Darkest Fantasies (6 page)

But it was
just Melissa. He didn't think he would be pleased to see her, but
he was more than pleased, he was reprieved and grateful. Thank you,
God. She entered briskly, put all his folders right back where they
had been before and locked the drawers. He thought nothing could
ever make him feel so small, so stupid, until she turned to him
again and the flash of a camera made him blink and flinch. His ego
totally disappeared as he saw his job and his future disappear in
that one blinding moment.

Her gaze was
contemptuous, her voice sarcastic. 'Not all women are bimbos,
Kevin. Not all women are just itching to get into your pants. Some
of us do more interesting jobs. Like industrial espionage, for
instance. And arrogant suckers like you make my job very easy.' She
took the scissors and advanced. He whimpered slightly as she
threatened his privates with the open blades. She grinned. 'What
are you supposed to say to me?'

He looked up
at her vacantly, pitifully.

'Come on,' she
insisted, 'you know what you have to say.'

'Th-thank you,
Melissa,' he stammered.

She laughed at
him, cut the string, then pulled the chair away from the wall and
put the scissors in his hands, saying, 'I advise you not to drop
them. It should only take you a few moments to get out of that. By
then I'll be long gone. You've got two choices. You can forget
about this whole incident and just hope it doesn't damage your firm
- I guess the level of damage always depends on quite what the firm
is hiding, don't you think? Or you can let your bosses know I've
taken sensitive information through your own inability to keep your
flies buttoned. But if you're unwise enough to do the latter, I
will publish the photographs. I think you need to consider the
options carefully, Kevin. Don't you?'

She blew him a
kiss, those full pouting lips still able to make his flaccid cock
twitch instinctively, and then the door closed behind her and she
was gone.

Kevin bent
himself furiously to the task of releasing himself, terrified of
being discovered in this most undignified of positions, nothing
more urgent than the need to get his clothes back on. Yet after the
panic was over, when he was driving home, eager for the comforts of
his wife's stability, he knew in one thing Melissa was wrong. He
didn't need to consider carefully about what he was going to do; he
knew from the moment she handed him the scissors that he had no
intention of saying anything to anyone about the humiliating
incident.

But he did
smoulder for days, with the simple wish to get his own back. If
ever he saw her again, Melissa would wish she had never been
born.

Esther had
chosen her garb over the last few weeks, partially because the
black leather had a distinctive smell which made her feel good, and
partially because it was what Kevin wanted. She had been very, very
tentatively sounding Kevin out with some pictures in magazines,
having discretely left them open at various erotic pictures. There
was the frothy kittenish appearance, the rubber, the schoolgirl and
other role-play outfits, which did nothing for him. He seemed quite
interested in the normal high heels, stockings and bra, but what
really turned him on was the leather. Though he called the women
with leather dresses and high heeled boots dominant cows, and
seemed disgusted that such pictures should be in a magazine his own
wife had been able to purchase from the supermarket, with her
new-found wisdom, Esther watched his eyes. They betrayed him with a
glint of interest. Her Kevin?

'The funny
thing is, he probably doesn't realise it himself,' she told Madam
Tisset, once she was over the shock.

'I don't doubt
it,' the woman agreed. 'Convention and role expectations are
powerful tools. They will stop the most exciting people from
realising their dreams. It's only the brave or the adventurous who
manage to smash the boundaries imposed by society, and choose their
own lifestyle.'

'But surely
that's what Kevin is doing with these other women?'

'No, dear,
he's doing what men all through life have been doing. He's simply
cheating on you. He might think that being with other women is
risqué, yet when he's with them, the sex itself is no better than
he could have with you if he would only open up a bit and discuss
what he wants.'

'I didn't
realise he had those sort of sexual fantasies until I started
coming here,' Esther said glumly.

'My dear,
don't you have any?' Esther's blush was a dead give-away, but she
carried on kindly. 'Everyone does, you know, but for most people
they stay in the mind, never to see the light of day, which is a
great shame. Imagination is the very essence of good sex - that and
the ability to enjoy what you're doing. Give me a word to describe
the sex you have with Kevin.'

