Darkest Fantasies (23 page)

Esther's
upbringing had drummed into her the premise that to become sexually
adventurous was some kind of convoluted first step down the long
road to promiscuity. Instead, it was her valued judgement - mostly
derived from personal experience - that lack of sexual awareness
was more likely to lead to dissatisfaction and divorce. And yet
even that discovery was not enough in itself to dissolve years of
dogma. No, it was not simply the decision to do so, but the act of
throwing aside her inhibitions that had been the huge hurdle, but
slowly and surely that objective had been achieved. Now, every step
forward was her own choice, as were the new boundaries to this
freedom; quite simply, she could go as far as her own desires took
her, and with whomever she wanted. However, despite the live
subjects Madam used as teaching aids, and the enjoyable hours she
spent tormenting them, her sole aim was to bring Kevin back into
the fold and keep him there.

She made a cup
of tea and took it in to Madam Tisset.

Madam Tisset
leaned back on the comfortable sofa as she was wont, and sighed
sorrowfully. 'Such a shame you don't want to come into the business
- you're such a natural. Are you really sure you won't reconsider
my offer?'

Esther
giggled, bent down and kissed Madam's powdered cheek. 'I'm very
flattered, but no. It's not what I want to do with my life.'

'It's very
lucrative, you know.'

'There's also
a down side; there are some worrying people out there, and if I've
learned one thing from you, it's that people are not so easy to
categorise as I once thought. In fact, I'm stunned at how wrong I
could be. That scares me a bit.'

'Reading a
character comes with practice,' Madam Tisset persisted. 'Really it
does. Men's eyes are windows to their souls. I don't have your fear
of finding a bad one, because I know who they are.'

'Please, Madam
Tisset, I've made up my mind.'

'Sorry. I did
say I wouldn't try to persuade you, but it's in my nature.'

'I know.'

Madam Tisset
became pensive for a moment, then leaned forward, a new glint in
her eyes. 'Esther, all those frustrated ladies - ladies like you
were - who just don't know how to enjoy sex properly. That's what
you can do for me. Send me new clients. You'll know who they are:
the ones who look at you with jealousy because they sense your
inherent sexuality and don't know why they haven't got the
same.'

'I can't do
that!' Esther was aghast.

'Why not?'

'Once people
knew what was going on I'd become an outcast and my husband would
lose his job! You have no idea how small-minded people can be.'

'My dear, the
less you say, the better. Just hint at how skilled you are at doing
the things your husband loves, and how you owe it all to your old
teacher. I guarantee the next thing you know you'll be asked -
very, very discreetly, I can assure you - for my card. They won't
even try to acknowledge it came from you; they will quietly get on
with things and pretend to your face that nothing ever
happened.'

Esther propped
her chin on her hands, and her eyes narrowed as she viewed Madam
Tisset with new respect. 'How many girls like me have you got out
there handing your cards out to unsuspecting, frustrated
housewives?' she asked.

Madam Tisset's eyes widened in abject innocence, a look she
could achieve with little effort. 'Absolutely none like
you
, Esther. Really and
truly.'

'You're a
wicked woman!' Esther smiled.

'Yes, and
isn't it fun?' Madam Tisset became more serious again. 'So, will
you think about what I've proposed? Couldn't you think of it as a
kindness to all the frustrated females out there with straying
husbands? Just remember how much happier you are now than when you
first came to me.'

Esther
couldn't deny that she did feel happier for her visits, and the two
women sat in silence for a few minutes.

'Now then,'
Madam Tisset eventually said, 'I think it's time we furthered your
education.'

'My
education?'

'Yes, my dear.
It's time you learned more about the world you've entered. I'm not
talking about Kevin's fumbling attempts at domination. I'm talking
about the real thing. Being out of control; strapped down, gagged,
whipped, and sexually abused until you're screaming for more. Until
you've really experienced it you can never know why people come to
me, and why they come again and again.'

Esther fell
silent once more, digesting this rather unexpected development. She
realised that once again, Madam Tisset had managed to discover in
her the ability to be embarrassed. 'Educated by you, you mean?'

