Chapter 1

 

Chris first saw Aimee in the local disco. He was not the only single male eyeing her up but, unlike the others, he was absolutely certain of the outcome. He looked at her thoughtfully. There were other women in the disco better looking than she was: thinner, prettier, yet he had a feeling about her. As the music thrummed, he snaked up to her, dancing, amber eyes flirting outrageously.

Aimee had noticed the stranger and had noticed all the other women noticing him. She looked closer. He didn't have bulging biceps or anything like that, but there was something sensuous, almost erotic, in the way he moved. Supple as a cat, he danced with the whole of his body, invitation in every slinky line. It didn't take a lot of imagination to realise he'd be a real mover in bed. She admired with a strange and consuming lust, partially fuelled by the knowledge that many of the women felt the same way. He was sex personified and she wanted him.

For the moment, anyway.

Chris played his cards carefully, subtly and towards the end of the evening it had been Aimee who had made the 'come and get me' noises and his acceptance, though proffered with some alacrity, was not overtly coloured with the male pride of conquest. He was too clever by far to lose it at this stage by crowing.

As for Aimee, an upwardly mobile business woman, she had no intention of spoiling her chances in a male-dominated environment by becoming saddled with a husband and kids. Chris was just what the doctor ordered. A little light relief. A little medicine to push away the blues. As far as she was concerned, that first night had been meant as a one night stand, but Chris was such a good lover, inventive, exciting, totally uninhibited, that she did not send him packing in the manner intended. Instead, she found herself inventing reasons to keep him playing to her fiddle.

Chris, of course, had no doubt who was playing to whose fiddle.

At first the sex had been hot and steamy. She was insatiable and he was impressive. Her first ever lover (in spite of promises to the contrary by previous contestants) who could come again and again in a night.

He was good and knew it.

Subtly he introduced a new element. For a woman of the nineties, she was surprisingly naive.

He surprised her with the judicious use of some silk scarfs, his invitation clear. She lay obligingly on her pine-ended bed, fired with a new kind of titillation, while he spread her wide and secured her there. He teased and touched with those slender fingers, bringing her to ecstatic climax while his honey-coloured eyes sparkled with sensuous enjoyment and his throbbing dick lifted its head for occasional but demanding attention. Then, as she lay gasping in the aftermath of orgasm, the magic fiddler had eventually danced the final dance to his own music.

Openly, with evident enjoyment, he knelt between her legs, took his cock in his hand. There was a tenseness about his form she had never seen in a man before and she watched, astonished, his eyes pinning her into silence. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, peeling back the throbbing head with those long fingers, he masturbated ecstatically. There was a tight moment when his face closed, when he gasped, then sprayed her recumbent, bound form with viscous white fluid. She thought maybe she should have been shocked, but she was not. He was like a drug, she just couldn't get enough of him.

He smiled a feline smile, everything was going well. Very well.

Things progressed in leaps and bounds; from soft bondage, to sex in public vehicles, town parks and a high street bank, to name but a few. The more she had, the more she wanted. Her imagination began to run riot. Aided, of course, by the subtle manipulation of her latest boyfriend. She realised she was being manipulated, but like all high-flyers, was convinced that she would be the one to end it, at a time and place of her choosing.

Chris smiled a discreet, cat-like smile and played on. She had no idea of the stakes in this game.

Arriving home tired from work one day, she cast off the heeled shoes and pin-stripe suit and took the catalogue he handed her.

"What do you think?" he asked, a gleam in his eye.

"Wow!" she replied, flipping through the pages of fetish clothes, immediately hooked. "Bedroom toys!"

"No, no," he said, stroking her inner thigh suggestively. "Disco wear."

"I couldn't!"

And yet in just over an hour she found herself poring with him over the books. He had chosen her costume, she had chosen his and had insisted on writing out the cheque. After all, she was the one earning the big bucks and she felt good buying him things. It let him know in no uncertain terms who was in control of this arrangement.

Flushing bright red when the postman handed her the package, as though the dour man could see through the innocuous brown packaging, she had unwrapped it with a cautious degree of anticipation - but as she lifted the items from the tissue wrappings, one by one, a warm feeling of sexual excitement and anticipation trickled through her middle. She lay back on the bed, holding the garments to her skin, revelling in the erotic feel and overpowering scent of the soft leather, wondering whether she would really be brazen enough to step outside the house wearing them. Oh, God, would she really have the courage to go through with it?

The days sped by.

The evening of the dance she cast off her working clothes, took a leisurely shower, then slowly and sensuously parcelled herself up in the boned corset and outrageous leather g-string and suspenders. She breathed in hard as she lifted her ample breasts and clinched the buckles in tight to give the cleavage added impetus.