Esther thought
about it. 'It's nice enough,' she said hesitantly, for Kevin was a
considerate and competent lover.

'"Nice
enough". You see what I mean? If someone said my dress was "nice
enough" I'd want to hit them. I want them to say: "stylish,
different, exciting" - not just "nice enough". Nice is just not
enough to keep you over sixty years of marriage. Have you ever
wondered why such a lot of people divorce at around forty or so,
when their children begin to leave home? It's because they're bored
with each other. And that's what society has done to them.'

'Were you ever
married?' Esther asked.

'Me? No, no. I
was never the marrying type. No way I could ever be faithful to
just one man. I love the lot of them. Besides, I can't stand
children.' She shuddered dramatically at the awful prospect. 'Now,
dear, I've got someone for you to meet.' She stood up and opened
the door into a small dark cupboard which was furnished with
nothing but a chair, and on that chair sat a man, hands on thighs,
waiting to be commanded. 'You can come out, now,' she said.
'Esther, this is Ben. Ben is going to help us with our lessons
today. Aren't you, Ben?'

'Yes, Madam
Tisset.'

Esther gazed
with astonishment at the positively huge young man who beamed at
her. He was built like a weightlifter, his chest beaded with
muscles, his thighs like tree trunks. Yet he was dressed like
something out of a fantasy movie, in tiny leather shorts and an
assortment which seemed to be nothing more than straps and buckles
covered in patterns of studs. As her gaze slipped down she blushed
furiously, realising that his penis was sticking out of the shorts
through a hole obviously designed for that purpose.

Madam Tisset
put her hands on her hips. 'Esther, you must stop doing that.'

'What?' she
said, guilty at being caught looking.

'Blushing.
That is partially what today is about. By the end of the day there
will be nothing you haven't seen and done to our slave here. So
there will be nothing left for you to blush about.'

'Slave?'

'You can tie
him up, beat him, stick things in him. And if he pleases you, you
can make him come at the end of the session,' she added as an
afterthought.

'Anything
which pleases,' Ben said happily.

'Goodness. I
don't know - I mean, wouldn't I be as bad as Kevin if I did such
things?'

Madam Tisset
patted her shoulder kindly. 'You don't have sex with him, dear.
Just beat him around a little. Get it out of your system. Show him
who's boss. Now go and get dressed while I get him ready, and then
we can get on.'

While donning
the leather gear, Esther sipped at the glass of wine Madam Tisset
had left there for her. She was needing the wine less these days,
but today was rather different. She'd never had a real live slave
to abuse before, and the prospect was a bit daunting, as well as
exciting. She wondered what she could do to him, how far he would
let her go. She reflected that had this happened a few months back
she would have run a mile, and yet here she was, ready to have a
go. Not that she had been able to take any of her new-found
confidence home yet. In spite of everything, she still shied away
from instigating any games with Kevin because she knew with
chilling certainty that she was going to have to play her cards
right, and that she was not ready for such a confrontation. Even
so, she was seeing her husband with new eyes these days. Her own
sense of inadequacy and her awe for his wonderful male superiority
was wearing a bit thin. She now knew his tiredness for what it was,
and smelled the scent of other women on him. It was at that point
that any residual feelings of betrayal she might have felt in
coming to these sessions finally fled. The only person entitled to
abuse her husband, she decided firmly at that moment, was herself.
Soon enough she would make sure of that.

'Are you
ready, Esther, dear?'

Madam Tisset
wandered in wearing her own chosen outfit; a very slinky red rubber
dress. A few weeks ago Esther would have thought her a sad woman,
but now she treated the older lady with respect, combined with a
surprising amount of real affection. Once, if anyone had hinted she
might ever become friendly with a self-confessed whore, she would
have been most indignant. But not now.

'Yes, I'm
ready,' she said.