'If you don't
like that idea I can get a man in. I know a very good one. Bondage
doesn't have to culminate in sex, even if a man is the
dominant.'

'But I've
never been beaten... I don't know—'

'I always
insist on an escape word or sign. I don't allow anyone to say I've
gone too far. You know that.'

Esther felt
her cheeks burn. 'I don't think I can...'

For once Madam
Tisset did not pressurise, but waited.

Esther
dithered, realising that further taboos and boundaries were being
crossed with this suggestion, and not only that, at a time she
thought she had it all sussed out. Images of the men who'd been
held in bondage here crossed her mind in a confused riot, each
scenario becoming interspersed with her own erotic dreams.

Swallowing
hard, she said, 'I - I think I'd rather someone I don't know did
it. What do I have to do?'

Madam Tisset
smiled warmly. 'Good girl,' she said. 'Go and shower, and I'll make
a quick phone call.'

Esther could
not enjoy the shower. Was she really going through with this? She
tipped her head back and let the cascading hot water sting her
cheeks, knowing she was putting off the time when she would have to
climb out and face whatever awaited her.

There was a
sheer dressing gown hanging on the back of the door, and once she'd
dried herself she slipped it on.

The door
opened and Madam Tisset wafted in. 'If you would like to come with
me?' she said.

Esther
followed the woman through a corridor she had not visited before,
and into a sterile room with a couch in the centre, above which
hung a large light.

She shuddered
with apprehension, more nervous than excited, hugging the robe
around herself. She knew she was going to hate the whole
experience. She was scared, exhilarated, but one thing she most
adamantly was not, was sexually aroused. The moment some strange
man laid his hands upon her she was going to scream blue murder and
make all the 'no more' signs Madam Tisset had ever taught her. She
just knew she was. She ought to go home.

'If you would
just lay on the couch please, and get comfortable,' Madam Tisset
cut into her thoughts. 'That's right - face down.'

Esther lay on
the couch, hands by her side, rigid as a pole. The woman left, and
as she did so the room filled with soothing music and Esther found
herself drifting into a state bordering on sleep. The couch was
very comfortable; the best way to lie was with her face pressed
into the hole available, and as she began to relax the whole couch
seemed to relax with her.

When the man
finally arrived Esther lifted her head and stared curiously.

He was a mild
man, not huge, but seemed pleasantly muscular beneath the white
coat, and his fingers, she couldn't help noting, were long and
artistic. She definitely had a thing about nice fingers.

'Please don't
rise,' he said in a low, modulated tone. He pressed on her
shoulder, stopping her from rising. She sank back down, feeling a
slight sense of unease grip her. But his hands were precise,
reassuring, and she subsided beneath his expert touch as he
continued.

'Now, first
I'm going to relax your muscles with massage,' and as he spoke he
pulled the flimsy gown from her shoulders and flipped it aside.
Then he began to work.

And his hands
were pure magic. They pressed hard up her back, buttocks to
shoulders, swept outward and down to circle up again. As he worked,
so she began to relax, to enjoy the lovely sensations. Never before
had she ever been massaged, save when Kevin chose to scrub at her
shoulders a couple of times at a pretence of relaxing her while he
was already rampant and ready for a quick bonk.

It was too
good and she didn't want it to stop. At what point she succumbed to
the inevitable she was not sure; it was such a gradual process, so
cleverly done.

He picked up
one wrist and looped something around it. 'Just a small strap to
hold it in place,' he said hypnotically. Then it was her other
wrist, and then her ankles. And then, 'Just slip the head forward a
mite. That's right, bite on the bar, that's what it's there for, to
hold the head in the right position to work on the neck muscles.
Now a little strap across the back of the head...'

Esther bit on
the bar as instructed. It was somewhat uncomfortable, but before
she could complain she was strapped into position, and that was
that. Except that she could try the signal with her hands and see
if he released her. But she didn't try it, for the rule was once
you invoked the release you had to wait until another session. You
couldn't just apologise and hope to carry on. It was one of Madam
Tisset's inflexible rules.