It looked good, but by God, it felt better!

By the time Chris arrived she had painted a layer of make-up to her eyes: dark, exotic lines top and bottom, adding a pleasingly Egyptian finishing touch. She then outlined her full lips with dark liner and filled it with a shade of purple once removed from black. She sat and carefully glossed her well-shaped nails in the same shade and, lastly, pulled the black stockings up to her thighs, slipping shoes onto her feet.

Although she was used to high heels, she still tottered slightly as she glanced at herself and although some small voice of reason cautioned, the eyes in the mirror widened with shock and pleasure. The woman in the mirror was not her! It could not be! Gone was the corporate executive. In her place was a vampire, a sex goddess adorned with dark straps and buckles of silver, a whore whose shoes were on the obscene side of high.

The unknown woman in the mirror narrowed her green eyes, flicked back an ample supply of black, crinkly hair and curled a sardonic lip. She planted her feet wide apart, placed her hands on her hips in a threatening, seductive posture. Aimee gave a small, uncertain laugh and felt a single shaft of apprehension shoot through her. What was she doing?

When Chris arrived she was gratified by his spontaneous look of stunned approval.

"You whore," he whispered appreciatively as his hand reached out to caress the exposed cheeks of her bum. "You beautiful whore!"

She slapped his hand away.

"Later," she snapped. "Get your things on. You're late."

"I was unavoidably detained," he said, speculation hidden deep in his eyes. It seemed his gut instinct was proving right, after all. Now for the final test. He began to sing happily as he scrubbed. Another little hook and he would see if the fish reeled in.

The disco was set in a large underground room protected by bouncers garbed in serious leather and tattoos. Their hard eyes glanced at the tickets before they stepped aside to let Aimee and Chris inside. A punk girl with green hair took their coats and gave them a pink slip. "Don't lose it, dudes," she said through her chewing gum. "Don't give out nuffink wivaat a slip."

Loud music reverberated around the hall from the live band on stage, accompanied by a startling, vibrant flash of coloured lights which pulsed hypnotically over the audience to the beat of the music. Aimee felt her own pulse increase in a strange sense of abandonment aided by the strange scene around her. It was so bizarre it was incredible. Everywhere people were dressed in rubber with masks, or leather with dog collars, but more noticeably, there was a distinctive role-play at work here, the dominant and subservient roles not necessarily signified by gender.

For Aimee, a female in a man's world, that was one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs she had ever taken. After a two-second evaluation of the room, euphoria reached out and wrapped itself around her.

Taking a deep breath, she entered, heading for the bar, wondering why she had never done it before. The silly height of her heels forced her exposed hips to undulate enticingly and the tight boning squeezed her impressive chest into a force to be reckoned with. A hot flush of excitement flooded between her legs. My God, she felt sexy. She gave the lead a quick tug, felt Chris lurch and really understood, for the first time ever, what it felt like to be a man in the boardroom.

The dancers on stage knew none of this. Wearing black rubber studded with silver, they gyrated madly, the movements timed to perfection and planned to exhibit every inch of their gleaming bodies to the avid audience. The live band played on, sweat trickling in runnels, darking the black leather clothing with broadening swathes as they screamed into the night.

Aimee put work aside. It felt incredibly wicked to be pulling Chris along by the lead which was attached to a padlocked collar around his neck, but it also felt so very right. As if she had suddenly discovered her place in the great scheme of things.

Chris noted the alteration with quiet amusement. Did she sense that, in spite of the variety of talents on display, every pair of eyes in the room had gravitated towards her? He flushed with pride. It gave him a kind of buzz when a project came together.

She was too overwhelmed to notice anyone's reaction to her. She had heard of fetish dances, of course. It had all seemed so sad and pathetic, somehow; and yet there had been that tiny portion of her which had stood back from common sense and upbringing to spark with jealousy. So she had smugly laboured on under a righteous fire of self-worth because she had not done anything so degrading, fanned, though she did not know it, by a delicious smouldering desire to be brave enough to do so.

And here she was, with every pre-conditioned cell in her middle-class body screaming with indignation, dancing to wild abandon amidst a riot of leather, rubber and bondage, with her own pet male on a lead. She laughed suddenly, her eyes flashing to the ceiling with amusement. God it felt good!

Chris's eyes narrowed. He felt a tiny pulse throb in the centre of his being. She was more uninhibited than he had ever seen her. Sex dripped from her pores. He felt his crotch tightening as he looked. He realised, with some justification, that he would have to make sure his creation did not get out of hand and take the leading role. Shades of Dr Frankenstein. That he could not afford.