Rose Roberts thought
she must be the luckiest girl in the world. She’d read about sex, but she’d
never believed that any man could give a girl so much sheer pleasure.
Clive was tall, dark
and very handsome; well built, very muscular and terribly virile - and he had
the most fascinating dark eyes imaginable. Rose thought he was marvellous. She
was completely relaxed; helpless, breathless and damned near speechless;
running with sweat, tingling and throbbing everywhere.
What a fantastic way
to spend a Sunday night, she thought.
The man who’d given
her all this pleasure and got her into such a frantic state of arousal, lay by
her side, keeping her still —not that she wanted to move. She couldn’t move
very much - not with her arms spread wide and her wrists tied to the bed head.
Rose didn’t want him
to move, either!
She was on her back
with her legs spread. He was leaning on one elbow, smiling down at her,
stroking her small breasts and her slim body, teasing her nipples, maintaining
her arousal and his dominance. They were both naked on Rose’s bed in her small,
neat flat.
If he does that to me
again, she thought, I’ll pass out! But if he doesn’t, I’ll scratch his eyes
out!
At that moment, Rose
would have given Clive anything he asked for. She would have killed for him, if
he’d asked her to. He’d changed her life completely in the past few weeks.
Clive leaned over her
and she moaned anxiously, almost dreading what he may do next - but she didn’t
really care what he did. He ran his fingers through the thin mousy hair on her
mons and Rose writhed slowly, arching her back as if she was in agony. But he
went on stroking her until she was gasping hopelessly.
“Give me those
numbers again,” he said.
He spoke quietly,
still running his fingers through Rose’s mousy pubic fuzz. He didn’t touch her
taut conical breasts, or her small sensitive nipples now.
Rose opened her eyes
and saw him smiling down at her. She tried to focus her blue eyes, rolling her
head weakly from side to side in frustration.
“Give me the numbers
again, Rose. Just to check.”
Rose nodded. She’d
give him anything he wanted, and he knew it. He smiled
and her insides melted.
“Are you sure you can
remember them all?”
Rose nodded again.
“Give me a minute to get my breath back.”
“Of course,” he said,
smiling. “There’s no hurry.”
He seemed to know
exactly how she was feeling; knew that he only had to touch her, to have her
turned-on again. He waited, knowing and smiling. But he didn’t touch her again.
“Look at the time!”
he said softly. “It’s almost three a.m. I’ll have to go soon.”
“Oh! ... Again?” she
gasped. “Please, Clive!”
He leaned over her,
reaching for the notepad and the pen he’d put handily by on the bedside table,
letting Rose see him, erect again - and want him.
Rose had a good head
for figures. She closed her eyes and began to give him the numbers, from
memory. He wrote them down below the two sets he’d written earlier. They were
the same numbers in the same order. He smiled, satisfied the figures were
correct.
“Good girl,” he said,
as he put the pad and pen back on the table. He kissed Rose then, deeply enough
to take her breath away.
She had no idea why
Clive wanted the number sequences, though he’d tried to explain this to her
several times. She didn’t really care why.
“Please, Clive,” she
whispered. “Hard! Make me squeal!”
“Remember, Rose! You
asked for it!”
“Mmmm!” she nodded,
smiling.
She sighed deeply as
he began to touch her again. His fingers were like electric shocks. She began squirming slowly, panting in
anticipation. She lay there with her eyes closed.
He knew she was a
screamer. Rose’s eyes opened wide as she felt him move into position. She
closed them again, smiling.
She gave a sharp
nasal gasp as he slipped into her. She was too breathless to make much noise.
He worked her up toward her peak slowly, knowing this wouldn’t take very long.
She never did need much when she was thoroughly aroused.
Rose gripped him hard
between her slim thighs, with her ankles crossed above his back. A few hectic
minutes later she began to strain for her climax. She became tense, almost
rigid, straining hard, with her eyes closed.
“Oh!” she gasped
softly. “Oh-h-h-h-h!”
He put his hand over
her mouth as she opened it to squeal. She writhed rigidly as she reached
orgasm. A few moments of frantic heaving, then she began to relax. He took his
hand from her mouth, amused by her reflex quiverings as she came down slowly. Finally,
she sighed and opened her eyes.
“Oh, that was
marvellous!” she muttered, smiling wanly.
“I’m pleased you
enjoyed it. Now, open your mouth.”
Rose opened her mouth
without thinking. Her eyes opened wide as he shoved the folded head scarf
between her teeth. He’d never done this to her before - not afterwards.
He tied the scarf
firmly. Rose couldn’t say a word; couldn’t ask him why he was gagging her. She
mumbled muffled protests until he smiled at her, then she didn’t care why.
She kicked weakly as
she felt him loop soft rope round her ankle. She was too weak to give him any
trouble, even if she’d wanted to. He gripped her ankles and slid her down the
bed until the ropes at her wrists were tight, then he tied her ankles to the
legs of the bed, disabling her completely. Rose lay there, widely
spread-eagled, staring up at him.
