Perfect Slave (3 page)

For a moment she did nothing, wallowing in the sensations that were coursing through her body. The dildo was sticking up vertically between her legs and she could push herself down on it so her labia were crushed against its shaft. Her clitoris was throbbing so wildly she thought she might come like this before her preparations were complete. But she managed to wrestle herself back from the edge.

Sitting up again she took hold of the dildo and directed it down to the mouth of her vagina. Before this ritual had developed, before it had become so complicated, she had merely jammed the handle of her hairbrush into her sex while she frotted her fingers against her clit and dreamt of being bound and helpless. Now she had evolved much greater refinements.

Bracing herself she slid the tip of the dildo into her vagina. A wave of sensation made her shudder. Her sex was wet and the dildo slid home effortlessly. She pushed it all the way in then folded the leather it was attached to up over her belly. It buckled tightly into the front of the belt around her waist, pressing down against her labia and holding the dildo firmly in place.

Lying back again changed the angle of her sex, pushing the dildo into new areas of sensitivity. She moaned. Again she struggled with herself, as exquisite sensation rolled over her. She didn't want to come yet, not until she was ready.

The next manoeuvre required a little bit of contortion. Stretching herself up the bed, pulling until the ankle cuffs bit into her flesh, she reached over with both hands to the snap-lock on the top left-hand corner of the bed. She managed to clip it into the D-ring on the cuff around her left wrist. Then she rolled onto her back and stretched her right arm up to the rope lying on the mattress at the top right-hand corner. Andrea was not a fool. She did not want to tie herself in bondage so tight that she could not escape. She could have just managed to open the snap-lock with the fingers of her right hand and inserted it into the D-ring on her right wrist, but even if she could there was no guarantee she could get it open again. She had practised it several times and managed to get herself free on every occasion, but she was still not prepared to risk it. What she had done therefore, to give herself the impression of being bound and spread-eagled, was to knock the locking mechanism out of the snap-lock, leaving instead a hook-like projection. It was easy enough to get the D-ring into this hook and equally easy to unhook it again. Then, as long as she was careful not to move her right arm around too much, she could struggle and tug against it as if she were really bound.

With her head twisted around so she could see what she was doing she managed to slip the D-ring over the hook. She immediately pulled her arm down so the rope was taut and the hook wouldn't come free. She pulled on all her limbs, wanting to feel the constriction.

It was not perfect. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew the bondage was a sham, that she could merely flick her right arm up and undo herself, but it was as near to the real thing as she was prepared to risk.

She closed her eyes. She was acutely aware of her bondage, the way the leather cuffs pulled at her wrists and ankles, stretching the muscles and sinews of her body. She loved the feeling of the tight sleek stockings and the even tighter leather corset. The suspenders were so tight they cut channels into the flesh on the tops of her thighs.

Normally she would lay like this, spread-eagled across the bed, for a long time, savouring every feeling, teasing herself by rolling her hips from side to side very slowly so the base of the dildo rubbed against her clit, bringing herself closer and closer to the brink of orgasm but never over it.

But tonight was different. Tonight Charles Darrington Hawksworth was standing by the side of the bed looking down at her, his eyes unblinking, his expression varying between indulgence and stark disapproval. Tonight she was rolling her hips wildly, rocking the whole bed, her clitoris responding with sharp tweaks of exquisite pleasure. She clenched her vagina around the phallus, feeling the juices that were running over it.

Those deep blue eyes burnt into her. She could see him examining her tits. She thrust them up towards him.

‘Do they please you, master?'

The phantom said nothing. His eyes moved to her belly. Andrea tried to spread her legs further apart. Then she felt her vagina convulse reflexively around the dildo. It did it twice in quick succession and she whimpered. She pushed her buttocks up clear of the bed. She was coming now and she knew there wasn't anything she could do to stop herself.

She opened her mouth, arched her head back against the pillow until it was almost at right angles to her spine.

‘Master!' she screamed as she came, her orgasm locking every sinew and muscle in her body.

It was a long time before she opened her eyes again. When she did Charles Darrington Hawksworth had gone.

 

 

 

‘Ms Hamilton?'

‘Yes.'

‘This is for you.'

Andrea had opened the door of her flat three days later to a tall, extremely broad, blond-haired man in a grey chauffeur's uniform. He was holding a white envelope in his hand.

‘For me? I don't understand.'

‘I'm to wait for a reply.'

‘Oh. You'd better come in.'

Andrea was wearing a tracksuit. It was seven o'clock and she was just thinking about what she was going to wear tonight on her dinner date with Greg Anders, her current boyfriend.

‘Thank you, Ms,' the chauffeur said. He took off his cap, tucked it under his arm and stepped inside.

Andrea was puzzled. She didn't know anyone who had a chauffeur. She tore open the envelope and took out a white deckled edged card. The writing was neat and italicised.

 

Dear Ms Hamilton,

I hope you will not think of this as an impertinence, but I wondered if you would like to have dinner with me on Saturday night. I think you know why. If you do not, merely return this invitation to George. If you do, as I suspect, then he will return for you at seven on Saturday night.

Whatever your decision I will always remain yours faithfully,

Charles Hawksworth.

 

Andrea stared at the note. She read it again. She felt herself blush. She hadn't the faintest idea that Charles Hawksworth had any interest in her. Of course she remembered how he had paused at the door and indicated her to Edward Highfield, but she'd convinced herself that incident was just her over-vivid imagination and the effect of those almost hypnotic eyes. He could have been pointing out one of a hundred people, or noting something entirely different. Now it appeared that her first instinct had been right.

