done to her. More enthralling, she had been able to see Sir himself, his appearance and what he looked like naked.
She had been worried that he was cross eyed or ugly – but of course he wasn't. Physically he seemed to be in excellent shape, flat stomach, broad shoulders - but one wouldn’t pick him out of a crowd for his looks. Dark hair, cut short around his neck and ears, tan skin all over – perhaps relating to a Mediterranean heritage? His face seemed average: brown eyes, clean shaven, with eyebrows thicker than most. There were many pock marks on his chin and cheeks – either from acne as a boy, or perhaps from chickenpox, yet it didn't detract from his healthy good looks.
She admired his cock, tall proud and straight. Elizabeth had known it would be well formed, he was a virile young man of about thirty-five. The best thing about Sir was his smile and the depth of mischief in his eyes. How could anyone not like him? Her mind went to her husband Mark, and her heart sank. Mark would hate Sir, because he was jealous and possessive, not only of her body but of her time. They were madly in love with each other, but why couldn't Mark make her climax like Sir could?
Reliving her experiences through video rewind had been difficult, mainly because it made her seriously horny, and the damn vibrator cycling through and keeping her aroused wasn't helping. Yet she couldn't stop herself. She wanted to see Sir again and again, watch him take her hard and fast, see him throw his head back, and enjoy the look on his face as he came. Resisting the impulse to watch 'just once more' she turned the TV off and put the remote down. Enough.
An article about BDSM had been left on the bedside table, obviously put there for her. It was short and to the point and she read, "Per a study published in the Journal of Psychology and Human Sexuality, there is no evidence that BDSM and psychopathology are connected. It has been well established that BDSM is not proof of mental or physical illness, and practitioners of BDSM are generally, in comparison to other populations, well adjusted. The desire for BDSM does not come from emotional damage, from trauma or ch
ildhood abuse. People cannot – and should not – be treated to cure it."
So, she thought, trained mental health professionals don't consider BDSM irrational. They think it is part of a person's basic nature. I guess if someone has a kink, it's their kink…so what?
The article went on to say, "Interestingly, true Dominance has with it a deeper need to take care of and protect the person dominated." Elizabeth snorted. Well, that was true. Sir wanted to look after her alright, right down to feeding her himself. It went on to say, "Sexual submission has to do with serving and making the individual the submissive cares for happy."
That seemed to resonate with Elizabeth. I am a sexual submissive, she thought. It explains my desire to please my captor as much or even more than Stockholm Syndrome does. Sexual submission is part of my fundamental personality.
But only in bed. In the rest of her life she was anything but submissive, from her pit bull courtroom style, to her management of others. Elizabeth giggled. Once, while visiting the Sistine chapel, an old bent over Italian lady, all dressed in black, reached into Elizabeth's pocket to steal a coin. The woman was surprised when Elizabeth had caught the taller woman's hand, and wouldn't let her go. Sure it was only worth twenty cents, but it was the principle of the thing. Why did everyone assume a short person was an easy mark? The woman shrieked loudly - in the chapel! Unintimidated, Elizabeth had stood fast. In the end the old lady gave up, and gave Elizabeth back her coin.
I like to win, she thought, recalling the incident with satisfaction.
The early American high chair was in the tiny but fashionable kitchen area, and Elizabeth's eyes immediately went to it. Stomach fluttering, she had a vivid mental memory of what had been done to her on that chair. Without warning the butt plug began to vibrate on low once more. While she tried to process that, it began to climb in slow increments, and then it began to pulse.