“I’m going to leave
you for a while.”
“Hunh!”
Clive smiled down at
her. She knew he loved having her helpless and she’d never felt more weak and
helpless in her life. She squealed softly when he fingered her pussy and became
slippery-wet again, gasping nasally.
“Again?” he asked,
smiling that wicked smile of his.
“Mmmm!” Rose nodded
eagerly, quivering with anticipation. He grinned, dark eyes twinkling,
satisfied that she could neither move nor shout.
He wanted her to stay
still and quiet. Now she’d have to! He gave her a wicked grin.
She thought: he must
have the nicest smile in the world.
He’d been fairly sure
Rose would give him the number sequences when he’d first met her, but he hadn’t
expected it would take him so long to make her do it!
Plain girls are all
alike, he thought. Give them a chance, and they turn into real ravers in no
time. Far too demanding, and too serious. But they’re stupid where sex is
concerned - like so many women.
Rose had believed
every word when he’d told her he was an electronic lock specialist, after he’d
screwed her senseless.
“Wait until I get back,”
he said. “Okay, Rose?”
Rose frowned, looking
disappointed.
He dressed quickly.
She looked more disappointed as he unlocked the door to leave, but she didn’t
even try to struggle and she couldn’t complain.
“I have some business
to do, at about eight a.m.” he said.
He went out, smiling,
thinking: you’re going to have a long wait, Rosie.
Rose tried to calm
down. Clive had never left her tied and gagged before! There must be some
reason, but Rose couldn’t imagine what this might be. She knew that if she had
to stay spread-eagled for too long she might pass out from excitement.
Perhaps Clive will
keep me helpless, she thought, while he does all sorts of exciting things to
me, when he gets back.
***
“Hmph! You look like
a whore!” Anne Wilson muttered, staring at her reflection in the long mirror.
Her green eyes
twinkled mischievously. She made a little moue, grinned and shook her head as
if she didn’t believe what she was seeing. Her hair was loose, still tousled
from bed. She hadn’t been awake very
long.
She’d had the
wickedly brief green underwear for some time, but she’d never worn it. Matching
bra, panties and belt, with lots of lace. They contrasted well with her
naturally pale skin and her striking red hair.
She’d bought the set,
intending to wear it for the man in her life. She’d been completely carried
away with this idea, which had seemed terrific at the time, but the affair had
never developed. Now, the man was gone and all-but forgotten but the indecent
lacy green underwear remained, still unworn.
There was no special
man-friend in Anne’s life. Her senior executive position and her vivid business
mentality seemed to discourage men for some reason - the men she may have been
impressed by, anyhow. With her tall, lithe build, her long legs, and good figure,
plenty of men were impressed - but not the type she fancied.
Sometimes she longed
to meet a man who would sweep her off her feet and stop her from being so
independent. He’d make all the decisions and all the arrangements. And he’d
master her completely, of course. She wasn’t in the mood to be mastered at the
moment and she still didn’t understand why being made helpless turned her on
like mad, when she was in that crazy mood. But the fact was that it did! This
didn’t bother her unduly now. She’d stopped worrying about it a long time ago.
She knew that this macho man she sometimes longed for was a fantasy - but it
would be nice to meet a man like that. There must be a few. The problem was:
she never seemed to meet any of them.
Anne felt like
wearing the whore outfit for no good reason. She was in an odd mood; feeling
like doing something outrageous for a change. She smiled, wrinkling her cute
freckled nose and felt slightly foolish wearing the sexy underwear. Getting
ready to go to work, to an important business meeting at the Mogul office - and
looking like a whore under her business suit. She tried to ease the brief
panties higher, to cover her ginger pubic hair.
“Damn!” she muttered,
as she found she couldn’t.
The lacy bra was the
correct 36 C she normally wore, but if she’d needed any real support it would
have been useless.
“Hmph! You look like
a fifty-guinea whore,” she muttered softly, smiling.
She had no idea how
much executive call-girls charged, but the thought appealed to her. No matter
how foolish she felt, the lacy green outfit made her feel confident. She saw no
reason to change into something more normal.
The meeting was an
important one. Perhaps this was why she’d decided to wear the whore outfit? To
bolster up her confidence. Or perhaps she was just in a silly mood?
Anne grinned, then
her face became serious. This made her look determined and tended to spoil her
natural beauty.
“You should be
ashamed of yourself,” she muttered as she walked away from the mirror.
But she wasn’t a bit
ashamed; she was oddly thrilled.
Perhaps this odd mood
is because it’s Monday morning, she thought, and I’ve spent most of the weekend
doing some urgent work at home.
She began to brush
her hair, humming softly. She put her brush down and went to find a blouse to
match her mood; one cut low enough to show herself off, for a change.
A random thought
struck her. Perhaps I should phone in and take the day off?
But the meeting was
too important! She couldn’t afford to miss it.