Disgusting.
Then came Andy. He was older than she, rich for his age, good-looking too. He'd courted her like something out of a romance novel and he hadn't pushed her for a lot of sex before the marriage. In fact, he'd been almost excited when he found out she hadn't had much experience. His ex-wife had been a real slut, by all accounts. Emily had been sure this was it.
But after they were married, sex was all the man seemed to think about. He was obsessed with licking her pussy, with getting her to take his cock in her mouth and suck it.
She was perfectly willing to be his beautiful wife, hostess, housekeeper. But sexually, what could he give her that she was not already giving herself, and better, too?
Again her fingers toyed with the delicate lips of her pussy, and again she stroked the hot aroused clit. Emily shut her eyes dreamily, relishing the feel of the fingers on her precious parts.
Emily made a soft cooing sound as she slipped a finger into the jewel-like hole after cunt. She worked her arm, moving the finger in and out of herself, the water sloshing briskly in the tub.
"Oh, God, that feels good!" she sighed, turning and twisting her body to receive the thrust of her insistent finger.
She eased her upper body around, rubbing her stiff-nippled tits against the side of the tub. The friction was delightful, providing a sweet hot counterpoint to the steady in-out of finger in pussy.
Her pussy was deliciously tight. Pricks were too big to fit comfortably inside her. They made her snug delicate muscles ache. The finger worked in and out, as natural as if she had been born with her finger shoved up her cunt.
She traced the sensitive-fleshed tube of her pussy passage, finding each arousal spot within herself. She knew all of them by heart. Up and down her finger stroked, turning and twisting as she probed herself, and Emily began to sigh and whimper, responsively. She pressed her tits against the side of the tub, just below the water, and she worked her chest to further stimulate the hard, tender nipples.
She put her thumb into play around the button of her clit, rubbing vigorous circles that further aroused her erected trigger.
"Oh God, yes!" she sighed, rocking in the bathwater, fingers hotter and hotter as they worked her cunt.
Her finger was poking now, stabbing as far as that first rough cock had rammed up her pussy. She moaned as the digit rammed itself erotically into her snug but yielding cuntal depths. Her long legs twitched, raising higher and higher waves in the tub, but she didn't really notice. Emily was about to come.
"Now!" she moaned. "Now! Now! Nowwwwww!"
Her finger speared deeply, seeming to penetrate all the way to the midst of her womb, and she rubbed her thumb excitedly over the tip of her aroused clit. She gave her thumb a wiggle that made sparks crackle from her body, made stars explode before her eyes.
She lifted her head up, gasping, then closed her eyes and dropped downward. Most of her face submerged, and her nose filled with water, but she was already drowning in the sweet hot exciting release of her orgasm, and she was oblivious to everything else.
She came up sputtering, eyes full of soapsuds, but it didn't matter. She clutched her pussy under the water, humping into her fist as the final contractions hit their peak and began to subside.
The sloshing water grew still at last and so did Emily's exultant body. She shook her head, blowing soap bubbles off her nose, and she basked in her own glow for a moment longer, enjoying the delicious glow of orgasm, before she stood up and reached for a towel.
She began to dry herself carefully, making sure that every part received its fair share. She spent a long time on her long legs, a very long time on her heaving tits, and the longest time of all making sure that she had carefully dried her tingling pussy.
Emily drew the towel back and forth between her legs, sawing it excitedly over the aroused, fur-covered bun of her cunt. She gave her cunt a last, long, loving pat, hung the towel on the rack, and slipped into her shoes.
Nude, she sat down at her vanity. She unpinned her hair, letting it fall in luxuriant auburn swirls onto her shoulders. The hair dropped down her chest, momentarily veiling the cherry-red peaks of her nipples. Emily stroked her chest with hands and hair, then pushed the hair aside and bared her still-hard nipples. She cupped her tits, offered them to the beautiful woman reflected from the mirror. Emily smiled knowingly, and so did her image.
They were both still smiling when Emily noticed, in the mirror, that someone else was staring, too.
Her first thought was that Andy had come home early and had caught her at her most private enjoyment. Emily's face flushed; her mind raced, searching for some possible explanation. She crossed her arms across the bared thrust of her tits, and she looked up.
"You're not Andy!" she said in surprise.
"No, I'm not," said the man who stood behind her. Emily saw the glint of metal, and she realized that he was holding a syringe in his hand.
As if in slow motion, she watched his hand lift and then descend in a sweeping arc. There was a sting at the edge of her ass. She looked down, astonished, saw that the needle of the syringe had punctured her skin. His thumb pushed the plunger down.
"Oh!" Emily said.
Her flesh went numb, and then her mind numbed too, and she fell, unconscious, into the arms of a stranger.
CHAPTER THREE
"You rotten bastard! You motherfucker!" Emily gasped. "If you don't turn me loose at once, I'll…"
"You'll what?" the man said, looking down at her where she lay. Her face flushed. What could she do, for God's sake?
"Please," she whispered, changing her tone and her tune to fit the circumstances, "please, at least take these – these…"
She couldn't bring herself to say the word handcuffs.
How long ago had it been? It might have been an hour, it might have been a week. Her mind was still groggy from whatever drug had been injected into her hip. She had no idea where she was, except that she wasn't at home.
She lay on a strange bed, in a room she had never seen before. There were no windows, and she could not tell whether it was day or night.
The man was a stranger. She looked up at his mocking face, tried to place, him in her memory, but it was a blank. She knew she had never seen him before. But he had seen her. He was seeing all of her.
She lay totally naked, atop a strange bed, not even a sheet to cover her body. The bed was old fashioned, made of brass, with high posts at each corner. Her wrists were locked in handcuffs, whose other ends were locked around the upper bedposts. Around her ankles were tied the ends of silk scarves whose other ends were tied to the lower bedposts.
She strained in her bondage, horribly conscious that not only was she naked, but that the man could not help but see all of her pussy.
She stretched again and tried to pull her thighs together, but it was no use. The strain from the ankle bindings was too painful to bear for very long, and her body slumped back into the position her captor had chosen. She looked up at him, knowing for the first time in her life what it meant to be helpless, vulnerable.
"For God's sake!" she whispered desperately. "I'll give you money – my husband will give you money – don't hurt me – take me home and I'll give you all the money you want!"
"Maybe I don't want your money," the man said. "Maybe it isn't your fucking money I want at all, Emily."
She looked at him. He was a big man, broad shouldered, with a craggy face. His nose had been broken, a long time ago, and it had healed with a slightly crooked twist. His hair was dark, tightly curled, and his expression was smug and superior.