'Right. The
first rule of keeping a slave is discipline. It's a bit like having
a dog. You have to be firm to be kind. The slave must always know
what is expected, because if he's confused he can become unhappy
with his position. Now, for the most part we can keep him chained
up - there are various interesting positions - or in that cage over
there when he's not required. I prefer them chained, myself,
because they have a certain decorative quality. I also like to keep
them gagged to stop them from inadvertently irritating me with
silly questions and demands, but you can always remove it if you're
in need of some really serious grovelling.'

Esther's
giggle was part shock, part amusement, part excitement. Ben now
stood in a stretched star in the middle of the large room, his
wrists chained to a spreader above his head, his ankles locked into
a spreader attached to the floor. His mouth was propped open by a
rubber bit.

'Now, dear,'
Madam Tisset went on, 'he's all yours... aren't you, Ben?'

Ben nodded,
and mumbled something.

'What did he
say?'

'Thank you,
Madam. Slaves are grateful to be noticed, whether you wish to speak
to them or simply abuse them. And if they forget, then you must
remind them in such a way it doesn't happen again. Slaves must
never be allowed to forget their manners.'

Esther stood
hesitantly, wondering what she should do, and Madam Tisset
tut-tutted. 'You've got the costume on, girl. Become it! Do what
you want. Examine him. See what he's made of. Take his pants off
and have a good look at his penis. I doubt you've ever looked at
Kevin's that closely, have you? Once you know what you're dealing
with you can stop being afraid of it. It's not magic the way his
silly tool gets big, it's blood pressure, and the biggest weapon
you have is knowing how to control his valves. Once you've done
that, the next thing to learn is where his pleasure centres are.
They're his weak points. With that knowledge you will never feel
small again. Now, go ahead.'

Not feeling at
all dominant, Esther reluctantly stepped forward, and once again
Madam Tisset took charge. She spread her hands out and rubbed them
all over the chained man's torso and thighs as though she was
rubbing down a horse. 'Like this, dear, now join in. Even this
surface rubbing has a reason. You see, it brings tiny blood vessels
to the surface, makes everything more sensitive, so when you hit
him later it's far more effective.'

Growing more
confident as time went on, Esther smoothed her hands firmly across
Ben's hard chest, twiddled his nipples firmly, then ran her hands
down to the top of his shorts, thinking how much hairier he was
than Kevin. She rubbed her hands up and down his hard thighs,
slipping a finger under the rim where the shorts tightly
encompassed his flesh. Then she walked around him and, getting more
familiar, ground herself against the tiny buttocks to make her own
leather garb creak against her, creating strange erotic sensations
to flood her middle. After a while Esther found that touching the
man all over when he could neither reciprocate or argue made him
less of a human being, more of an object to be played with and
manipulated.

She grew
braver, stronger. Then she ran her fingers up his tapered back,
along the ridges of muscle on his broad shoulders, felt the raised
blood vessels pulsing under her hands. Walking around the front
once more, she slid both hands up the thickness of his neck, pushed
her fingers into the wiry mass of his hair and pulled her thumbs
down over his cheeks, sliding them under the web of straps that
held the bit in place. Then she went one step further and fed a
finger into his mouth above the bit, pushing his tongue this way
and that. He groaned, and she realised with shock that the penis
was no longer flaccid. She had made the man rampant. Was it really
that easy?

When she made
love with Kevin she sometimes had to knead him into fullness before
he could make love to her. She didn't like having to do that, it
was as if he wasn't really interested in her as a woman, that
simply being there wasn't enough to make him fancy her. She now
knew she was right and was slightly saddened that she might have
gone for the rest of her life without realising this simple
fact.

But why was
this man so rampant when she was touching anything except his
penis? Then the penny dropped. Anticipation. Oh, goodness. The
answer had been there all along. All the years of her marriage
she'd been trying to milk Kevin like a cow, when what he needed was
other stimuli. Yet why hadn't he told her that? It was this
Victorian double standard at work again, she realised. One thing
for the whore, but the wife was supposed to lie back in the dark
and think of England. It wasn't really fair, was it?