He began to
work again, caressing up and down her body, discovering muscles she
hadn't known existed. The skilled touch and her inability to move
were very exciting. Because she could not rebel, as his hands began
to glide closer and closer to her more sexual regions, she felt a
rush of anticipation. He was becoming more intimate with each
stroke. Caressing the fullness of her buttocks, round and round,
causing her anus and the lips of her vagina to stretch with each
encouraging movement.

Quite when she
began to move with the flow of his hands, to indicate that, yes,
she very much liked what he was doing, she wasn't sure. There was a
kind of exhilaration; she was his prisoner, ergo, he could do what
he wanted.

There came a
time, however, when the massage was complete, and he surprisingly
left the room. Esther found herself relaxing in the comforting hold
of the couch, the music once again filling her mind. How long she
was left there to enjoy the sensations she was not sure.

She sensed
movement and tensed. She knew Madam Tisset and the man were both in
the room.

The part of
the couch her legs were strapped to separated and spread apart. She
whimpered, exposed and vulnerable, but still she didn't make the
sign.

They began to
knead her body, to spread her buttocks. Lying face down she could
indulge herself in the most exquisitely erotic sensations derived
partially from enjoyment, derived almost wholly from the false
premise that these two could do as they liked and she could not
stop them. The fact that she could make the sign for which they
were undoubtedly watching was neither here nor there. She groaned
fractionally, her hips moving in time to the unknown hands that
were caressing her buttocks and sliding closer and closer to her
anus.

She held her
breath at the unexpected touch and became almost paralysed, waiting
for more. Was it the man? Was it her mentor? She didn't know, but
the touch was exquisite, consuming her awareness, becoming more and
more bold.

Then a rigid
finger was pressing in, deeper and deeper, manipulating her muscle
into compliance. She gasped, shuddered, but still did not request
release. The finger began to tease, moving in and out at random,
stretching her private passage, then slipping out to allow it to
close. Then she felt something hard touch her there. It pressed,
entered, stretched her further than the finger had, and exited
again, beginning to move in gentle imitation of a penis. The extra
stretch was exciting, excruciating, the unnatural entry filling her
with shock. Each time the foreign object was pushed in it went a
little further, and she guessed it must be the size and shape of a
man's prick - it was a dildo. Because it was not real, however, it
was no violation. No betrayal of Kevin, and she allowed herself to
sink into the pleasure of this alien object penetrating her most
vulnerable of orifices.

She could not
talk, ask, request, demand; she could only accept or reject, each
as final as the other. Therefore she was not surprised when the
dildo - that or something else - was pushed one more time into her
anus and began to expand. It got bigger and bigger until she was
gasping for breath, on the verge of a scream, when the expansion
stopped.

She breathed
deeply, calming herself. Could she stand it? She didn't make the
sign for release and the expansion stayed within her, filling her
bowels, consuming her mind.

By her sides
her hands clenched and unclenched - though she didn't realise it -
in the classic symptoms of masochistic enjoyment. Pain was
pleasure. Please don't take away the pain. The balloon in her
bowels was deflated and filled again. Then again. She winced at
every tiny movement, every muscle in her body moving in time with
the experience, and there came a time when she no longer thought
about trying to make the sign that would release her. She simply
existed in this body, this pain-and-pleasure-filled body.

At that point
she was left alone to wallow in the experience. At first she had no
idea she was alone, then the soft music and lack of movement in her
peripheral vision informed her that she had probably been alone for
a while.

Her bottom
throbbed and contracted, trying to eject the foreign object, but it
would not be rejected. Instead the whole stretched feeling began to
filtrate to the single place between her legs where her own private
pleasure lay. She wanted to put her fingers between her legs, to
induce a giant orgasm which would flood her with relief, yet the
bondage held her in thrall to the experience. She had no choice but
to lie under the strange sensations that filled her, and to become
more and more frustrated by her lack of control.