‘You work for Mr Hawksworth.'

‘As I understand it we both do, Ms.'

She smiled. ‘Yes. That's right, we do. But I've only been working for him since Tuesday.'

‘So I understand. May I ask for your reply, Ms?'

Andrea caught her breath. She didn't think that an hour had gone by since last Tuesday when she hadn't thought of Hawksworth, hadn't seen his face, and what's more, hadn't had some wild sexual fantasy about what he would do to her. She hadn't the faintest idea why the briefest of meetings - indeed it could hardly be called a meeting at all - had produced such an extraordinary response in her, but there was no denying that it had. Now it appeared that this briefest of glimpses had also made an impact on him.

‘Yes. Please tell me Hawksworth I will be delighted to dine with him on Saturday.'

‘Very good, Ms. I'll pick you up at seven.'

‘Are we going to a restaurant?'

‘Sorry, Ms, I don't know Mr Hawksworth's plans.' For some reason Andrea didn't believe him, though she had no idea why.

The chauffeur went back to the door. He put on his cap and let himself out without another word.

Andrea went to her fridge, took out a bottle of white wine and poured herself a glass. She needed it. She slumped down on her sofa, sipped the wine and re-read the note. I think you know why. What did that mean? The only thing that had happened between them had been an exchange of looks. But she had the feeling that Hawksworth had learnt her deepest secret, that he knew what she had been imagining over the last three days. And she was sure no one at Silverton could have given him that information. Even Pam, her closest friend in the company, knew nothing about her sexual fantasies. So how had Hawksworth found out? Perhaps that was not what the phrase meant at all; perhaps it merely referred to a mutual attraction which was clear from the way Andrea had looked at him. He was an attractive man after all, and was probably used to women staring at him with thinly disguised lust. That's what it must be.

The noise of the doorbell startled her. She looked at her watch. She realised she had been sitting on the sofa daydreaming about Charles Hawksworth for half an hour, and now Greg was outside waiting to pick her up.

Quickly she stuffed the note into the pocket of her tracksuit, ran to the door and picked up the answer-phone. Greg usually waited at the front door of the building for her to come downstairs.

‘Greg, sorry I'm running late. Can you come up?'

‘Sure,' his heavily distorted voice said cheerily.

Two minutes later he was sitting on the sofa with a glass of white wine in his hand and the bottle in front of him on the occasional table.

‘Sorry about this. It won't take me long to get changed.'

‘No hurry. I thought we'd go to that Thai place. No need to book.' Greg was not tall and a little bit on the chubby side, with a pleasant rather round face and mousy coloured straight hair.

‘Fine. Just let me throw some clothes on.'

She waltzed into the bedroom. She had already taken a bath, put on her make-up and laid out a blouse and skirt on the bed. Carefully she pulled the slightly crumpled note from her pocket and put it away in her bedside table, then quickly stripped off the tracksuit. She was naked underneath. She glimpsed herself in the tall mirror. The thought of Charles Hawksworth had stiffened her nipples and she was sure she could feel a slick of wetness on her labia. Experimentally she ran her hand down between her legs. Her sex wasn't just wet. It was soaking. As her finger glided into her labia her clitoris throbbed strongly as if trying to draw attention to itself.

She went to the chest of drawers and took out a pair of white satin panties and a matching bra. She drew the panties up over her thighs, and as they brushed against her sex her clitoris reacted sharply again. She tried to calm it by running her hand down over the silky material and pressing it into her labia, but this only made matters worse. The touch of the cool satin of her bra against her breasts also made her nipples tingle. As she adjusted her breasts, lifting them slightly to allow them to sit more comfortably in the cups, this too produced strong waves of feeling.

The thought of going out to dinner was not appealing. In fact it was the last thing she wanted to do. She glanced into the mirror again. Over her shoulder she could see Charles Darrington Hawksworth's deep blue eyes.

Calmly she opened the top drawer in the pine chest and rummaged inside. It was where she kept all her stockings and tights. She found what she was looking for, a pair of glossy white hold-up stockings with lace welts. Sitting on the bed she pulled them on, smoothing the nylon over her legs. Then she stripped off the counterpane from the double bed and lay on the white sheet on her back. She stretched her legs apart, the white satin gusset of the panties pulled tautly across the plane of her sex.

‘Greg,' she called.

‘Yah?'

‘Why don't you come in here?'

She wished she'd had the courage to put on the leather cuffs and tie herself to the bed first, and let him see what she really wanted. But she didn't.

Greg opened the bedroom door tentatively. His eyes widened as he saw her lying on the bed. ‘You look great!' he said.

‘Do I?'

He walked up to the bed and gazed down at her, his eyes roaming her body. ‘Those stockings are really sexy.'

‘So what are you going to do about it?'

She arched her buttocks off the bed, angling her sex up towards him. She'd sex with Greg a couple of times, but she had never done anything like this. She raised her foot and dug it into his thigh, moving it up until she could feel his rapidly growing cock.

‘What's got into you?' he said. There was a hint of disapproval in his voice.

‘You have,' she lied.

He stripped off his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt as she rubbed her toes against his cock. The nylon rasped against the material of his trousers. Andrea stretched her arms out above her head and spread them apart, imagining they were about to be bound.

Greg threw his shirt aside and pushed her foot away to enable him to unzip his trousers. His cock had escaped the fly of his boxer shorts and sprung out from the zip, fully erect. He hopped from one foot to the other as he pulled his shoes and socks off, then pulled off his trousers and pants.

Andrea could feel her pussy throbbing. She snaked her right hand down to her belly and ran it under the white satin of her panties.