“I’m too lazy.”
“Mmmmmm, just a moment—”
The handcuffed girl slipped from the bed but was back almost instantly. “Here they are. Put them on me.”
Dexter sat up, chuckling at her earnestness.
“Dammit, girl, they got to you worse than they did to me!”
“Not worse, better! Click them tight.”
“Lovely sound, isn’t it.” His fingers firmly notched the bands of steel upon the slender ankles. “You sure you’re not a frustrated masochist?”
“Don’t be silly. It’s just a lovely feeling: to know I can’t run away from you.”
“You wouldn’t anyway.”
“All right then! it’s a lovely feeling because I can’t run away from me.”
“O.K. So you love being helpless. I’ll keep you handcuffed, permanently. How’s that?”
“Gorgeous . . . ! And, James . . . ?”
“What now?”
“Let’s try it? I think it may just be possible. I mean, with my feet locked together . . . ?”
“You’re a carnal kitten.”
“Yes, isn’t it lovely!”
They made a fresh experiment. It hurt Caroline’s ankles but she did not care.
“I am replete with rape.”
They had yawned their way to a late breakfast.
Caroline had had to be carried. When she placed her weight on her feet her tendons thrust too painfully against the metal. She could neither shuffle nor hop. Neither cared. Dexter did for her the things she could no longer do for herself. Cautiously, she was contriving to place marmalade on toast. She picked up her sentence: “Wasn’t that a gorgeous night!”
“Mmmmm, you’re shameless.”
“But rape’s so nice. I want more.”
“Handcuffed?”
“Oh yes! Oh please . . . ? I know my ankles are chafed, but they can put up with it for another day.”
“That all that’s chafed?”
“Don’t be vulgar, James. A girl never gets chafed there if she’s properly loved.”
“I’ve got a new eroticism for you. Want to play?”
“Of course! I have to, don’t I!”
“O.K., sweetheart. You want rape, that’s what you get.” Caroline Dowling wondered if the thrill of Dexter’s lovemaking would ever pall. So far it had mounted steadily. What he was doing to her now was so wickedly appropriate to the fantasies he evoked. She was making herself supinely passive to his will, trembling.
“Spreadeagle! Oh. James, it’s such a gorgeous word!”
“Functionally practical—with a pillow or two.”
“But I’ll lose my handcuffs!”
“Not entirely.”
Dexter used his key. A moment later Caroline’s arms were spread out and up, a wrist cuffed to each corner of the bed-frame. He looked down at her new helplessness approvingly. “That looks after your hands. I’ve rummaged in the closets and found some rope. Stick your foot out.”
She had never been so involved in anything! Every fiber of Caroline Dowling’s being was vibrant with sensation, with a sensuality giving life to every erotic fantasy she had ever dreamed. She gasped, quivering, as rope circled her ankles and was tugged and tugged until her nudity was spread wide in a lovely ‘X’ of feminine arms and legs.
“Try and get loose.”
Caroline struggled . . . hard. “Oh, James, I can’t! I can’t possibly. I can hardly move at all. It’s wonderful!”
Dexter thoughtfully adjusted a pillow. His helpless prey giggled.
“Say, wouldn’t this be a chance for one of those poor chaps who never get a proper look at a girl’s do-funny?”
“You mean that lovely cunt of yours?”
“Well, if that’s the word you like Mine must be positively standing up and winking. It feels as exposed as a sunset.”
“Surrounded by a fleece of dark cloud.”
“You like my black bush?”
“Every part of you is superlative.”
“You don’t feel any wicked urge to take advantage of me and shave it bare—or pluck ’em one at a time?”
“You’re indulging in wishful thinking, you wanton hussy. Which would you prefer?”
He was right, as always. This helpless exposure was multiplying her feminine responses a hundred-fold. The approaching rape was not enough, her flesh screamed for pain, for things to be done to her she was powerless to stop. She was ashamed but glorying in her plight.
“I’d sooner be shaved. But, James, don’t indulge me. I’m in some sort of fantasyland where I’m not responsible.” She pondered a moment. “Last night—when you strapped me . . . ! It made it better, I mean—my sore bottom on the pillow.”
“That’s a known clinical fact.”
“You make me feel so damned naive.” She giggled again. “It’s for sure I’d never get a strapped bottom from Robert.”
“You want the belt again, sweetheart?”
“Oh James . . . ! Not this side up?”
“Why not! There’s no part of you, below the neck, that isn’t whippable.”
“If we go on talking like this I’m going to orgasm without being touched: this stretch . . . and these ideas, James, you mean a girl’s breasts . . . ? Or her tummy . . . ?”
“Why not! Your breasts are exquisitely tautened out the way you are, and your belly’s positively concave.”
“Oh, James . . . !”
“And you were just remarking on the vulnerability of what you call your ‘do-funny’.”
“There! You really mean ?”
“Of course! It’s got nice plump lips. Want me to have a go at it?”
“No!” The explosive negative was not of fear, but of astonishment that such things could be. “James, I’m twenty-seven and I’ve never heard of such things.”
Dexter chuckled. “You’d probably never have run that auction in the Board Room if you had. Considering who and what you are you’ve lived a damn dull life.”
“I never thought so. I’ve been outrageously promiscuous.”
“Oh that!” His tone was contemptuous. “Kid stuff. Call it the High School Syndrome.”
Caroline could now believe his promise of a thrashing. It was an eroticism destined to happen. She would not provoke it at this moment: her capacity for sensation was already boiling over. Besides, when she got it she wanted it on her other side—the first time! She closed her mind to the vision. She was already far too close to orgasm for comfort. She did not want Dexter to see her writhing and gasping under the impetus of her own fevered imagination. “Rape me now—quick!” she demanded. “Oh, James, James, James . . . !” He leant down and kissed her forehead, then her proffered lips. “I love you very much,” he said gently. “I hadn’t expected to—”
“Please . . . ! Do it to me now . . . James, I’m so helpless!”
“And so you should be, beloved. I’m going to leave you in heat. You’ve got lots to think about while you wait. Or amuse yourself by trying to get loose. If you can, there’s a prize—”
“Don’t go! Don’t leave me . . . ! Oh, James . . . !”
“Part of the discipline, sweetheart. You need it.” Caroline watched him go. It was hard to strain her head up to see him pass through the door. He did not look back. In resignation, her head relapsed. She lay in her bonds, boiling with lust, feverish with longing. She longed to use a finger to give herself relief, but the metal cuffs on her wrists denied. Her sex blazed with heat, demanding fulfilment. She could not see herself down there, but she imagined her vulva demanding attention, swollen with desire. But, she was utterly helpless, she could touch no part of herself. Her widespread legs were a mockery in loneliness. She sighed in submission to Dexter’s mastery, knowing it best to savour and enjoy the strange bondage he had imposed. He would return. If the heat in her loins subsided she would dare to dream . . .
Soon she fell asleep.
Caroline Dowling awoke to the feral awareness of being watched. There had been no sound, but she was no longer alone. She allowed her lips to smile but kept her eyes deliciously closed. James would be looking down at her. Again, the heat between her thighs burned hot.